Some fishing stories start with a bent rod. This one starts with a 17-year-old kid from Pennsylvania who had never seen the ocean. In 1954, Raymond “Ray” Weismann wanted out. Not in a dramatic way, just that quiet, restless kind of wanting that young men get when the world feels bigger than the place they’re standing. He begged his mother to let him enlist in the military. She said no. Flat no. So, Ray did what any determined 17-year-old would do in the 1950s: he worked on his dad. Eventually, his father signed the paper. Ray joined the U.S. Navy. Boot camp came and went, and then one day Ray opened his orders.

Key West.

He had never heard of it. Flying in, Ray looked out the window and thought something had gone wrong. Just water. Endless water. Then, suddenly, a tiny strip of land and a little airfield appeared, like it had been dropped there as an afterthought. When he stepped off the plane, the heat hit him, and the whole place felt… different. He asked around for a ride to the base. The guy who answered? He was the tourist bureau. And a police officer. And the local everything else. In Ray’s words, if you needed anything in Key West back then, there was one guy who did it all. That’s how small the island was.

Money was tight. Navy pay didn’t stretch far, about $80 or $90 a month. So, when one of Ray’s commanding officers asked if he wanted to make extra cash washing his truck on weekends, Ray jumped on it. The first Saturday, Ray pulled the truck under an awning at the officer’s house and got to work. Mid-wash, a girl walked up and asked him a question that felt like luxury in the Florida heat: “Would you like a glass of water… or ice water?” Ice was still a novelty in the 1950s. Ray didn’t hesitate. Ice water. The girl handed it to him. She was 14. Ray was 17. She was his commanding officer’s daughter. Ray knew. Fast forward a bit, Florida law wouldn’t allow it, so they crossed into Georgia to get married when the time came. That girl became his wife. His commanding officer became his father-in-law. And that’s where the fishing rod enters the story.

Back then, there were only a handful of televisions in all of Key West. Four or five, maybe. If yours broke, there was exactly one man who could fix it. Ray’s father-in-law. He repaired radio communications for the Navy, which meant he knew how to replace tubes, the black magic of early electronics. One day, he fixed a TV owned by a man who didn’t really need an introduction. Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway didn’t pay cash. Instead, he handed over a fishing rod and reel, an offshore combo already well-used, already carrying stories of its own. That rod stayed in the family. They fished with it. Hard. Commercial fishing, offshore work, real use. The reel was stiff. The rod was wood. The leather thumb guard bore the marks of pressure and time. It wasn’t a display piece; it was a working tool. Years passed. People passed. Ray outlived most of his brothers and sisters. His wife passed. Eventually, Ray became the keeper of stories.

He served during the Cold War years in Key West, flying blimp patrols after the Cuban Missile Crisis, dragging a tethered bell through the water to detonate leftover naval mines so civilian boats wouldn’t hit them. He laughed telling the story, how the bell would slam into the mines like a hammer. Boom. Boom. Boom.

He told stories about dropping milk and grape juice from the blimp over Duval Street, staging mock bombing runs just to see who could hit the target best. Navy humor. Island boredom. Young men far from home. And through all of it, the rod stayed with him. When Ray entered hospice, he gave one final instruction: “Take all my fishing gear and give it to Glenn. Give it to the kids. Let people use it. Just don’t give away the old rod.” That rod, now over a century old, still sits intact. A Pflueger Templar reel. A leather thumb grip worn smooth. Line that may have once been cloth. Maybe mono later. Nobody has taken it apart. Nobody’s brave enough. Maybe somewhere inside there’s an inscription. Maybe not. Does it matter? Because every angler knows the truth:

The best fishing stories don’t need paperwork.

This one adds up. The time fits. The place fits. The people fit. Hemingway photographed his fish. Outfitters were limited. The chain of custody is clean, human, and unbroken. And Ray? Ray had nothing to gain by telling it. So now, that rod sits quietly, having traveled from Hemingway’s hands, through a Navy radio man, into decades of hard fishing, blimp patrols, marriages, losses, and friendships. A fishing rod that crossed more water than most fishermen ever will. And that’s exactly how a fishing story should be.

Happy Monday Spacefish!

I wish I were bringing you more joyful news, but…Florida has found itself in the throes of a true winter gut punch. A prolonged polar vortex has pushed cold air deep into the peninsula, dropping water temperatures across rivers, lagoons, canals, and backwaters. For Florida’s tropical and subtropical fish species, especially snook, this kind of cold can be devastating.

Anglers around the state have already begun reporting dead and cold-stunned fish, with videos and photos circulating online showing snook, tarpon, jacks, and other species floating or pinned against shorelines. While the full scope of the damage is still unfolding, early signs suggest this cold event could rival some of the most impactful freezes Florida has seen since 2010.

Why cold kills snook (and other tropical fish)

Snook are particularly vulnerable to cold. As a subtropical species, they begin experiencing stress when water temperatures drop below about 50°F. Prolonged exposure can lead to cold shock, disrupting normal behavior and bodily functions.

According to FWRI biologist and snook expert Alexis Trotter, the effects of cold aren’t always immediate.

“The first sign of distress for snook is usually a disruption of feeding behavior—they stop eating,” Trotter explained. “If conditions don’t improve, equilibrium issues follow.”

In other words, fish may look alive and recoverable at first, only to succumb days, or even weeks later. Cold can also damage the protective slime coating on fish, leaving them vulnerable to infection and disease long after temperatures rebound.

This freeze is especially concerning because of its scope. Unlike typical cold snaps that mainly impact northern range-edge areas, this event has blanketed nearly the entire state, limiting the availability of warm-water refuge even in places fish usually escape to.

What has been seen on the water

As of early reports, fish kills have been scattered but widespread. Initial hotline reports included tarpon on Florida’s east coast, while southwest Florida beaches have seen concentrations of dead crevalle jacks. Snook, tarpon, jacks, and goliath grouper are all species FWRI biologists are watching closely, especially those trapped in canals and backwater systems.

Fish are often found stacked in corners, near structure, or drifting along shorelines, tell-tale signs of a cold-weather fish kill.

It’s also important to remember that not all affected fish float immediately. Many will die after the cold passes, meaning reports could increase over the coming days and weeks.

How severe is this event?

At this time, the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) has not released official mortality estimates. However, past freezes—most notably in 2010—caused major population declines and resulted in multi-year harvest closures for snook.

Loss of adult snook is especially troubling. Larger fish are critical spawners, and their absence can slow population recovery for years.

What anglers can do right now

Recreational anglers play a crucial role in helping fisheries managers understand and respond to cold-kill events. Here’s how you can help:

1. Be thoughtful about what you target
Avoid targeting cold-stressed snook and other vulnerable species. Even if you find fish stacked in warm pockets, remember they may still be fighting off cold stress.

2. Handle fish with extra care
If you do hook a stressed fish:
– Keep it in the water whenever possible
– Wet your hands, gloves, or towel before touching it
– Minimize air exposure to protect the slime coat

3. Report fish kills—accurately
The FWC operates a fish kill hotline and reporting system at 1-800-636-0511. When reporting, try to standardize your observations:
Instead of estimating thousands of fish, count what you see in roughly a 50-foot stretch, broken down by species. Then report that number along with the estimated total affected area.

For example:

“Observed 4 snook, 17 crevalle jacks, and 1 goliath grouper in a 50-foot section of a roughly 300-yard stretch.”

Clear, consistent reports help biologists far more than emotional estimates—and anglers truly become the eyes on the water.

4. Leave dead fish in the water
Despite rumors that sometimes circulate during freezes, it is still illegal to possess snook outside of regulations. Any change to that would require an executive order, which has not occurred. Count and report fish, but don’t remove them.

What comes next

Cold weather remains one of the greatest natural threats to Florida’s snook fishery. History shows that snook can rebound—but recovery takes time, favorable conditions, closed harvest, and responsible fishing pressure. As assessments continue, anglers across Florida will be watching closely.

Happy Monday Spacefish!

If you’ve been keeping up with my recent winter fishing reports, you’ve probably noticed a common theme: I have been riding a roller coaster of weather changes. Between blustery NNW winds, rising and falling barometric pressure, and water temps bouncing all over the place, this winter has been an exercise in patience.

And somewhere between frozen fingers, short strikes, and watching trout ghost behind lures without committing, a pattern became painfully clear. Speed was the enemy.

That’s when I found myself reaching for the same bait over and over again. Not because it was flashy or new, but because it let me do the one thing winter fishing demands: slow everything down, but still be able to present your artificial realistically, without leaving the strike zone.

The MirrOlure MirrOdine didn’t just survive the winter thus far, it has defined it.

On shallow grass flats, along oyster edges, and tucked into winter troughs where fish stack up during cold snaps, this plug kept producing when my other staple lures stalled out. The ability to cast it, let it settle, and retrieve with subtle flicks and simply hover a bait in front of fish turned frustrating days into consistent ones.

That heavy winter reliance wasn’t accidental. It was earned, cast by cast, until the MirrOdine stopped being “just another plug” and became the backbone of my cold-water inshore game.

Paying Homage to an OG

In a tackle world overflowing with shiny new hard baits, that is becoming increasingly dominated by algorithms and social-media hype, there’s one plug that just keeps quietly getting it done. No trends. No gimmicks. Just fish.

If you’ve spent any time fishing Florida’s inshore waters, you’ve probably tied one on without even thinking about it. I’m talking about the MirrOlure MirrOdine, or its official name, the 17MR.

Introduced in 1999, the MirrOdine didn’t arrive as a marketing brainstorm. It was born out of necessity. Guides, captains, and tournament anglers needed a true saltwater suspending bait, one that would stay in the strike zone instead of floating up, nose-diving, or sinking like a rock.

MirrOlure delivered, and in doing so created one of the most consistently productive inshore hard baits of all time.

Why the MirrOdine Works

At its core, the MirrOdine does one thing exceptionally well: it hovers. That neutral buoyancy, neither floating nor falling fast has changed the game. Instead of constantly moving a bait to keep it “working,” anglers could now let a lure pause right in front of fish. Over grass flats, oyster bars, along drop-offs, mangrove edges, and pot holes. That pause is everything!

Speckled trout, in particular, are notorious for eating on the pause. That moment of vulnerability, when the bait isn’t trying to escape, that is when the predatory fish’s gills flare and the plug disappears. Redfish see a pinfish and try to pin it to the bottom. Snook… Well, snook don’t nibble. They inhale it, and turn to run back into their hidey holes.

The MirrOdine’s wedge-shaped body rocks subtly as it wobbles, ever so slightly downwards, flashing just enough to look alive without screaming danger. No tail-down fall. No head-first dive. Just a natural, baitfish-like hover that predators trust and commit to.

Cadence: Slow Is the Whole Point

If you take one thing from this article, let it be this: The MirrOdine doesn’t need too much help. Cast it out. Let it settle. Count it down—one… two… maybe three seconds depending on depth. Then give it a gentle flick, flick. Not a hard twitch, not a rip, just enough movement to make it flash. I recently watched the first Harry Potter film with my kids. For those that have seen it, just make Professor Flitwick proud. Swish and flick.

Then wait. Two seconds. Three. Five or “six – sevennnn” (sorry, had to do it) if the water’s cold. When the pause starts to feel uncomfortable, that’s when you’re about to get bit. Many strikes happen on a slack line. Sometimes you don’t feel a “thump” at all, just pressure when you go to move it again. That’s a trout inhaling the bait while it hovers.

This is also why the MirrOdine still fishes best with treble hooks – which I personally hate, but do in fact, use with this bait. Mash the barbs if you’re worried about fish handling (or your ER copay). If you look closely at the photos in this report, you will see all my hook barbs are mashed down, which took me just a few seconds to do with my pliers I keep in my fishing bag.

MirrOlure vs Other Brands

At some point during this winter, I did what most curious anglers eventually do, I put the MirrOdine on trial. I wanted to do another installment of the Inshore Tackle Wars, but I fell head over heels for MirrOdine and have become too biased to write a full article on it. I played around with the Rapala Twitchin’ Mullet last year, and never took to it, but maybe I will go back in the future and try again, but for now, I have been focused on MirrOlure vs Yo-Zuri.

The Yo-Zuri 3D Inshore Twitch Bait has been getting a lot of attention, and for good reason. On paper, and in the hand, it’s one of the most realistic twitch baits on the market. So on two trips I fished them side by side, rotating casts in the same water, under the same conditions. Here’s how it shook out.

Let’s be clear: the Yo-Zuri is a good bait. The 3D prism finish throws serious flash, especially in darker water or low light. Visually, it’s more detailed and more lifelike than a MirrOdine—no argument there. The rattle is also higher-pitched and louder, and the bait has an impressive darting action with sharp head turns when twitched.

In warmer water, or when fish are actively feeding, that extra flash and movement can absolutely draw strikes. If I were fishing summer grass flats or looking to cover water with more tempo, I’d have no hesitation tying one on.

But the winter conditions are where the difference became obvious. The Yo-Zuri sinks clean and straight. The MirrOdine doesn’t. It wobbles, just slightly, as it settles. That subtle rock is everything when fish are cold, pressured, or neutral.

That pause… that slow, imperfect fall… that’s where the MirrOdine consistently got eaten. While the Yo-Zuri required more movement to stay “alive,” the MirrOdine kept working even when it wasn’t moving at all. Trout especially would track it, hover with it, and eat it as it paused, often on a slack line.

As far as the price point goes, a standard MirrOlure 17 MR will cost roughly $11 bucks at Bass Pro Shops, and Yo-Zuri, roughly $10 – you may be able both of these for a slightly cheaper price at Wal-Mart, but your color choices and variety will be drastically smaller.

The Final Verdict

If winter fishing has taught me anything, it’s this: subtle beats sexy when conditions are hard.

The Yo-Zuri 3D Twitch Bait earned a spot in the box. It’s realistic, flashy, and effective in the right situations. But when water temps dropped, and the conditions turned the game into a grind, the MirrOdine won, cleanly and repeatedly.

That experiment is what cemented the MirrOdine as more than just a confidence bait for me. It became a problem solver, the plug I reach for when slowing down isn’t optional, it’s mandatory to put fish in the boat.

The Setup for Inshore Twitch Baits

Rod: 7’ medium or medium-light with a moderate-fast action

Reel: 2500–4000 spinning or a baitcaster
Line:

Spinning: 10 lb braid

Casting: 15 lb braid

Leader: 15–20 lb fluorocarbon (lighter leader = better action)

Heavy leaders kill the hover. If you need insurance for snook, add a John Page style short bite tippet instead of upsizing everything. This bait shines when your setup lets it do what it was designed to do. I did get absolutely smoked on a 35+ inch Snook who smashed the MirrOdine on 20 lb fluorocarbon, it was literally my last cast before writing this report, it was on my way back in from the launch and I was working one last area at the end of a long and productive outing, I was too tired to re-tie and I was distraught over the loss of my favorite MirrOdine (good night sweet prince). My only consolation was because I’d mashed the barbs down, the snook should have been able to lose the plug pretty quickly after.

Just Pluggin’ Along – Conclusion & Kayaks By Bo

All of the fishing behind this article was done from a kayak. That’s where Kayaks By Bo comes in. They sell kayaks specifically for how we fish here on the Space Coast: stable enough to stand, quiet enough to slide into shallow flats and wind protected backwater areas. When winter fish demand precision, long pauses, exact casts, and slow presentations; having a kayak that holds position and lets you fish deliberately matters more than people realize.

If you’re serious about inshore fishing from a kayak, especially during tough winter conditions, it’s worth checking out Kayaks By Bo and getting set up the right way from the start.

Winter fishing has a way of exposing shortcuts. When fish are aggressive, you can get away with speed, noise, and flash. When the water is cold, when the water levels are low, and the pressure is high, the only thing that matters is whether your bait can stay in the strike zone long enough to get eaten.

That’s why the MirrOdine earned such a heavy rotation in my winter fishing so far this year.

It’s not trendy. It’s not loud. It doesn’t need constant movement to look alive. It simply hovers, flashes just enough, and gives fish time to make a mistake.

After fishing it side by side with different baits, through fronts, cold snaps, and slow days, the conclusion was hard to ignore: when conditions get tough, subtle wins. And few plugs do subtle better than a MirrOdine.

So if your winter box feels overcrowded, simplify it. Pick the size that matches the forage, adjust for conditions, slow everything down…and just keep pluggin’ along.

Stay warm, be happy, and may your lines be ever tight – until next time!