Molido Creek ran cool and clear, meandering beneath the beeches and ancient oaks half a mile below our house. Come summertime, I'd shuck my shoes, grab my fishing gear and head to Molido to lob a Hawaiian Wiggler next to cypress roots, hoping a bass would be fooled. I usually only caught jackfish, ugly as sin and outfitted with fierce teeth and most times when one bit, the sorry rascal would sever my fishing line and swim off with my lure.
Then one day it happened. I got a strike, set the hook expecting to see a slimy sharp-toothed jackfish on the other end when to my surprise and delight, a half-pound bass floundered on the surface. This was the very first bass I ever caught and I grabbed the bass, threw down my rod, took off barefoot for home to show my mama.