It’s funny how God works…a couple of months ago I was introduced to Steve Brown by a friend, Caleb McCumber, who I met on a Texas Trophy Trout Fishing Forum on facebook. For those of you who don’t know, Steve’s dad is the legendary trout fisherman and lure designer, Paul Brown. Mr. Brown has made so many contributions to the fishing industry, it is impossible to name them all, and a daunting task for those who try. However, his greatest compliment is the Paul Brown original Corky. This bait has fooled millions of speckled trout over the years, and is arguably the greatest bait for targeting trophy trout. That being said, Mr. Paul isn’t just a legend to many, he is a legend to his son Steve…which if I’m sure if I asked him it would be all that matters. Anyway, Steve on father’s day posted the below to his facebook wall and it struck a chord with me because my pops, who isn’t nationally known as a trout fisherman, is the best trout fisherman I know, and just a good father to boot! Now a father myself, I have two young boys who I hope will enjoy wading a flat one day, catching a few fish or just being in the presence of dear ole dad…Enjoy!
“Waking up when it is still dark out and Dad backs up the truck to the only boat I've known for 40 some odd years, or so it feels like. With the tackle box and rods loaded, we take off for the coast, cinnamon roll and chocolate milk in hand. It is quiet, we are thinking of the big fish that lay in wait for us.
We back into the slip and unload the boat. The old Whaler slides off the trailer, ready to take us on our quest. Dad turns the key and the motor fires up; sputter, splash, chug. He puts it in gear and we slowly motor out into the sunrise. Out in the expansive bay west of Galveston he finds his bearings
He knows this water better than anyone, its almost like having a modern GPS in the palm of his hand. He sees an old landmark; an old post from a fence from 1962, a palm tree that was ravaged in Hurricane Alicia... he slows the boat off plane, drops the trolling motor and quietly approaches the spot.
We are all alone on this stretch of west bay. I ask him why we have stopped. He tells me of a reef that runs through here that was broken up many years ago, and he points me where to cast. I trust him and throw my lure like he has taught me, lightly without a big splash.
Within seconds of mimicking his motions I feel the plastic shrimp tail he deftly molded get engulfed in a trout.
The tug, the pull, the run, the jump!
The monster has it its lip and minutes later its in the cooler. These are the days I will forever remember.”