Seconds later, I watched my rod tip jerk twice, violently, then form a deep bend, as if snagged on the shallow rocks the boat had drifted over. After un-holstering my hand from deep inside a bag of jalapeno kettle chips, I grabbed the rod and felt the electricity of a live being travel up the line and through my arm. With that kind of fight, I could tell this wasn’t the indifferent headshake of a lethargic walleye accepting its fate but a more substantial catch. With a few cranks of the reel, the trout—a good 16 inches long, with a rotund profile—came over the transom, flopping wildly on the carpet, trying to shake my No. 7 Jointed Shad Rap from its jaws.