When Shadows Bit Back

3:17 AM blinked on my watch as the truck tires crunched over oyster shells. Mosquito Lagoon's brackish scent already clung to my lips. I patted the tackle box – its dented corner from last month's redfish frenzy – feeling for the new pack of glow-in-the-dark soft plastics.

The headlamp revealed what moonlight hid: baitfish skittering like spilled mercury. First cast landed behind a mangrove cluster where the water made a sucking sound. My index finger felt the braid's vibration before the reel's clicker could scream. The rod arched toward Orion's Belt.

'Snook,' I whispered, though the shadow surging toward open water moved more like a bull shark. Salt spray stung my eyes as the drag hissed. For seven breathless minutes, we danced – the fish exploiting every oyster bed, me digging boots into slippery mud.

When the leader finally surfaced, my laughter startled a night heron. The 38-inch snook's gills flared in the glow stick's light, its lateral line glittering with war paint. As it torpedoed back into darkness, the wake erased my trembling knees from the water's memory.

Driving home, I kept checking the rearview mirror. Not for cops – but half expecting to see that primordial shadow following, still hungry.