When this crew first reached out, I tried to nudge them toward another night. The forecast had that look — the kind that makes captains squint at the sky and second-guess their coffee. But these weren’t rookies. Five seasoned anglers, veterans of the chill, showing up with the right gear and the right grit. They stepped onto the boat like they’d done it a thousand times — easy smiles, steady feet, that quiet confidence you only get from folks who know the water doesn’t hand out favors. And then… the night surprised us. The wind softened to a gentle 10 mph. The sky cleared its throat and turned gold. Sunset spilled across the water like melted copper. Even the pelicans got playful — you could tell the wildlife clocked the mood and decided to clock in. Now, the truth beneath the glow: flounder reports had been rough. For weeks, guides had been whispering the same word — slow. A recent freeze had taken its toll. Later, we’d see the evidence ourselves: too many dead flounder, victims of that cold snap. Nature’s reminder that she writes the rules. But hope rides every tide, especially when it’s Captain Seth at the helm. They found one live flounder — and made it count. Steel, light, steady hands — gigged clean. And where the flounder thinned out, the black drum showed up to save the dance. The spirits lifted, and the night found its rhythm. So no, it wasn’t a numbers night. It was better. It was laughter in the dark. New friendships forged under a painted sky. A boat ride that felt more like a story than a trip. And those are the ones folks come back for