THE LEGEND OF BEULAH
From Ditch Hog to the Silver King
Every legendary bait shop has its ghosts, its traditions, and the stories that get handed across the counter along with a bucket of select shrimp. Around Skyway Bait & Tackle, if you listen to the old-timers who have been walking through our doors for decades, they always end up pointing outside and asking the same question:
“Whatever happened to the old hog?”Her name was Beulah.
The Original Beulah: The Bait Shop Hog
Years ago, a shop hand named Robie kept a pet hog right outside the shop. Nobody could quite agree on what breed she was—she was simply a massive, several-hundred-pound presence who made the ditch out front along US 19 her personal kingdom.
Beulah wasn’t just a pet; she became a local landmark and part of the morning ritual. Anglers pulling in before sunrise to rig up would bring her treats. She ate candy bars, breakfast sandwiches, and pretty much anything tossed her way—and if an angler popped an early-morning beer, Beulah was right there happy to take down a cold one with the crew.
For years, she was as much a fixture of Skyway Bait as the frozen threadfins and live shrimp tanks. When she eventually got out into the road and was hit about a year before we took over the reins, it marked the end of an era. We still keep her framed picture up on the shop wall because you can’t wipe away that kind of history. People still come in, look at the photo, and smile about the ditch hog who ruled the front lawn.
Every great shop needs a hog on watch. So we found a new one.
The New Beulah: 150 Pounds of Silver Armor
If you look directly behind our live shrimp tanks today, you’ll see our new Beulah watching over the counter.
She’s a different kind of hog. She’s a monster, five-foot-plus, 150-pound tarpon mount—a real Florida Silver King. But like everything inside our walls, she isn’t just decoration bought out of a catalog. She represents a 26-year legacy, family history, and the exact moment this shop transitioned into its next chapter.
The Passing of the Torch Under the Skyway Pier
Back in 1997, my dad and I bought Skyway Bait & Tackle together. Long before we ever stood behind the cash register, my dad and I spent countless late nights fishing the shadow lines of the old Skyway bridge, before it was ever even an official fishing Pier, learning these waters and building memories that shaped my entire life.
Fast-forward twenty-six years later. Kirk and I had just put ink to paper on our contract to take the shop into the future. It was right around the exact anniversary of the day my dad and I bought the place back in ’97.
To break in the new partnership, I took Kirk out on the water before dawn. It was still pitch black, and we set up right beneath the Skyway Pier to catch live bait—floating in the exact stretch of shadow where my father and I used to fish side by side decades ago.
While we were netting bait, green eyes started rolling through the current. The tarpon had moved in.
I tossed a fresh bait out and almost instantly hooked into a freight train.
I took the rod first, leaning into the fight to pull her away from the concrete pilings and out into open water. For over thirty minutes, she tore into the bay, jumping and testing every inch of our tackle. By the half-hour mark, with the fish safely clear of the structure, my shoulder started giving out.
I turned and handed the rod straight to Kirk.
Kirk dug his heels into the deck and fought her for at least another grueling thirty minutes. He worked her alongside the boat, we got our hands on her, took our measurements and photographs, revived her, and watched that massive silver flank kick safely back down into Tampa Bay.
Two Partners, One Shared Anniversary
Kirk took those photographs from that morning and secretly commissioned the custom replica mount that hangs over the shop floor today.
To Kirk, that tarpon marks the official anniversary of stepping into Skyway Bait & Tackle.
To me, she is the ultimate bridge. We hooked that fish in the shadow of the pier where my dad taught me to fish, fought her together—first half in my hands, second half in Kirk’s—and brought her to the boat as partners.
She earned the name Beulah.
The original Beulah held down the ditch; the new Beulah watches the tanks. When you stop by the shop, take a look behind the shrimp counters. You aren’t just looking at a big fish—you’re looking at where this shop has been, where it stands today, and the tradition we’re passing down to every angler who walks through the door.