Sanibel Island’s shore thing
At low tide on Bowman’s Beach, after the flats-fishing boats have motored out of Punta Rasa for the morning and the traffic along McGregor Boulevard ebbs into a barely audible hum, they begin to appear near the Sanibel Causeway.
One after another, they take their places in waist-deep water on a distant sandbar. Still as statues, unbending to the storm-force wind blowing today from the Gulf of Mexico and the spray of salt water from the intermittent whitecaps, they move only when casting their well-worn fishing rods baited with shrimp or sardine.
They are what the natives — the islanders that lived here before the luxury condos and resort hotels were built — call the Old Guard.
“This is old-style fishing, the way it was done before flats-boats, before tourists,” says veteran guide Mike Smith, a third-generation Sanibelian. He is knee-deep in a bed of sea grass, trudging toward our silent companions.
There are four others, wearing wide-brimmed hats, long-sleeved shirts and stony expressions that seem to be exaggerated by the shadows cast from a tropical sun. No one acknowledges us.
Why welcome interlopers who could ruin it for everyone? Saltwater fishing is becoming increasingly popular, according to the latest survey by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (it’s up about two percent in the last decade). But in this part of Southwest Florida, shoreline fishing has experienced an even bigger surge, according to locals like Smith. “It’s easy and cheap,” he says.
Cheap, yes. But easy?
Sure, compared with the cost of hiring a professional guide and boat at $400 a day, shore fishing is a bargain. A rod, reel and bait, plus the necessary permits will only set you back by a fraction of that (about $30 per person, at best). For parents whose offspring like to wander Sanibel’s shell-rich beaches but who couldn’t imagine lying on a towel all day, surf-fishing is an antidote to certain madness.
Or so we think as we slog out to the sandbar with Smith.
“One thing you have to understand is that if the fish don’t want to eat, they won’t eat,” Smith warns us while he cuts a frozen sardine into three pieces — the head, the torso and the tail. As he flings each fish part into the sea in front of us, hungry seagulls zero in on the chilled carcasses.
None of the other fishermen are chumming. We have an unfair advantage — maybe.
Surf fishing looks deceptively simple, but it isn’t. The most experienced fishers know they have to pay attention to everything from lunar cycles to weather to equipment. Under the right conditions, you can catch dozens of fish in a day. Under the wrong conditions, you end up with nothing.
We’re good to go on equipment, but it turns out our timing is off.
Only a few days shy of a quarter-moon and with a cold front pushing through South Florida, the fish are reluctant to eat. They’re still there, no doubt. Snook and trout and redfish are abundant in these waters.
“There’s one, right there,” says Smith, pointing at a patch of churning water about a car-length from our sandbar. But the wind is blowing so hard that the line on his fishing rod makes a sound like two out-of-tune tin whistles. He tries to light up a Marlboro, but it keeps flickering out.
Casting in the wind is a skill that’s almost impossible to master. Any effort to aim for the gamefish ends up being foiled by the weather. No matter how patient we are and how many bits of sardine Popsicle we tried to entice the wildlife with, we end up with nary a nibble. Several hours later we retreat to the beach, fishless.
Smith is oddly upbeat. We stand on the sugar-white sand as the other men emerge from the water one after the other.
“Catch anything,” we ask.
“Naw,” they inevitably answer.
So why do the old-timers stay out there in the wind and waves, even though on a day like today they must know they won’t catch anything? Part of it has to be, as the adage goes, that a bad day fishing is better than a good day at work. But equally important, perhaps, is the “where” — the fact that despite the wind and cooler temperatures, this remains one of the most breathtaking places on the planet.
From land, standing out there on the sandbar being hammered by the elements looks like no fun. But actually being there, wading in 80-degree water, with the Sanibel Island to your right, the silhouetted high-rises of Fort Myers Beach on the left, and the open blue of the Gulf straight ahead, can be as soothing as a spa visit.
The people who surf-fish here claim all they want to do is catch something.
Who are they kidding?
– Christopher Elliott and Kari Haugeto