By Day 3, the rhythm was set:
Morning coffee, lines in, redfish, small sharks, and someone wandering too far into the soft stuff with a 2WD rental. The usual.
One thing broke the pattern early: Gary caught a black drum (Pogonias cromis)—a first for the trip, and a welcome change from the nonstop reds and sharks. Not the anyone needs a break from reds and sharks.
As expected, the bait bucket was running low again.
Bret and Dave made a plan to hit the marsh ditch behind the beach—same area as yesterday, just quicker this time.
No detours.
No lingering.
Grab bait and get back before the shark rod screams again.
They executed it perfectly.
Net in, bait caught, back in the truck. The plan worked.
Almost.
Because just as they were leaving the beach, Gary heard the truck fade out—and the shark rod went off again.
Same rig, same bait, same spot.
Another bull shark, this one between four and five feet, and another clean fight brought all the way to the sand, solo.
He beached it, got the photos, and released it safely again. No drama. Just a repeat performance while the rest of camp was out chasing baitfish.
When Bret and Dave rolled back in, Gary’s face said everything before he even opened his mouth. “You’re not gonna believe this…”
They believed it. They just weren’t thrilled about it.
The wind was still blowing. The heat was still on.
But the humidity finally backed off, just enough to make the day bearable—though it was still too hot to sleep once the sun went down.
Dinner was Yakisoba, cooked up by Gary, because even if he’s going to keep stealing the shark rod spotlight, he can at least feed the crew right.
Three days in, and the scorecard was filling up.
Redfish, gaftop, black drum, sharpnose, and two solo bull sharks landed by the guy who stayed behind.