I love to hunt. But when hunting seasons aren’t in, I love to fish. Having a family of my own has enlightened me to the wonders of heading to Florida for Spring Break since it takes place before turkey season starts. If you are geographically impaired I’ll let you in on a little secret about Florida, it’s a peninsula. In other words, it’s surrounded on three sides by water. In this case, salt water. What that means for me is a reprieve from work, winter, and the doldrums of everyday life in the form of fishing for things that I am not the least bit familiar with.

I’ve written about the benefits of using a guide or charter service before and once again utilizing someone with a boat and expertise allowed me to have experiences I would have otherwise never imagined. On this Spring break, I would use a fantastic Captain but also waded the waters of DIY in hopes of experiencing the struggles and knowledge of learning things the hard way. I would not be disappointed in either case.

Flying has its benefits but as of lately, they seem to be dwindling. Having just returned from a disaster of a flight home from San Antonio, when my wife suggested driving from Indiana to Florida I was all in. I’m not a light packer either so this would allow me to load up on equipment for any conceivable situation. Including but not limited to, fishing gear and coolers. Oh, and lots of sun protection in the form of long sleeves, pants, gators, and wide brims. I also thought I could save a little cash by bringing down food and drinks but after they rang me at the checkout before leaving Indiana I’m not so sure I outsmarted anyone with that move.

Somehow during the drive South I found some superhuman strength and drove through the night until my wife relieved me at 6 AM. This even included an hour-long delay in Tennessee and a detour along a winding river that was sketchy at best. I’m positive if we had slowed down and inadvertently made eye contact with anyone shots would have been fired. Having a 4-wheel drive gave me some confidence we might live through this but around every bend, I was reminded that there were no guard rails protecting us from the steep drop-offs into the dark abyss. Had I miscalculated in any way, we’d never be found again.

We arrived on the Gulf Coast on Friday afternoon but didn’t have Captain Dylan Naylor booked until Sunday morning. It just so happened that I had conveniently located a marina that sold bait only 6 minutes away from our beach house. My wife in her ways that continually amaze me had found us a place on the water with a dock, or at least what was left of one, and shallow water to wade out into. After I recovered from the all-night drive fest, my son and I went to the marina to sniff things out. I knew we were at the right place when we walked up and there was literally and figuratively a “bait bar”.

I love America.

Not having any real idea of what I was doing I ordered two dozen shrimp and a dozen white fish, also known at this place as shinners. I say this because shiners at another location were different, I had to order pinfish. This leads me to the fact that finding live bait took me all over the island. Next time I’ll take a note from the guide and locals and just bring a throw net as a backup plan. For the moment though, we were in business. Back to the cottage we went and got the bait into the minnow bucket I had found floating at the end of the busted dock. All I really knew at this point was I had a license, two poles, bait, and some popping corks left over from when I lived near Galveston Bay in Texas.

The dock probably extended 50 yards into the water before all the planks had been ripped off in last year’s big hurricane. The piles remained however out for at another 50-75 yards showing off the original size. The dock ended about where the water color changed from a shade of sand to green then to a deeper blue. Thinking the dark water was where the fish would be I opted to wade out belly deep and cast just to the transition from light to dark. I don’t care much for swimming or being in the water but if there is a way to get me out into it, this was it. I spent much of that first afternoon wading out and casting shrimp and shad near the end of the dock hoping some fish would be checking out the structure or playing the depth change hoping bigger fish ran that line in search of a snack.

As the day wore on I got more comfortable with the ocean and decided that I wasn’t catching any fish because I wasn’t getting out deep enough. Wanting to get my son as involved as possible I asked if he wanted to kayak out to the end of the dock so we could really reach out to the fish. While he enjoyed it, his worrisome dad did not. I strapped us both into life jackets and with the wind from the island pushing us out we easily paddled to the end of the structure. At this point trying to keep the wind from blowing us out to sea, his kayak tied to mine, both of us somehow anchored to one of the pillars, the bait bucket attached, not lose the poles, bait, and cast, plus deal with waves, I don’t know how much fishing I really did. I made sure to keep his pole in the water and re-baiting his line after it kept disappearing.

Eventually, he wanted to head back…thank goodness. He wasn’t able to paddle in so my plan of keeping a rope tethering us together was a good one as I paddled for both of us while he enjoyed the ride. Once back on shore I took a deep breath and cracked a beer. After the failed kayaking effort I decided to stick to the working end of the pier later that evening. With the evening sun still shining bright I was able to see fish periodically passing through so I rigged up a setup very similar to what I use to catfish with. I ran my 14lb line through an egg sinker and tied off to a steel leader. I attached a circle hook on the other end and stuck my minnow through the back. I threw it off to the right of the dock and let it soak. I had a similar second setup except rather than an egg sinker, I attached a popping cork. With a shrimp on the hook, I cast to the left of the dock.

I’m not sure at what point in the evening it happened as things were slow for the most part with me just doing my best not to get a tan. The tip of the rod bounced and then bent. Quite surprised but well-trained, I jumped into action to set the hook. He was on there now and quickly let me know. Stripping out some line there was certainly a fighter on the hook. The thing about fishing in the ocean like this is that really you don’t know what’s on the other end. He ran directly away at first but I was able to persuade him to head back in my direction. He came closer and I became elated when I saw the distinguishing black stripe down his side. I had a snook hooked up! I didn’t know what a snook really was other than while looking for guides this was a target fish. It helped there was a beautiful painting in the cottage depicting a snook as well. Just when I thought I had things figured out he let me know why they are sought after by sport fishermen. He zigged and drag-screamed. I’d work him a little closer and he’d run again.

When I got him close to the dock and I thought the game was over he did exactly what I didn’t want him to do. He just let me bring him in and then darted right at me, past me, and under the dock. I couldn’t slow him and before I knew it he had done a figure 8 around several piles and my line didn’t stand a chance. After it sliced cleanly through the snook had the audacity to slowly swim directly underneath me, shake his head to dislodge the hook, and calmly move on out to sea. I now knew why snooks were a choice species.

I should have known it was going to be an epic day when Captain Dylan text me the next morning and said he was early and had easily caught more than enough baitfish. My son and I hustled as best we could and raced to the Marina. It looked the same as it did the day before other than the ’22 Skeeter with the shiny 250 on the back manned by the poly long-sleeve, gaiter-wearing gentlemen looking like he was waiting for someone. Introducing myself, the outlook continued to be positive as Captain Dylan quickly struck up a conversation with Cole who jumped right on the boat while I went into the marina office to pay my parking fee. Waiting for a short period of time while the only person working was serving up bait from the bar, I eventually squared up and the Captain wasted no time starting the day’s adventure. He clearly knew where he was going, which was great since I didn’t. I turned my hat backward and enjoyed listening to the horses run as we skimmed the top of the water.

The sun was warm and the wind felt good. Light refracted off the small waves and it was everything you could envision in an inshore fishing trip. Rounding a mangrove island a dilapidated boat was clearly the victim of a hurricane. Dylan mentions claiming it for his own and turning it into his own houseboat. I personally doubt this happens based on the condition but it did act as a marker to me for the location we were heading. I suppose not knowing what to expect, I was surprised to see us ease from what looked like an estuary to a larger body of water. Captain Dylan stopped short of the break in the mangroves and his excitement was evident as he hadn’t been able to claim this honey hole a few days prior.

I didn’t get all the specs on line weight but it was heavy and there was a non-metal leader line attached. We used spinning reels and circle hooks. That was it. No weights. Just about as basic as it gets. His live well was full of what a guy from the Midwest would call minnows but from my recent experiences could be considered whitefish or shiners. He took what may be described by some as an oil funnel or even a birch moose call made from plastic to fling a number of minnows into the small channel we faced. The water erupted. The calm surface boiled as snook engulfed the Captain’s offering. Just as quickly as he had given his gift to the locals he followed with ones hooked just above the anal fin.

Making the first two casts it was only moments before Cole and I were reeling in snook. We didn’t know at the time what exactly was going on other than there were fish everywhere. I hadn’t settled in or gotten mentally prepared for what we were experiencing. We were just casting, catching, and releasing as quickly as we could. After the initial adrenaline rush, I had questions. It helped that we picked off all the easy ones too. As my cast got tighter and tighter to the mangroves, I was getting hung up more and more. This allowed time for questions and general discussion about the area, conditions, and snook. We were staying in a little island town on the Gulf side of Florida, named Bokeelia. After leaving the marina we motored out across the bay eventually passing a series of freestanding, elevated fishing shacks. Dylan explained that back in the day when commercial fishing was likely less regulated, these shacks are where the fishing camps were run out of. They are now considered historical sites and cannot be added on to or even sold, I believe.

The owning families can use and maintain, but they are basically there until they get destroyed or fall in the water at which point they are lost forever. The mangrove islands which held the snook we were catching are in constant ebb and flow. What is there one year may be gone the next after a hurricane blows through. Judging from the discussion with the Captain these mangroves are so very important to the local ecosystem. I’m sure if I did some research I could find hundreds of environmental benefits they offer but for the moment we knew they were the key to some of the most exciting fishing I had been a part of. The snook themselves were prized by the Captain. It was nice to see someone care so much about the game he pursued. Of course, you’ll find this same trait in many of us hunters and fishers that value the gifts God has given to us as high as we do. Unfortunately, you’ll also find those that are simply here to exploit game. As Captain Dylan’s passion spilled out he described that there had been season closures or reductions for speckled trout, redfish, and snook due to dwindling populations. He complimented the Florida agencies who are responsible for maintaining fish populations for making these moves. The trout were the first to rebound, followed by the reds. The snook season had only recently opened back up and there was a very limited take available. It was clear though that the Captain had no intentions of us keeping any snook as we didn’t bother measuring any, only briefly raising a few out of the water for a couple of grip and grins. I respected his stance and the fact that it’s guys like him that make it possible for guys like me to come out and live and learn about his corner of the world.

Now that I had gotten a better understanding of what we were doing and the environment we were doing it in, I cast with a new appreciation. As I threw tighter and tighter to the mangroves the bites kept coming. At low tide, this area was nearly inaccessible. At high tide though, as we were experiencing, the elevated water levels were allowing the fish to hide deep into the mangroves. It proved somewhat troublesome but other than a few snags we managed just fine. At one point I had cast through a low-hanging branch but my bait still made its way to the water. It dangled for a moment with the line hung up four feet above the top of the water. Suddenly the branches started lowering towards the water and the line tightened significantly. Eager to see if my line would come free I set the hook and gave a few quick tugs with the rod. I had a fish and I was clearly hung up. The fish splashed at the surface and simultaneously the Captain and I yelled, “It’s a red!”. Between the two of us, we did our best to free the line without having to take the boat up to the fish and spook what was left out. I am confident the fish would have landed had that been our primary goal, making it my first redfish ever. We still had some fish to catch and eventually, the nice red freed himself and we recovered the bare hook and line. We continued to fish this side of the opening until things slowed and Captain Dylan decided it was time to ease through the small opening we had been fishing and see what was on the other side.

We trolled through the gap you could see fish of all types darting here and there. It was truly spectacular. The diversity of the area we were fishing in was astonishing in comparison to my usual haunts. After squaring the boat back up and dropping the power poles we were immediately back into the fish. We caught snook for another 30 minutes or so when Captain Dylan said we could hit another spot and try and get a few trout for a fish fry. Zipping across a nearby sound we changed our tactics up a bit looking to mix in some speckled trout.

Actually, in Florida, they call them spotted trout. I picked up the term speckled in Texas. As far as I can tell they are the same thing, just one of the minor geographical differences that make America so great. This time we added popping corks and fished about forty yards off the edge of the mangroves. We could still see the bottom but I had to think we were fishing in ten feet of water rather than 1’-3’ for snook. The bit took a little while to warm up and we had to make a few moves but eventually, the trout were thick as thieves. The ferocity with which they hit the bait and sunk the bobber was imposing. For the size of this fish, there was no doubt when it took the minnow. Cole perked back up as we started measuring lengths dropping fish into the ice.

Eventually, we were joined by a porpoise looking for an easy meal. Interestingly enough, it would follow a hooked fish all the way up to the boat without eating it. The porpoise would then hang around until we either put it in the cooler or tossed it back for being too small. If the trout wasn’t long enough for us to keep, it became dolphin food. Realizing this was counterintuitive to the whole point of limits, we started putting the small ones in the live well until the dolphins got preoccupied with something else and then threw them back. We just wanted to give them a chance to fight again someday. The mood on the boat was light and fun. The Captain got to reel a few in while Cole snacked and we ended up with a nice mess of fish to take back to the marina. I do have to admit I was quite pleased to share some deer sausage with Dylan. I had brought some from home for the trip and cut some up to take with us on the boat. Dylan seemed to very much enjoy it and then followed up with many questions about deer and big game hunting. I was happy to share some of my experiences and urge him to take any opportunity he gets to try his hand at deer hunting. Who knows, maybe I’ll get the chance to reciprocate and take him out for an adventure he’d otherwise not get the chance to partake in. That’s what we as Sportsmen and women should always strive to do, share with others in the love of nature and game.

As all good things must come to an end it was eventually time to head back to the marina. The wind had picked up a bit so the ride in was a little choppy than the ride out had been. Please note I was the only one to get splashed and soaking wet. I’m not 100% the Captain didn’t do it on purpose to give Cole a good laugh. Either way, it was a good ride back and we were welcomed at the marina by some friendly local patrons excited to hear about our luck. Captain Dylan made quick work of fileting our catch and letting Cole feed the pelicans with the carcasses. I won’t say it was the highlight of his day but he certainly enjoyed doing it. That’s the great thing about excursions like this, you just never know what your day will bring. He’ll likely never forget the way those birds’ giant mouths opened up and quarreled over each fish. Another treat was when Dylan recommended one of the mullet sandwiches that the marina cooks on the weekend. It just so happened it was Sunday and the chef was in. Ordering a pair of sandwiches for my son and me we found a couple of chairs and made short work of these slaw-topped masterpieces ourselves!

With full bellies, fresh filets in the cooler, and the taste of the “salt life”, we hopped back in the truck to check on the rest of the family. Now that I had been treated to an exceptional morning of guided fishing it was time for me to continue on my own personal learning adventure. I did pick up some tips though that I would apply for the rest of the week. One, I didn’t buy any more shrimp. We only used fish to catch fish so I didn’t waste any more of my money. Two, any time one of our bait fish seemed less than lively Dylan would quickly put a swimmer on. Lastly, I noticed he used both methods I had been using, fishing the bottom and also using a bobber. Both produced fish, but they were different fish. The snook without a bobber were anywhere from top water to three feet. The speckled trout were probably in 10’-12’ of water but the depth of the bait was set at around three feet. I was on the right track but needed to gather more info about my specific situation before coming to any conclusions.

I was realizing that there wasn’t much going on midday around the dock. I’m not saying I didn’t try throughout the day, but late afternoon and especially after dark seemed to bring the most action. On the first evening post-boat trip, I focused on throwing out minnows but they were mostly dead. Even with that, the pole I had sitting on the bottom was getting some action. I made the mistake of resting it on the back of the chair I was sitting on and it slapped me in the head several times as fish hit the bait. At one point I was talking with my daughter and nearly lost the pole as something had slammed the bait that hard. Sometimes I’m a slow learner but the lesson for the night was “pay attention”.

The following evening I was able to find some live bait and a new reel. My old reel must have not been a saltwater reel and decided it wanted no part of Florida and just locked up. This in itself proved to be a bit of an adventure as the bait shop I found (the marina was out of bait and reels) was running their live wells in the back of a truck off of a generator. It was clear that the area had not fully recovered from the hurricane that struck the previous Fall. There were some geographical differences that we worked through as I wanted “whitefish” since that was what the minnows I ordered at the bait bar were labeled.

I followed up with “shiners” but they said they didn’t have any for fresh water. I explained that was good because I was fishing salt water. After a few more exchanges we settled on the fact that I needed pin fish. With that, I got two dozen dumped into the cooler and was heading back to the cottage with a shiny new reel.

That evening I managed to land a couple of catfish. They weren’t big but I was happy. I ditched the popping cork though. I would be bouncing my bait off the bottom from here on out unless something drastically changed. Unfortunately the next day, my live bait was no longer alive. I froze some and saved them for backup if I couldn’t get any swimmers over the course of the day. Lucky for me we ventured out for supper and it just so happened the place we were going to eat had a bait shop next to it. I was getting nervous since this stretch of road had been hit hard by the hurricane and there wasn’t much left standing as far as structure. Lucky for me after a full belly of fish tacos I swung in and grabbed another couple dozen pinfish. These guys were big and they were lively. I had a good feeling the dock would provide it tonight! I was getting some nibbles and some of my hooks came back empty. I hauled in two catfish bigger than any I caught the day before. It helps pass the time but I wasn’t looking for saltwater catfish. I wanted snook or trout. I had seen five trout swim by one evening so I knew they were around but the snook seemed like a more likely possibility.

I worked hard to maintain fresh bait on the line and closely manned the poles. I just had this desire that I wanted to catch one of the popular game fish on my own. Prove to myself that I could do it if nothing else. I was enjoying the night which was a bit windier than the previous. In this case, it was nice, it kept the mosquitos at bay. Watching intently the tip of my rod moved in a way that was different than the movement created by the waves. Then it bent, hard. Having been waiting for this I instantly had the rod in my hands and gave a tug to ensure the hook set. I had him now. This bait had been soaking a short distance from the dock so I actually had a chance if I played my cards right. He dashed away at first then veered toward the labyrinth dock piles. Stepping to the very edge of the planks I had to stand on I held the rod out as far as I could to get him turned away. Again he changed course but this time angling away from the dock and back towards the shore. Reeling quickly to keep the slack out I eventually caught back up with him. Working him in I was starting to get nervous. I got to thinking I might actually be able to pull this off. As he neared he darted under my feet bringing back memories of the last snook that did this to me. I applied more pressure this time knowing that if I didn’t he would for sure wrap me around a pile and be gone. It was worth the risk of breaking the line trying to hold him back rather than letting him have his way and hang me up. The effort worked and he was soon back in the open water but not done fighting yet. Again he came towards the dock and decided to make a run between piles. This time he did so where the planks were missing and could swing the line through and catch him on the other side. Knowing he was tiring I quickly worked him back toward the shore. I miscalculated my jump from the dock and landed in the water rather than on the pseudo-dry beach.

Bringing him in my level of excitement was through the roof. It was a similar feeling to when I landed my first steelhead out of a Michigan river. Securing the fish by his lip, I removed the hook. I was by myself so taking a good picture was out of the question. I had to document this moment. I sprinted to the cottage and up the stairs. Throwing the door open while my family was playing a board game I exclaimed one of them needed to get a picture and fast. I didn’t believe this fish would meet the 28”- 33” window to qualify as a keeper so I had to get him back to the water pronto! Someone obliged my request and I smiled and waited for the flash. After a couple of quick pics, it was back down the stairs to get this guy in the water. Working him back and forth in the waves to get the water flowing through his gills, it wasn’t long before he popped right back to life and purposely splashed me as he used his tail to propel him back into the dark ocean. I stood triumphant. Following that moment, I simply went back to the end of the pier and collected my gear. I had accomplished what I needed to do for the night, for the trip.

I tried to repeat the next afternoon only to hook into a sting ray. I called my evening early knowing I needed to pack and get ready for the voyage home the next day. I was not excited to leave and still yearned for more tranquility coupled with fleeting moments of action. I had a normal life to get back too so logic won out and we pulled out the next morning. What I can say though is I am already looking forward to the next time I get to hit the Gulf in search of the many treasures it holds for the fisherman.