I grew up with a rod and reel in my hand. I fished fresh water, saltwater, all water in between for just about every species I can think of as I write this.
I certainly liked fishing for bass in the Everglades and canals of South Florida. Trips to Lake Okeechobee were few and far between for a kid my age and I looked on those as if they were trips to a holy shrine. Bass and panfish angling is relatively easy and can be done with little expense. Literally every pond or body of water has fish, and is readily accessible.
For a kid growing up in Key West and South Florida, I sort of had the best of both worlds. A short walk or bike ride from my house on Pine Street in Key West put me at the water’s edge. Yes, Elizabeth, we had bicycles back then!
A short walk or bike ride from my house in South Miami put me either at the water’s edge on Biscayne Bay, or at one of the myriad canals that criss-cross the landscape there. All of those canals had fish – they still do. Today you can even catch the exotic peacock bass imported from South America.
My favorite fish became the black bass at that point. As I grew and obtained wheels – my first car was a ’52 Plymouth I bought from my uncle for $75 – I was able to reach a little farther with my rod.
On any given Friday night I would hit every accessible canal from Homestead to Key Biscayne in search of snook. Catching snook became almost an obsession when I was in high school. I had a rod and tackle in the car, and before I did anything else after school, I was on the bank of Snapper Creek chunking a white bucktail. Much to the detriment of my grades, I would spend the entire afternoon catching and releasing snook, tarpon and jack crevalle at the mouth of that canal where it ran into Biscayne Bay. My fishing buddies and I caught a ton of fish like that, although I was perfectly happy to be there alone.
They say you are a true angler when you can catch a trophy fish while no one else is around and release it to fight another day. I must be a true angler, because I have done that more than once. Some anglers fish all their lives in search of a trophy black bass – a “ten pounder” to put on the wall. I can truthfully say I am lucky enough to have released more than one like that while fishing alone over the years.
Fishing with my father put a whole new perspective on things. He was a meat fisherman. If the fish he caught wasn’t very good to eat, it was a “trash” fish and not worth catching. I can remember numerous times he hooked a huge tarpon – I’m talking in the 150 pound range – and then did everything he could to break the fish off so he could catch something worth keeping. Some of my friends who read this column knew him and can attest to his habits.
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