A wet, soupy fog hung over the phosphate pit, socking us in and rendering the big outboard useless.
The trolling motor, however, whirled away, churning up a silty cloud as we eased off the muddy, makeshift ramp. Our guide, Dean Jackson, gestured with two fingers toward open water.
"We’re going to target bass in the deep grass beds. Cast as far as you can, let it sink to the bottom, jerk it up then crawl it back," he said.
The baitcaster sang as the braid hummed through the guides, the black-and-blue bladed jig racing out then plopping down.
The bait fluttered on the fall before settling in the vegetation 25 feet down. I snapped the rod to attention...