Capt. Butch Moser has perfected the art of enticing peacock bass with live baits. His biggest so far has been a 7-pounder. Photo by Jan Maizler.

As Capt. Jon Cooper and I pulled into Lake Ida Park, the eastern sky was lighted up in a classic "Japanese" sunrise, sending a 360-degree panorama of lemon-colored sunbeams in every direction. Some of those rays lit up the flat-calm lake, revealing multiple schools of shad dimpling the surface.

Looking at each other, we acknowledged that auspicious sign.

In the distance, we saw Capt. Butch Moser throw his cast net into the placid water. By his strained silhouette, we could tell he was hauling aboard a heavy load of live bait.

That was yet another good sign!

Moser then motored over to the shoreline, where we loaded our fishing gear and were soon underway.

As we whizzed through canals, under bridges and past intersections with more canals, the coolness of the early morning made me don my rain jacket. Our direction was basically westward. Each surge of his skiff over the tannin-colored waters brought us closer and closer to our goal -- peacock bass action.

Our trip over these waters yielded sightings of multi-hued iguanas, turtles, alligators, egrets and ibis, as well as many species of ducks.

Since I was a flats fisherman dropped in an unfamiliar wonderland, I kept asking Capt. Moser the names of the species adorning these waters. Adding to the morning's excitement was our knowledge that western Palm Beach County is home to some of Florida's largest peacock bass.

Our appetites had been whetted weeks before, when our initial call to Capt. Moser revealed we'd be fishing the area where he'd caught and released his biggest peacock, a monster of more than 7 pounds.

The boat rounded another 90-degree bend and slowly began throttling down. Moser's Carolina Skiff relaxed into an idling mode, and the sound of whooshing water replaced the high-pitched whine of a full-out running engine we'd been hearing for a half hour. The captain eased his vessel towards a bridge not far from the mouth of another canal.

When he cut the engine and lowered, we were no more than twenty feet from the bridge and its enveloping shadows. Butch netted about six shad from the livewell and squeezed them with his hands.

"Let's try these hors d' oeuvres," he said, tossing each bait in an arc to the adjacent shoreline, all in the middle of the bridge's shadow.

In moments, we heard pops and swirls. The first one came from under the bridge as one of the chum baits disappeared in a foamy strike.