Secret To Catching Giant Florida Snook

Most folks think summer is prime time for big Florida Snook. That’s when they’re stacked up in the inlets, spawning in huge schools, and seemingly chewing on everything in sight. But here’s the deal: the true river monsters—the heavyweights that don’t show their faces all year—don’t show up when the water’s warm. They show up when it’s cold. And I mean real cold—low-60s, sometimes dipping below that. That’s when things get serious. That’s when you find out what you’re made of.

This trip started like a lot of good ones—with a plan and a little bit of blind hope. Abenz Fishing and Ryan had been watching the weather for weeks. A cold front was rolling in, and they knew from past experience that it could be the ticket. We rigged up with big mullet, heavy leaders, and stout custom rods. They had a brand-new Garmin trolling motor on the bow and three days carved out to do nothing but hunt giants.

Florida Snook Day 1 

The first afternoon was textbook winter Florida Snook fishing: a long grind. The wind was calm, the sun dropped behind the clouds, and they fished wall after wall, dock after dock, all with nothing to show but sore backs and one half-decent redfish Ryan picked up on an artificial. But that’s how it is this time of year. The fish are lazy, locked down, and they won’t chase much of anything unless it’s right in their face—and even then, you better make it look real good.

Eventually, just before dark, they hooked up. Not with a 40-incher, but a thick, healthy Florida Snook somewhere in the 35- to 36-inch range. Not a trophy, but enough to keep the fire lit. Enough to remind them that they weren’t completely crazy for being out there in 60-degree water and biting wind.

Day two hit them with every kind of frustration you can imagine. It took two hours to catch bait, during which time our net got tangled in the prop and my feet were knee-deep in mud. Ryan’s Salita reel a $1,000 piece of machinery decided to give up on life for no good reason. Then the bilge clogged, and for a minute, it looked like they might actually sink. That’s winter fishing for you. The fish don’t make it easy, and neither does anything else.

But they kept grinding. They scanned seawalls and bridges, watching the side scan like hawks. Finally, they started spotting shadows—big ones. And then came the mark. On the screen was a snook so big, we thought it might be a shark at first. It was that clear, that defined. They just looked at each other. They knew what that meant. They had one more shot.

The sun was just about gone when my bait got crushed. There wasn’t much warning just a slow bend in the rod and a pull that didn’t stop. The fight was pure chaos. The snook ran straight under the dock, then came right back out, head-shaking the whole time. I had to palm the spool just to keep her from dumping all my line.

When they finally got her to the boat, he didn’t realize he didn’t even have a tape measure but from experience, he guessed she went 44 inches easy. Big head, thick shoulders, and a belly like a winter-fed largemouth. She was everything I came for.

We snapped a few quick shots and let her go, watching her glide back into the dark water like a ghost. That release moment sticks with you. It’s what makes all the frustration worth it.

Here’s the lesson: Wintertime Florida Snook fishing isn’t about numbers. You won’t catch a dozen in a day. Most days, you’ll be lucky to get one or two bites. But if you play it right—watch the fronts, find good live bait, and put in the hours—you just might stick the fish of your life.

Do you want the Giants? You gotta earn ’em.