In Deep Part 2

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    This is a continuation of an article from the January Onshore Offshore. As we rejoin the happy anglers, Capt. Johnny Touchton and his good friend Capt. Tim Whitfield, they are fishing deep in the heart of the Chokoloskee wilderness.

     

    “I’m looking for the really thick linesider that was lurking up close to the groves.” I told Tim. “She had to be close to twenty pounds,” I continued. Tim agreed. We poled the rest of that side of the bay without seeing as much as a creek chub or killifish.
    As we rounded one of the corners, into a bend that was previously obscured from view, an osprey launched itself off one of the many mangrove branches and sailed just across our bow. It called to
    its mate off on the hunt.

     

    “I don’t see a thing. The bay looks lifeless.” Tim said after some time scanning the water’s surface.
    “I suppose we could blind cast. I mean, that first fish ate completely at random and neither of us saw her.” I said while resting for a moment atop the platform. Tim began false casting his line and began a search pattern of the shallow water, beginning from 1 o’clock and working counterclockwise towards the edges of the groves. This continued for the better part of an hour to no avail.
    “That old man was full of crap if you ask me. One lousy damn snook for all the work it took to get back here; it’s just not worth it.” I said out of frustration. “Why don’t we break for lunch? I need to eat something.” We sat down on the front deck and Tim popped open the Yeti. A couple of bologna and cheese sandwiches came out along with an ancient handle of rum.

     

    The dark bottle was still half full, but had been in the cooler for so long that the paper label had long since rubbed off. I packed my Tervis with ice and put plenty of the blackstrap rum and coke in it. I finished it off with a lime wedge cut from a fruit bobbing in the cooler. Tim followed suit and we rested while the ospreys called and the herons looked on.
    The cool breeze that had been up in the canopy the whole time finally fell down into the bay and pushed our small craft to the opposite end. As I looked up from my drink, I realized that the bay continued back even further than previously thought.

     

    The twenty acre bay had now tripled in size and in the far back corner I could see a large canal where there were copious numbers of mullet attempting to take flight, only to wind up falling back into the blackwater, thanks in no small part to gravity. With my sandwich eaten, I topped off my drink and finished it with more lime, then hopped back on the platform to push Tim up to try the new area.
    “I’ll play the wind and stake us out on the edge of those mullet so you can blind cast into the school. See where they stretch out on the flat from the inside of that canal?” I waited for Tim’s response.
    “Yeah okay, I got them. You think this dark zonker will continue to produce?” He asked, mostly out of boredom from throwing the same fly for the better part of the day.
    “Yeah I don’t see why not. It worked on that snook earlier and when you eye it in the water it looks almost exactly like a dark creek chub. I’d try it for a few minutes in the school of mullet and if it hasn’t produced then we can switch it out.” I answered.

     

    We never got the chance to switch the fly out, for among the mullet, lay everything from Jack Crevalle, to big winter trout, to redfish snooklets gorging themselves on the shrimp and crabs stirred up by the big school of smoke-ready fish. The next three hours were a blur as we continued to catch fish after fish on nearly every cast. None of the fish had much size to them, but when you get to take part in a fishing melee such as this, you don’t complain too much about the size of the fish caught and released. As the bite died off after a while, we picked up our spinning outfits to sooth our aching shoulders from casting the long rods all day. After seeing the juicy rubber presentations cast at them, the blitz continued.

     

    The waning day crept up on us and soon we were having difficulty seeing beyond the bends of the bay. With no cell service and the GPS not working properly, we found ourselves in a rather serious situation. On the trolling motor, Tim sped us along the shoreline where we thought that we had started the day. I stood atop the platform to look for anything that might give us a clue as to our whereabouts. I had just looked up from my phone, which still read, “No Service,” when I caught a glimpse of something manmade. I informed Tim, who directed us towards the wood laden structure.

     

    We had stumbled upon an abandoned chickee that so often dot the canals and bays of the Everglades. The structure had been obscured from our sight the whole time we had been fishing and only through our desperate search for an exit did we find it.
    “Well…I’ve slept in much more uncomfortable places before, though I cannot remember when or where.” I said aloud.
    Tim just smiled as he reached into the front deck of the Action-Craft and pulled out mosquito netting and a couple of lightweight hammocks, along with kerosene lamps and a cook stove. He looked up to my eyes which I’m sure were as wide as a deer in headlights. Tim finally said, “I planned for this. I know how we get when we are fishing, and figured I would come prepared.”

     

    I laughed at the notion and thanked him for his foresight into our recklessness. We tied off the boat and climbed up. Upon the last plank of the ladder there was a message etched into the wood. It read: For the forlorn and the hapless. – A.W.

     

    We couldn’t help but laugh as we strung our hammocks and cut up the redfish that we had planned on searing in a cooking pan in the air conditioning, rather than over a camp stove fire in the wilds.
    Amongst the cicadas, raccoons, mullet splashes and the ospreys calling from above, I do believe
    we never slept so soundly or were more at peace. To be continued…

     

    If you would like to experience a fly fishing or light tackle expedition such as this one, do not hesitate to give Capt. Johnny a call. With thousands of pristine miles of backwater to choose from, your experience will be as legendary as meeting Alligator Willie. Call 813-713-0237 or email lpineoutdoors@gmail.com.

     

    Read this article complete with all imagery in the Onshore Offshore digital flipbook by clicking here.

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