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Part 3: Speeding across the glassine water at 45 mph in 43 degrees of
air temperature in a flats skiff was an eye-opener.
By Capt. Ken Kreisler — 2003
The next morning a chill had settled into the area,
but Raycroft and I, determined to get some fishing in, had made arrangements
with local Boca Grande guide Capt. Roger Crafton to pick us up in the
morning for a few hours of light-tackle angling before we shoved off for
Venice. Speeding across the glassine water at 45 mph in 43 degrees of
air temperature in a flats skiff was an eye-opener, but we quickly forgot
the cold when we hooked up on our first drop—that is, when Crafton
and Raycroft did. Try as I might, I managed to only feed my fish while
the other two caught jacks, sea trout, redfish, and sheepsheads. By the
time my hook got hot—yes, I did catch a few—we had to get back
to our boat.
As Raycroft needed some shots of the town, Robbins agreed
to take us around, so we all piled into his van and he gave us the cook’s
tour. We visited the historic lighthouse at Boca Grande Pass, cruised
down tree-shaded Banyan Street, went past Damficare, Damfiwill, and Damfino
streets, gawked at the manicured 18-hole private golf course at the elegant
Gasparilla Inn (c. 1912), and saw waterfront homes so expensive that our
quintet could barely imagine owning one, even collectively.
Our four-hour run up the Intracoastal to Venice that
afternoon was the perfect time to kick back and enjoy the sights. With
plenty of food in the galley, a fair and fine afternoon ahead of us, and
congenial company, it wasn’t long before we were tying up at the
Crow’s Nest Marina for our overnight stay. An excellent dinner awaited
us at the restaurant of the same name, after which we again enjoyed the
comfort of our boat’s saloon and some lively conversation before
calling it a night.
We took a few hours in the morning to explore Venice
by bicycle—the marina provides them free of charge—and then
it was back up the Intracoastal to Sarasota for the afternoon, with enough
time to visit the Salvador Dali museum for a lecture and make it back
to the boat for the quick jump to Tampa. After that, I would be heading
out to the airport and home.
This was a fun trip on a great boat with excellent traveling
companions whom I looked forward to seeing again, but an important part
of this story occurred in Tampa’s airport as I was waiting for my
flight. It was 9:15 p.m., I had about 15 minutes to burn before boarding,
and I was strolling the shops when I ran into Robbins. “Hey Paul,
fancy meeting you here.” We shook hands like old friends. “Meeting
a buddy flying in from out west,” he said “Plane’s weather-delayed.
Looks like near midnight.”
“That was great of you to show us around,”
I said. “Anytime,” he answered, “how was the rest of the
trip?” “Great,” I replied, “we had lots of fun.”
“I hope to see you again,” he said.
“Same here,” I said, and as I walked away
I knew he, like the Rudisills, meant it. It comes with the special territory
covered by boat, as chance acquaintances become new friends in a very
short time.
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