Dock Talk from an Old Salt – Captain John Blenker

Now listen here, because if you fish long enough in Tampa Bay, sooner or later you’re gonna hook something that fights like a wet sheet of plywood glued to the bottom.

And that, my friends, is usually a stingray.

It always starts the same way out here on the water with Five O’Clock Charlie Tours. Someone’s rod doubles over like it just insulted the ocean. The reel groans. The angler’s eyes get big as a pelican’s appetite.

“Captain! I think I got a big one!”

Now I’ve been running boats around this bay long enough to recognize the signs. If the fish runs like a freight train, that’s probably a big snook. If it thumps and digs, maybe a redfish. But if the rod just stays bent and nothing moves… well partner, welcome to the Stingray Olympics.

See, a stingray doesn’t fight you like most fish. No sir. A stingray fights with stubbornness. They just clamp themselves down on the bottom like somebody nailed them there. It’s less like fishing and more like trying to drag a manhole cover across the bay.

“Reel! Reel!” I’ll holler from the helm.

The poor soul on the rod cranks like he’s trying to start an old lawn mower while the rest of the boat places bets.

Five minutes pass.

Ten minutes.

Sweat’s dripping. Arms are shaking.

Then suddenly the line moves…slow and steady…like somebody pulling a dinner table across the sand.

Up it comes out of the green water — a big ol’ stingray, wings flapping like a salty throw rug that learned to swim.

Now stingrays get a bad reputation because folks remember the story of Steve Irwin, and they assume every one of them is looking for trouble. Truth is, these critters just want to mind their business down there vacuuming up crabs and shrimp like little underwater Roombas.

Most days in the bay they’re just cruising the sandy flats, blending in so well you’d swear they’re part of the bottom. Hook one by accident while you’re fishing for redfish or flounder and suddenly you’re in the middle of an unscheduled arm-wrestling match.

We don’t keep ’em, and we don’t mess around with that tail either. That barb on the back is nothing to fool with. So we admire the prehistoric pancake for a minute, pop the hook loose if we can, and let him glide back down to his sandy living room.

But I’ll tell you what…

For a fish nobody is trying to catch, a stingray has humbled more anglers on my boat than any snook ever dreamed of.

And that’s part of fishing in Tampa Bay. You come out here thinking you know what’s on the end of your line, and the bay just smiles and says, “Let’s see about that.”

So if you climb aboard with us at Five O’Clock Charlie Tours and your rod bends over like it owes the ocean money… don’t celebrate too early.

You might have a trophy redfish.

Or you might just be in a wrestling match with a salty old stingray who forgot to read the fishing report.

Either way, around here we call that a good day on the water.

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