Ready for the dawn patrol in the main lodge. Ham and eggs sizzling in the kitchen nearby. The coffee was thicker than we were accustomed to, some kind of local blend, a real treat after sleeping hard each night. On the left was this guy Sam from central Florida, who claimed 200 snook landed during his full week of fishing at Camp Warunta.

We kept a couple of deep-hooked snook the first day for fresh seviche, prepared every evening thereafter by our fine cook. All other snook were released in good condition, so this camp is effectively a catch-and-release operation.

Nothing like a room with a view. We were never more than 30 inches from water the entire stay. Peace and tranquility. No television or radio allowed, no cell phone connections. Time slowed to a crawl. You fished all day, except for lunch and a nap if you wanted one. They had a small library of books and some good music CD’s too. Ian murmured several times, “Dad, don’t play any more Journey!” I told him the University of Florida’s student-run newspaper had decided that Journey was still cool, while Phil Collins sucks. Ian agreed with that. As did our fishing hosts.

Ian Richard dragged this feisty snook from heavy cover with bait-casting gear. It slammed his lucky purple Rat-L-Trap, trolled past thick, jungle shoreline. We were impressed with the possibilities of trolling for snook back in Florida, which is now sort of a lost art. Forty years ago, people commonly trolled Bomber plugs for them. Today we have a countless variety of plugs that would work.

I finally found myself in a country where saltwater fish will readily hit my own, homemade, bucktail jigs….woo hoo!

Our guide Ralston took us far up some narrow creeks that drained the jungle, that later opened up into wider spots for casting. The jungle was dark and impenetrable. We did not feel predisposed to climb out of the boat for any reason; never get off the boat. Not even for a mango tree.

Sassy snook were fat and full of fight. Many acted like they had never seen a lure before.

We saw river traffic only now and then, sometimes as many as two boats per day, if we happened to be in one of the deep rivers (trolling for tarpon). This wooden boat has tons of produce and people on board, pushed along with the aid of a 15-horsepower outboard. Can you imagine paddling that boat all day? I bought two heavy bunches from them, and fried plantains appeared on the table each night.