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...we discover the world’s “fishingest
bridge” and meet the man who met the real James Bond.
By Capt. Ken Kreisler — 2003
Traveling by boat, the excitement for me begins as soon
as I throw off the dock lines, and it continues long after I shut down
the engines, when I am able to add to the emotional logbook I’ve
been keeping all these years. After my most recent jaunt, a four-day trip
along Florida’s west coast from Captiva Island to Tampa, I have several
new entries.
This particular outing began when photographer Jim Raycroft
and I rendezvoused at South Seas Plantation Marina with Capt. Scott Rudisill,
his wife Joyce, and a 63-foot Hatteras motoryacht (a three-stateroom,
three-head beauty on loan to us from the Marine Max dealership in Clearwater).
The marina, run by John Findley, is a must-stop on any itinerary. Besides
protected berths for boats to 125 feet, the accompanying resort has golf,
tennis, several pools, the world famous and aptly named Sunset Beach shelling
beach, and lots of family activities. There are also some good eateries
on the property, among them Chadwick’s and The Porterhouse. We opted
for the excellent seafood buffet dinner at the former, after which we
settled into our boat’s comfortable saloon for a libation or two
before turning in.
Dawn found Raycroft and I strolling the backwoods of
the nearby 5,000-acre J.N. Darling wildlife refuge on neighboring Sanibel
Island, enjoying the silence of the mangrove forest, where snowy and great
egrets, white ibis, blue heron, and osprey abound among gnarled trunks
and roots. I managed to spot a mangrove tree crab and a golden orb spider,
but the larger animals—‘gators, turtles, river otters, and
armadillos—were not to be seen. The slight chill most likely had
them burrowed up for warmth.
By late morning we’d switched our locale to Sunset
Beach’s soft sands for some world-class shelling. Among the treasures
I picked up were spikey king’s crowns and smooth, rounded moon snails.
In no time, I had filled my hat to the brim.
As we had scheduled a late-afternoon docking on Gasparilla
Island, and with lunch looming, we hoofed it back to the boat. But we
didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Findley, so we gathered
up Rudisill and stopped by his office. “Where’re you headed,
Ken?” he inquired. I told him our final destination was Tampa, with
stops in Gasparilla, Venice, and Sarasota. “If you’re going
that way, you might find Matlacha interesting,” he said, pronouncing
it mat-LUH-shay. “It’s like the land that time forgot. I’ll
show you on the chart.” We huddled around his table and noted his
directions. “At the top of Cayo Costa you hang a right into Charlotte
Harbor. Then around Bokeelia and...here it is. Matlacha. How much do you
draw?” “’Bout four eleven to five two,” said Rudisill.
“Gets pretty skinny in there,” Findley warned. “Keep to
the channel and don’t go past the bridge...there.”
>> Next page >>
Part 2: Ashore we found a town
where the telephone poles had fish murals painted on them. Page
1,
2, 3,
4
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