Jason Killer: After losing the best brother ever, snook fishing will never be the same

“Reel, Jason, reel! You’re gaining line on the fish!” my uncle Bob Pelosi urged my younger brother.

“I can’t! It took too much line! My arms are burning!” My brother, 9 at the time, seemed to be overmatched by the unknown fish at the end of his line.

Dad tried to keep his younger son motivated: “Keep that line coming in! I think the fish is getting closer!”

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One kid’s catch of a lifetime

It was a sunny afternoon in 1977, about 14 miles southeast of the St. Lucie Inlet. Five of us, including my much younger cousin, Robert Jr., were on the RuBob, my uncle’s 17-foot, Mercury-powered Mako center console fishing boat. We were beyond the sight of land in the tiny boat, where the Gulf Stream chugs along to the north without caring what it’s sweeping along in its current.

Minutes after Jason’s turn to man the rod began, something big slammed the ballyhoo trolled on the right long line. He was just a skinny little kid, but it was already apparent fishing was in his blood. He fought the unknown denizen of the deep with the fishing rod still fixed in the boat’s rodholder. He cranked on the reel handle with both hands until his fingers, palms and wrists hurt.

Tears mixed with sweat streamed down his cheek. Jason whined about giving up to let someone else finish the job, but we all knew he wouldn’t yield.

I can still remember my 11-year-old self peering over the side of the boat. “I can see color! The fish is getting closer!”

Knowing the fish was close enough for us to see it turned Jason into a kid possessed. The crying and complaining suddenly stopped. His adrenaline kicked in. Without uttering another word, he wound that reel like a man three times his age. He brought the fish close enough for Uncle Bob to sink the gaff into the beautiful, silver-and-blue, shimmering wahoo.

Back at the dock, the wahoo was longer than Jason was tall. The 44.5-pound ’hoo was the Stuart Sailfish Club’s largest caught that year by anyone.

A life centered around fishing feats

It cemented my brother’s passion for fishing. By that age he was already an accomplished angler, having caught bass, bluegill and shellcracker from our neighborhood pond. Snapper, snook, trout and jacks he caught from the Jensen Beach Causeway, where as youngsters we rode our bikes with fishing rods in tow. Bonito, barracuda, kingfish and amberjacks he caught while fishing offshore. His love of fishing would drive him for the remainder of his life — a life that sadly came to an end in his home March 29, after an extended illness.

Jason Lee Killer was 54. Gone too soon, to be sure.

He leaves behind his wife of 33 years, Connie. Together they made their home in Port St. Lucie for the same amount of time.

When Jason wasn’t boating with Connie to the Sand Bar in Martin County or working as a mechanical draftsman in the aerospace and electrical power industries, he was probably fishing. When at work, all he did was talk about fishing, think about fishing and plot his next fishing excursion.

Growing up blessed

Jason and I enjoyed an idyllic childhood growing up in Jensen Beach, a sun-kissed seaside town. We ran around shirtless and barefoot during the summers, playing outside all the time. We spent Saturdays at the beach, Sundays at the sand bar and summers in the Keys with family and friends. We explored the Indian River Lagoon, the St. Lucie River, Bathtub Beach, all the other beaches and the woods near where we lived, too.

We caught snapper, sheepshead and grouper from the broken-down seawalls at Rand’s, where Sailfish Point was built. We went shark fishing on Hutchinson Island with our parents, their friends, and our aunt and uncle. We snorkeled. We dove for sand dollars on the sand bars at the beach, trapped and ate blue crabs from the mosquito impoundments and collected horse conchs from the flats.

We watched fireworks from our family’s boat at Jensen Beach Causeway. We played war on the ridges in Sugar Hill and helped the volunteer firemen put out brush fires in the Savannas. We camped as Boy Scouts at Tanah Keeta and Ah-Bah-Lu-Fa. We went to church at St. Martin de Porres. We went to Martin County schools. We rode our bikes and skateboards and played football in the streets in the Skyline Heights neighborhood with our friends.

My brother, my only sibling, and I fought a lot over stupid stuff when we were kids. Sometimes as adults we had differences, too, but we refused to let them divide us. Jason always had my back, no matter what. He was a better brother to me than I was to him. He was best man at my first wedding.

He cared deeply about Connie, her sister and brother, and their families. He cared deeply about my sons and his cousins, and their families. He cared about coworkers, his many friends and was an avid football fan of the Oakland/LA/Las Vegas Raiders and Florida Gators.

I’ll miss his clever wit, intelligence and sense of humor. He always shared things with me he knew, but that I had yet to learn about. He was an excellent cook, too, and whenever I got stuck on a recipe, I knew all I had to do to get an answer was send him a text.

Because of his fragile health over the past eight years, I wasn’t able to fish with him. I started missing a part of him a long time ago, although he still found a way once in a while to cast to tarpon in the mangroves or jig for pompano from a low bridge. I’d get texts from him before sunrise sometimes telling me as much.

Jason and I lost our dad 20 years ago. Our mom was still a young woman when she passed a decade before that. I’ve seen, read and heard many descriptions of heaven. My version looks a lot like old Jensen Beach. Anchored in the Indian River Lagoon near the channel of the main bridge is Proud Mary, our family's old, 22-foot Stamas powerboat. I can see Jason getting a couple of cold Busch beers out of the cooler for him and Dad.

In heaven, the snook fight extra hard, can break you off on bridge pilings or jump spitting the hook right back at you. Jason, though, would turn one of those heavenly snook battles into fried chunks with a side of cheese grits. Wherever he is, I know his reel’s drag is screaming.

Catch ’em up, brother. I hope they’re still biting when I get there.

Memorial May 21

A celebration of life for Jason Lee Killer will take place from 3-6 p.m. Sunday, May 21 at Pirates Cove Resort and Marina, 4307 S.E. Bayview St., Stuart. Dress is casual. In lieu of flowers, consider contributing to the Florida Oceanographic Society’s seagrass research program. Contact Abigail Flood at aflood@floridaocean.org or 772-225-0505 ext. 108. To learn more, go to FloridaOcean.org.

Ed Killer is the outdoors columnist at TCPalm.com. Email him at ed.killer@tcpalm.com.

This article originally appeared on Treasure Coast Newspapers: I recently lost my brother. Snook fishing will never be the same