Keeper-size snook prowl these waters.

We moved again, this time to a spot where my patience was finally rewarded. The mangrove gods immediately granted me two undersize redfish. A bald eagle circling overhead threatened to rain on our parade. Nevertheless, I decided to forget about guano and pay close attention to my jig, which was the right decision since we subsequently landed several other reds, plus two or three small snook. The action eventually slowed, and since the tide was falling rapidly, Keith decided to slip our surly mangrove bonds and touch the face of grass.

A moment later, we were racing toward the open Gulf. We passed only one other guide while in transit. From the looks of things, his party was soaking shrimp on popping corks.

Our backcountry trek had been memorable. The most amazing part was that during the entire several-hour period, we encountered fewer than a handful of other anglers. The most formidable of these was wearing feathers, which narrowed it down even further.

Once we cleared the pass, Keith headed south to an area surrounded by channel markers. The water was slightly off-color. After coasting to a stop, we started drifting across an invisible flat that Keith claimed harbored large seatrout. The prospect intrigued me, so I questioned him further.

“We don’t catch really big trout,” he replied, “but get plenty in the 3- to 5-pound range. When the weather gets cold during the winter, the fish move inside to the potholes.”

So far, the only trout I’d seen was a throwback we’d lost in the backcountry. Still, we’d caught a number of small snook and reds, which combined with the overriding ambience to provide a stellar experience. I’ll admit that I was thinking about dinner. However, the flat failed to deliver and with the exception of a few ladyfish and catfish, we remained fishless.

About the time I reached for a second helping of sunscreen, Keith decided to fire up the outboard and run. I’d been hearing about an inshore “reef” he’d discovered. I never figured out exactly what lay on the bottom, but Mike assured me that three weeks earlier the sunken obstruction had offered up a piscatorial smorgasbord that included several large tarpon and a jewfish.

Opulence in the wilderness.

The move gave me an opportunity to view my surroundings. While the boat cruised effortlessly, I reveled in an unparalleled view of Cape Romano. Meanwhile, I was able to distinguish certain features among the mangroves, one of which appeared to be Goodland although I couldn’t say for sure. Keith and Mike were huddling around the GPS unit and occasionally checking the depth recorder for signs of sunken debris, so when Keith pulled back on the throttle, I knew we’d hit our mark.

As soon as the boat came to rest, Mike reached for the anchor while Keith retrieved his trusty shrimp net. Judging from the recorder screen, we were situated in approximately 10 feet of water over a loose aggregation of fish. We began casting our jigs and shrimp but as it turned out, to no avail.

It was several minutes later that I noticed the almost complete absence of tide. Having fished Gulf wrecks before, I understood the importance of current. Nevertheless, it was a pleasant day and I soon found myself immersed in that groundswell of drowsiness that’s drowned many a sleepy angler in its flood.

My nap was short-lived. I awakened abruptly to discover Keith fighting something substantial from the bow.

The battle reached a successful conclusion when Mike slapped the twine to a keeper snook.

I subsequently landed a real trophy, but only among the catfish ranks. There were several more cats in quick succession, but none reached the dimensions of this singular chap. Before I could unhook the last of these finny nuisances, Keith came tight again.

A fast strike revealed this feisty tarpon.

Strikes came regularly now. Mike’s tip snapped downward in an arc. Line slipped grudgingly from his reel and seconds later, a 4-foot tarpon exploded within spitting distance of the boat.

After nearly 15 minutes and several trips around the boat, Mike succeeded in bringing the 35-pounder alongside where Keith was able to release it.

It had been quite a day. But when the trip was finally over, I felt refreshed rather than tired the way you’d suspect. After all, it had been quite awhile since I’d enjoyed such a salubrious combination of solitude and good fishing. What’s more, the fact that I didn’t have to have my teeth rattled made it that much better.

As far as moving to Goodland, I’m not recommending it. On the contrary, I’d rather you visit and leave the homesteading to the locals and the birds. What I did learn from this assignment is that some things transcend glitz. One, to my way of thinking, has to do with quality recreational time.

FS