The author shares a recent photo of a big snook, along with memories of days and nights spent in the Everglades.

The first chore was the removal of the two iceboxes to enlarge the living and sleeping areas. A linoleum floor was installed along with four bunk beds, a dining table and eight chairs in the main room. The kitchen area was equipped with cabinets for dishes and cookware, a sink, propane stove and refrigerator. Coleman lanterns were used for lighting at night for several years until more sophisticated propane lights were installed. A large (several hundred gallon) tank was installed on the west side to collect rainwater off the tin roof, which was in good shape, for showering and washing dishes. Bathroom facilities were very simple, consisting of a toilet seat and letting the catfish take care of the rest. Bottled drinking water and propane were brought in as needed. A screened porch and enlarged boat dock were built on the south end.

All supplies had to be hauled in from Everglades City, some six miles east. My dad, uncle and one other partner all owned 16-foot Lyman boats powered by 25- or 35-horsepower Evinrude outboards. They used these little boats to carry supplies, and to tow wooden skiffs tied together and laden with heavier items such as lumber, mattresses, stove, refrigerator and water tanks. All of this had to be towed at high tide only across Lane Cove, through West Pass Bay, Gate Bay and finally Fakahatchee Bay to the camp. A local resident of Fakahatchee, named J.P., rowed his skiff everywhere he went and at the time we were expanding the dock, he helped by rowing up the Fakahatchee River and cutting a dozen 15-foot black mangrove trees to use for posts. They are still there today.

In less than a year, they had built a functional fishing camp. Life here was quite comfortable, even in the heat of summer, being cooled by natural breezes and evening thunderstorms. At night we would often be serenaded by light rain on the tin roof. It would lull you to sleep so peacefully while you dreamed of big snook to be caught in the morning. I have to admit when the breezes stopped, the mosquitoes would be intense and oily 6-12 was the best repellent available. (Off, Cutter and Yard Guard would have been great!)

In the evenings after supper, we played poker and blackjack, frequently with a shark line tied off the dock baited with a dead ladyfish or jack. Large blacktip sharks were easy prey. One of the really nice things about the camp in those days was the fact that we never locked the cabin door. A sign on the door read: “Feel welcome to use this facility as emergency shelter if needed, and if you need to borrow fuel or any other item, please replace as soon as possible Signed: Fakahatchee Yacht Club.” I can’t remember ever having any items stolen.

As for the fishing, I probably remember the good times and try to forget the slow periods. We had many of the same things we see today: good years, poor years, red tides, windy days, muddy water. Memory tells me that small snook (less than 10 pounds) were much more plentiful throughout the area, but I think we actually catch more really large snook today. I guess that could be due to better tackle and line.

When the red Ambassadeur 5000 became available with its smooth star drag, it rapidly became standard tackle. Large schools of redfish and trout were certainly more common back then. One year, bull redfish covered Fakahatchee Bay and were a blast to catch on Creek Chub’s topwater Yellow Darters. For a year or two the Dying Quiver was the plug of choice for snook. Dandy Lures (both topwater and slow sinkers) were steady producers as were the blue Zara Spook and 52M11 MirrOlure, much as they are today. It seems that most of the tarpon were just too big and mean for our tackle, as most of our stories highlighted the ones that got away. One of the major differences fishing in those days was the smaller boats and no trolling motors, jack plates or power lifts. Fishing for snook generally involved plug-casting shorelines and oyster bars while drifting with the wind or tide and adjusting the boat position with a pair of oars. Dad usually insisted he man the oars while my brother and I fished. He would always keep a rod at his side rigged with an Upperman bucktail jig. If someone got a short strike, he would quickly flop that jig right at the spot, let it sink and invariably—Fish on!