Upper-slot redfish appear happy to oblige flyfishers in the pass.

South of Lanier Key, Bowdish shut off the motor and, while Laney poled, began working a mangrove shoreline with his favorite Matlacha spinning lure: a Zoom Horny Toad, light gray with black spots. He skipped it up under the mangrove branches, skittering it back across the surface with twitches of the rod, or slowing it down and letting it swim underwater.

At first this bass soft bait, just over four inches long, with twin tails on a 1/0 hook, seemed an unlikely saltwater lure. How often do we encounter frogs in mangrove estuaries? But within a few minutes Bowdish was battling and boating a 24-inch linesider that slammed it near an overhang.

Bowdish has a sentimental tie to the Zoom Frog—it is manufactured in his hometown of Athens, Georgia—but he fishes it for practical reasons. Its versatility means “you’ve got your topwater and you’ve got your subsurface,” he says. He uses it to imitate a swimming crab, a baitfish, even a mangrove crab dropping into the water. Many soft-plastic jerkbaits could be used to similar effect in this area.

After the mangrove shoreline, Bowdish anchored the boat on a sand ridge between keys where he had had success with tailing reds in recent days. We got out to wade the grass, sand and shell bottom, stalking wakes and tailers. Here the choice of weapons was a fly rod. But, as Bowdish had warned, with high midday light and water flow at the upper end of a rising tide, conditions were less than ideal. He finally landed a small red on his Baboon fly, a crab pattern.

Soon we were headed south of the bridge to what is usually some of Bowdish’s favorite water, the Rock Creek and Pine Island Creek systems south of Little Pine Island near Channel Marker 32. The day had turned blisteringly hot as we chased a school of busting fish, probably jacks, then headed up into the tight quarters of a tidal creek. In one bayou we spotted several rolling baby tarpon, but were unable to entice a take. Even the jerkbait struck out.

After finding no fish all the way up to a headwaters lake, Bowdish was justifiably angry about the black, toxic-looking water in one of his favorite areas. Visibility was less than a foot.

“You wouldn’t believe how many fish there are up in here when the water is clear,” he said, calling it a “wonderful” tarpon nursery.

After a quick cruising run back to Bert’s Bar and Grill, one of the village’s legendary eateries and watering holes, we ate a first-rate meal and relaxed in air conditioning while gazing out at the water. Bowdish continued his paean to Matlacha.

Last year south of the bridge he landed “the biggest bluefish I ever caught.” He has caught jacks that were “just huge.” Spanish mackerel, tripletail and cobia are common and he has even sighted sawfish. Recently, he said, he had targeted a massive school of tailing black drum that were so big “they looked like manatees on the surface.”

Unlike some topnotch fishing destinations, the intriguing thing about Matlacha is its plethora of attractions for non-anglers: galleries, shops, restaurants, landmarks and visual curiosities. Among the most popular, besides Bert’s, are the Matlacha Art Gallery and Moretti’s restaurant. Fishermen can relax on their excursions in the knowledge that family members ashore will not be bored or grouchy because of nothing to do.

The best fishing month, Bowdish says, is April, but “it has to be qualified. You’re gonna see 50 times more fish than you catch.” September and October are also high on his list. During the summer, he says, he prefers to fish in afternoons and evenings because the best fishing is during low-light conditions.

Rod bends like this are an everyday occurrence.

“Sometimes we can pound the water all day,” he says, “and we get all the fish in the last hour.”

Bowdish acknowledges that some anglers have success chumming the mangroves, but he does not bait-fish and says it is not necessary. Prospecting is easier and more successful with lures and flies. Among his favorite spinning lures, besides the jerkbait, he includes topwater walking lures, plastic shrimp, and, well, “any kind of soft plastic.”