It started as an idea—just a bunch of us, the boys, heading down to the water to spear some fish, drink like we were still in college, and settle some long-standing debates about who among us was truly the apex predator of the sea.

What it became? An instant tradition.

Hogfest 2024 was nothing short of legendary. The sun was hot, the beer was cold, and the ocean was just waiting to see who among us was worthy. Spearfishing was on another level—some of us hunting with precision, some with reckless abandon, and some (looking at you, Boggs) flailing about in what can only be described as a near-religious struggle with the forces of nature.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Brotherhood, Booms, and Bad Decisions

From the moment we hit the water, the camaraderie was next-level. This wasn’t just a fishing tournament—it was a test of manhood, resilience, and our collective ability to function after zero sleep and questionable life choices.

We laughed until we cried, we danced to country music like no one was watching, gave out free hugs to all the men becuase the women were afraid, and we definitely didn’t adhere to any doctor-recommended health guidelines regarding sleep, hydration, or uncontrolled substances.

And then there was the Boggs Situation™.

The Fall of a Fish Bitch

Now, every tournament needs a tragic figure—a man who serves as a cautionary tale for future generations. That man? Boggs.

From the start, he was destined for disaster. The ocean took one look at him and rejected him outright. Fish saw him coming and just vanished. His spear? More of a decorative accessory than a weapon. At some point, we had to seriously consider if he had personally offended Poseidon in a past life.

When the waves calmed and the "trip" ended, Boggs had earned his title. He became Fish Bitch, the official punching bag of Hogfest. His shame was eternal, his suffering immense, and his legacy undeniable.

But then… the unthinkable happened.

The Upset of the Century

I had never even spearfished before. I was here for the good times, the debauchery, and the opportunity to party.

And yet… fate had other plans.

Whether it was beginner’s luck, divine intervention, not counting length properly, or just the raw, untamed alpha energy coursing through my veins, I speared a hogfish sooo just above average it sent shockwaves through the tournament.

Gasps. Stunned silence. The impossible had happened.

In that moment, I was not just a man—I was legend.

Hogfest 2024 was the first of many, and its legacy will live on forever in drunken retellings and exaggerated trip reports. To the boys, to the sea, and to the next year of absolute chaos—we raise our glasses.

Long live Hogfest.
Long live Boss Hog.
And may Fish Bitch never forget his place!