![]() I flicked an unweighted 4-inch fluke, skipping it several feet past the target, snapping it to attention on a crippled baitfish cadence, and then killing it as it limped adjacent to the stick-up. ![]() I laid down my big swimbait and the baitcaster it was tied to, opting instead for a light-lined spinning combo. A nondescript twig, peeking not more than an inch above the waterline. It was the last piece of “structure” between our boat, the resort dock and lunch.
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