From Swamp Thing To Beach Bum

"I simply can't take it anymore"

That was my quick and dirty answer to everyone when they asked why I was moving out of South Florida and leaving my job as guide in the Everglades. It had, in fact, broken me. 

I knew prior to moving south from Gainesville to Boca Raton that if I was to ever grow tired of anything, it'd be the people. And that's exactly what happened. I actually loved what I did in South Florida. Even though people who are close to me heard me bitch quite a bit about my job, I actually thoroughly enjoyed it. From the time I picked my guests up, until the time I dropped them off, it rarely felt like work. The rest of the time, however? I really REALLY didn't enjoy. 

Sure there were some bright spots.

I met some cool people. Got to experience some fun things that aren't offered anywhere else. But for the vast majority of my time in South Florida, I simply didn't like it. West Palm Beach to Homestead is essentially one massive city. The biggest city that I've personally ever been in and after a while it took its toll. Commutes to and from work ranged under 10 miles but took hours. The cost of living was outrageous. And the people? I won't blow smoke up your ass...

The people are shit.

 Like I said, I met some cool people, but for the most part, the people are terrible. And not even one demographic over another. Just the people in general. 

I've read several "studies" and reports about urban living. How it can lead to aggressiveness, poor mental health, etc. Though I won't argue with anything they have to say, I really think it just boils down to this: Too many people, too close together. 

The way I see it, you're allowed to be a terrible person and essentially get away with it there. Say, for example, you're at a bar. You drunkenly decide to completely show your ass. Fight the bouncer, throw drinks on someone, whatever. End of it all, you get kicked out. 

So what?

There's so many people that there's almost ZERO chance that you'll ever run into any of the ones you just pissed off ever again. Try that in small town USA and you'll suddenly find yourself with no friends and a bad name for yourself quite quickly. There's no accountability, and I think that just leads to worse people in general. 

Another thing was that I found it extremely challenging to find people who shared the same interests as me. Aside from beer drinking, the only other hobbies I have revolve around the outdoors. Fishing, kayaking, spearfishing, hunting, etc. But when it came to many of the people I met, the most "outdoorsy" they ever got was laying out on the beach. Many had never even seen an Alligator, despite living in South Florida their entire lives. So what in the world do I have in common with them?

There was one evening after work that I stopped by the bar in Deerfield Beach and sat down to unwind before heading home. It wasn't long before two girls my age sat down right next to me. I introduced myself, told them what I did, and chatted with them for a while before finally one of them, Chelsea, stopped me mid sentence...

"Oh my God...so I have to ask...Would it be weird if I got your number to give to my boyfriend?"

"...umm...what?"

"He's a huge outdoorsman and he's been down here for years and hasn't met anyone who's into what he likes"

Fast forward a week and Chelsea's boyfriend, Shaun and I are spearfishing off of the Pompano Beach pier together and are still friends to this day. 

Yeah I made a few friends, but bottom line, I simply wasn't enjoying living there. At one point I actually managed to get so stressed I successfully gave myself Shingles (listen to Terry Bradshaw, it sucks).

Yeah dude. Live around the ancients long enough and you catch that kinda shit. 

 I needed to make a change. ASAP. 

As luck would have it, I have friends scattered all over the state of Florida. I knew that I didn't want to move back to Gainesville. Yes the town is great, but I'm not in school anymore nor am I 21. Unlike most people from Pensacola, I'm still avoiding moving BACK, so that was a pass too. My sister lives in Jacksonville, and that region was a place I'd yet to spend much time in, so why not? I began looking for places and it just so happened that one of my best friends Kiersten was looking for a roommate in a beach house in Saint Augustine. For cheap. 

Put me in coach. 

So I quit my job, led a couple of friends through the Wilderness Waterway one last time (at least I keep telling myself one last time), packed everything up in the truck, and drove myself up to Saint Augustine Beach. 

A 3 story beach house that overlooked the ocean sounded infinitely better than pretty much anything I'd encountered in South Florida, so I was ecstatic. In order for the house to be so cheap, however, it meant living with 4 other people. 

I originally had my reservations, but it didn't take much time for me to fall in love with the beach life and not mind living with 4 others at all. I shared a bathroom and kitchen with a guy named Richard, and we happened to take over the 3rd floor of the house which meant every morning we awoke to a sunrise directly over the ocean. It also took almost no time for all of us to become very close friends. Myself, Richard, Kiersten, and the other two roommates, Casey and Brad, became almost inseparable during our time at this beach house. Days were spent lounging (as I had no job yet), evenings were spent walking the coquina littered beach with beers, and nights were spent partying as often as possible. Eventually (and drunkenly) we decided to name the house/group Casa De Pantelones based off of a painting on the wall that said "Ain't No Party Like A No Pants Party" (yes our name was wrong, I told you we were drunk). 

The whole "moving across the state with no job" thing worried me at times, but thanks to years of seasonal work, I've learned to not be one to fret too much about employment. I'd eventually find -something-. Even if it meant scrubbing toilets with that 5 year college degree. Money is money, after all. 

What I wasn't expecting, however, was to be browsing craigslist one morning and discover an opening for a Kayak/Naturalist Guide right there on Saint Augustine beach. Not to sound full of myself, but I was a shoe in for the position, and it was quickly my full time job. A fact that my mother, upon hearing of said position, and always worrying about my future, simply responded with a sigh and, 

"You always manage to land on your feet...don't you?'

And so I spiraled into a life that I can only describe as being a massive beach bum. I didn't surf, but I kayaked every day. I showed people manatees and dolphins, talked about ecological change, and actually kinda used that degree that I got. I wrapped up work around 2pm at the latest, and I went back to Casa De Pantelones to party on the beach with my friends. Every. Single. Day. Days that I didn't work, I jogged on the beach in the morning, went kayak fishing, and celebrated that I had a day "off". There was a few week period that I didn't even bother wearing shoes. Barefoot, sweat stained, mildly hungover, and sunburned was how I existed. And to be perfectly honest...

I loved it. Who wouldn't?

It's during this time that I began to write my book. I was the proud new owner of more time than I knew what to do with, so why not be somewhat productive? Also, for those those of you who follow my snapchat, this was also the time when I unexpectedly made a best friend in the form of a cat named Jimmy. 

As a lifelong rule, I've disliked cats. Jim, however, was an exception. Maybe it was his three legs, his orange charm, or my incessant need to draw on his missing arm using phone filters. Regardless, he remains one of my favorite animals to this day, and if you miss him, there's always this instagram profile that I may or may not have shamelessly made for him: 

https://www.instagram.com/jimmyonearms/

Then came the day that our asshole, massive piece of shit, lint licking, mom-please don't-read-these-cusswords landlord decided to cancel our lease 8 months early to instead rent to some of his friends and take our entire security deposit. Casa De Pantelones was no more. 

An easy solution would be to find another house, right? In theory, yes. But in practicality (and against equal opportunity housing laws) no one was willing to rent to 5 different adults who were unrelated and not married. The rental market in Saint Augustine is garbage. If it isn't snowbirds who'd rather rent vacation homes than monthly residences, it's bottom feeders like Phil Martocci (see previous "landlord") who renege on lease agreements. So in the long run, we couldn't find a place all together and had to split, just a few months after I'd settled into a new town. 

I soon moved into a different house on the beach with Brad and Richard, while Kiersten and Casey found an apartment together a few miles away. Sadly, life on the beach was nothing more than a shadow of what it used to be. Was it still fun? Absolutely. Was I still a beach bum? Pretty much. I did pick up a second job as a salesman pushing Citrus, Pecans, Fireworks, and Wine (like I said, money is money). But my initial life and introduction to Saint Augustine was long gone. Looking back, it was one of the most memorable, enjoyable, and fleeting few months I've ever experienced. I quickly found myself in a gated old folks community on the wrong side of A1A. We were the youngest in the neighborhood by around 40 years and between nosy seniors and the homeowners association, my time there was VASTLY different than my time in the previous home (those stories are for another post). 

My time in Saint Augustine was infinitely better than the time spent in South Florida, but much like my life in Casa De Pantelones, I would soon find it too, to be fleeting. After all, one can only be a beach bum for so long. 

The Glades are Calling

I've put it off for long enough. It's been over a year since I took a trip down to the Everglades, and now the urge to get back down there is practically keeping me up at night.

I plan to chase cichlids again. I don't know why, but catching them on a 3 wt is just as much fun to me as catching Snook and Tarpon. Maybe something's wrong with me.

But let's not be ridiculous. I'm a saltwater guy at heart, and no trip to the Glades would be complete without a few Snook.

At this point though, I'm exhausted. Exhausted from doing countless hours of long distance research through the computer. Searching for recent fishing reports, watching Youtube videos, and scanning Google Earth for hours on end has worn me out. Back in 2009, the cichlids in South Florida took a huge hit from a freeze. From what I could tell based off of my 2010-2012 trips, they've been essentially eradicated from Alligator Alley, and their numbers were hurt pretty bad everywhere else. They aren't gone. Let's get that straight. They'll never be gone. But they're harder to find right now as they make a comeback.

These fish are almost impossible to do any accurate research on. Few people know what they are, much less catch them. And even fewer specifically target them. If I lived down there, it wouldn't be such a mystery to me. I could just do my homework, find where they are, and go on my happy way. But even from here in Central Florida, it's a 6 hour drive to where I fish, and I'm not fond of spending most of my time down there getting skunked.

As of right now, I do know a few canals that hold good numbers of cichlids. I've been able to catch them even since the 2009 freeze. But it's beyond frustrating at the lack on information that's out there on how their recovery is doing.

So I'm done researching from behind my computer chair. There's seriously nothing more I can read (I slugged through several scientific papers on invasive's impact on native fish populations -just- to see where they were). It's time I just get down there and fish.

I'm certainly not going to catch any if I don't wet a line.

A Look Back at 2012

So it's a new year. And since I (sort of) keep up with my writing, I suppose I'm required to make some sort of post that reflects on the last year. Right?

Everyone's doing it, after all.

2012 was bizarre to say the least. With the exception of graduating college, there was practically -nothing- that happened to me over the course of the year that I actually saw coming. So here's a list of things I absolutely was not expecting in 2012 (Picture heavy):

My first pig.

Wishing I'd played football so I could tackle deer better.

Becoming a giant fan of craft beer.
Killing multiple deer with darts, yet failing to kill one with actual rifles/bows
Playing with awesome technology (including FLIR)

Sightfishing for Bonito

Having multiple writing opportunites open up
Being single for the first time in seven years
Nearly stepping on a giant rattler

Catching my biggest bass

Then doing it again

Getting a Facebook, Twitter, AND Smartphone (I've almost caught up with everyone else my age)
Discovering Tannerite

Making life-long friends in the middle of no-where
Realizing that fawns get eaten like hot-cakes

Killing my first coyote
Killing my first boar with a pistol

Going Crappie fishing for the first time

Getting VERY little kayak fishing done
Becoming an uncle

Fishing out of a Gheenoe

Catching my first Snook on the fly

Discovering Mullet isn't good when grilled

Practically becoming a radio telemetry master
Realizing how important family and true friends are
Having the Jeep attempt to kill me on multiple occasions
Realizing the Jeep will float (for a second)
Discovering that bow hunting for pigs from the ground is easier said than done

Going on my first muzzle loader hunt

Getting momentarily burned out on hunting for the first time
Actually -wanting- to be around people/civilization
Confirming the fact that I absolutely -cannot- work in an office cubicle with no windows
Learning what "Business Casual" means
Becoming a firm believer in the ThermaCell

Getting paid to write
Getting a new girlfriend
Killing my biggest boar

Learning to play one of the greatest games ever invented:  "Stump Game" (I'd suggest googling it)
Learning that deer can actually growl
And finally,
Deciding to go back to school

Though this isn't an exhaustive list, I feel like I've hit the big moments. I purposefully -don't- write about everything that happens to me in the outdoors. It's important to me to do this as I often find myself becoming disengaged as I try to take pictures, or failing to really appreciate the experience by rushing to write down the events. Certain things make it on the blog, while others are saved to be told first hand around a campfire, on long drives, or when the bite is slow. The love of simply telling a story often outweighs the love of writing about it.

2012 was a pretty wild ride and brought an absurd amount of unexpected events. If I could change just one thing, it'd be to get more kayak fishing done. I really barely got out in the bright yellow yak. So even though I'm never one to make a new years resolution, I guess if I -had- to, it would be to fish out of the kayak more in 2013. Sounds reasonable...no?

I will be back out in the woods again this spring to tackle unsuspecting deer. I've also got one more whitetail hunt planned before the season ends for good. I know that things won't go at all like I expect them to in 2013, but I look forward to the unexpected. After all, the unexpected is what makes for good stories.

Stay tuned!

Flamingo Fishing

The longer I've kept up this blog, the better I've gotten at taking pictures while out on the boat or in the field. However, every once in a while, I fail miserably at taking pictures. My Flamingo trip happened to be one of those instances.

The strange part was that we actually caught fish. The fishing was great to be honest. Once again, the wind wasn't cooperating, so the first thing my dad and I did after launching was motor over to a key that was out of the wind. While using the trolling motor to ease around the mangroves, I noticed the obscene amount of mullet schooled up along the edge of the trees. There were literally thousands. Had I brought the cast net with us, I doubt I would have been strong enough to pull up the net once thrown.

The best part was that there were big schools of Reds mixed in with these mullet, and it wasn't long before both my dad and I had a double hook up.

Unfortunately (and I still don't know what happened), these are the only two pictures I took that day. We caught more Reds, and even a few Snook. But for some reason, I just forgot. In hind sight, I'm kind of glad I didn't take more pictures.

It's often always difficult for me to just -stop- fishing and take out the camera for snap shots. I get into that "zone" where taking pictures, or even thinking about anything but my next cast would just throw me off. I was having a blast, and catching fish. So in all reality, my lack of pictures is a good sign. Sometimes I just like to keep the memories upstairs rather than have a picture. It makes the experience that much sweeter.

Later in the day, the mullet started to move farther from the mangroves and out onto the flats. I kept hearing something big splashing, but could never lay eyes on it. We finally rounded the corner on a key and I saw what was making all the splashing: Dolphin. But they weren't just frolicking. They were feeding. But feeding doesn't quite give what they were doing justice. It was a total National Geographic moment.

I sat in awe for a moment as I watched this. I'm usually violently angry mildly perturbed when dolphin show up. But this was just amazing. It was something I wanted to get a picture of, so I turned around in the boat to get my camera...

To see a 70lb Tarpon right off the bow.

It's amazing how quickly priorities can change while out fishing. One second, my mind is completely focused on the dolphin show, National Geographic, and taking pictures. The next, I'm double hauling my 8wt. for all it's worth at this Tarpon. Dolphin? What dolphin?

Amazingly, I managed to put the fly right where it belonged. However, with the way the fish was angled, my fly line landed right across his back, and he quickly disappeared into the milky green water.

And that was the end of my excitement for the day. The tide rips out of Flamingo and if you aren't careful, you'll end up with a boat stuck in 6 inches of water for half the day. We called it quits once the tide really started to dip low, and headed back to the launch. Much like the backcountry, the area around Flamingo is huge. It would take forever to figure it all out. What makes one flat, or cut, or key better than another is anybody's guess as far as I'm concerned. We were lucky enough to find fish, and have an awesome time doing it. So really, you can't ask for much more. I'll work on my picture taking, but if I fail again, I don't think it'll bother me -too- much. It just means I was catching fish.

Everglades Backcountry Part II

I believe I left off in Part I with the loss of a behemoth Snook.

I wasn't really even upset that I'd lost this fish. After all, the chances of landing it on such light tackle were slim to none. But nevertheless, I wish I had at least gotten to fight it for longer than 3 seconds.

It was getting late and my dad and I were both pretty tired. We kicked up the trolling motor, and started making our way back to the boat ramp. On the way back, however, we decided to make one more stop just to see what we couldn't catch.

The area was out of the wind and the mangroves butted up against some fairly deep water. After lowering the trolling motor and cutting the engine, I proceeded to launch a flawless cast approximately 30 feet up into the mangrove swamp. I honestly don't think my DOA shrimp had even the slightest chance of finding water with such a cast. Since we were running so low on DOA's for the day, it was decided that the best option was to use the trolling motor to get up into the mangroves and try to free the lure.

After several minutes of maneuvering, ducking, pulling, cursing, and swatting at mosquitos, the little shrimp was finally free. We were now pretty deep in the mangroves, even underneath some. I noticed that there were several small pools of water around the base of some of the mangrove roots. These, however, we about 5-6 feet away from the boat. I still don't exactly know why...maybe just for gits and shiggles...but I underhand tossed my shrimp into one of these pools and watched it sink. Gave it a twitch...and BOOM. A snook inhaled it, turned with it, and broke me off on the roots.

We couldn't believe we'd gotten so close with the boat and still managed to hook a fish. I proceeded to tie on my last DOA, and give it another try. This time, in a different little pool, but still just as close as before. Sink. Twitch. Boom. Snook.

We did this for the entire stretch of shoreline, stopping every few feet to drop a shrimp into the hole. I desperately wanted to toss a fly to these fish, but it would have never worked. Even the fly rod itself would have been too long to wield amongst the limbs and roots. We made the choice to back out of the trees just a bit, and I gave the fly rod a go. By this point, cloud cover had moved in, and it seemed like the fish were readily leaving their cover in the shade of the mangroves to hunt a little farther out.

After casting half of my rod into the water, getting my fly line tangled on the trolling motor, and casting my deceiver into the mangroves countless times, I was on the verge of just throwing the whole fly rod into the water. It amazes me how fly fishing can look so relaxing and elegant at a distance, yet once up close, it can give even the most seasoned angler an aneurysm from pure frustration. But once again, the fishing god's smiled upon me, and my troubles were rewarded.

Having eventually had our fill, we ran back to the dock and called it a day. That evening we stocked up on DOA's and heavy Florocarbon for leaders. We awoke even earlier the next morning, and took off for Flamingo well before light.

One thing I had noticed on our first day was that I never saw a single Snook striking or chasing bait on the surface or underneath the trees. We got out onto the water about an hour earlier this day and the -very- first thing I see is Snook striking bait all over the place. First cast of the day resulted in a Snook and the bite kept up like that for about 30-40 minutes. My dad and I both caught Snook and hoooked and lost baby tarpon. I always seem to forget just how hard one must set the hook on a Tarpon, so we failed to land any of them.

The sun got just a little higher in the horizon, and it was like someone flipped a light switch. The bite completely stopped. No more bait being chased. No more Snook and Tarpon hitting the surface. And no more hook ups. It seems that it was once again a prime example of how game species keep horrible hours. Early early, and late late.

With the bite now completely off, we decided to just go explore. We took off into Whitewater Bay, and just worked various shorlines that were out of the wind. I did manage to convince a nice Red to come out from under the mangroves and chase my DOA, but I wasn't paying attention and worked the shrimp to the boat before he could grab it.

After a few hours we made our way back to the ramp, stopping at a few spots along the way. We saw a manatee that, like always, scared the crap out of us (we don't exactly see a lot of them in Pensacola), and we even managed to land a few small Snook on the way back.

Overall, the Everglades Backcountry was an amazing fishing trip. I was pleased that we actually managed to find fish to catch. The place is giant and depending on the time of day, year, and tides, one can either do great or get completely skunked. I think that like most places, being able to consistently catch fish just requires the angler to put in the time and do his/her homework. A lifetime honestly isn't enough time to learn the Everglades. It's just too big. But I'd still love to try.

Stay tuned. Florida Bay/Keys fishing report, right around the corner!

Everglades Backcountry Part I

The days approaching my 2012 Everglades trip seemed to crawl by. It was relatively difficult to actually focus on anything but the upcoming trip. I had plans to land my first Snook and my first Tarpon on the fly rod. But this year was going to be a lot different than previous years. It would actually be my first trip without kayaking.

That's right...The Flying Kayak would be...well...fishing from a boat. A brand spankin' new Gheenoe to be precise. My dad recently purchased one and we would be putting it to the test in Hell's Bay.

The night prior to our first backcountry trip was practically sleepless. I'd roll over and check the clock appoximately every 12 seconds. Five O'clock finally rolled around and since I couldn't stand it any longer, I got out of bed and started getting ready. Almost simultaneously, my dad walked out of his room, ready to start the day as well.

Even after waking up earlier than need be, we got off to a purposeful late start. Since neither of us had ventured into the backcountry from Flamingo before, we opted to wait until it got at least light enough to see. Our objective for the day was to make it into Hell's Bay and the surrounding area. Well, that, and to lay into the Snook and Tarpon.

I honestly don't know much about Snook fishing. Since we don't have them where I'm from, my limited experience has been just flipping jerk shad underneath mangroves and hoping for the best. If I intended to actually land one on the fly, I'd have to come up with something a bit more productive than just "hoping for the best".

Using the GPS and my vague memory of google-earth satellite pictures, we wandered our way into Hell's Bay. I found the layout of the creek bottoms to be pretty interesting. The bottom wasn't a uniform depth, but rather there'd be channels that butted right up against the edge of the mangroves. These deep sides held the current from incoming and outgoing tides. The opposite side of the creek would be much shallower, around 1 ft deep. We fished these deeper sides in hopes of finding the Snook, but it wasn't working. I did have a small Black Snapper come up and strike my lure, but he failed to get hooked.

After wandering around for a few hours, we began to stumble into small bays that were choked up with thick aquatic vegetation. We fished these bays with no luck as well. And as if we needed any more difficulty catching fish, Mother Nature decided to send her sure-fired method of preventing anglers of success. Dolphin

Time to leave

The question then came up: "Now what?"

The Everglades Backcountry is enormous. It'd take a lifetime to even get to know half of it. We opted to work our way back out into Whitewater Bay and try to fish an area out of the wind. I should note that there wasn't a breath of wind on the water until I picked up my fly rod. The resulting gale forced us to find places to fish that were out of the wind.

Once back in Whitewater Bay, we started working along the edge of a shoreline. I had switched from a jerk shad to a DOA shrimp. My confidence in the DOA's had risen slightly after my most recent trip to Port St. Joe, so I decided to give it another try. It didn't take long before I had my first hook-up of the day.

Just a few casts later and I started catching Black Snapper in the 10-12 inch range. A little further down the shoreline and I had another strike. This one practically underneath the boat.

Another few casts and I landed a pretty little Speckled Trout.

Apparently these fish were enjoying the DOA's. Since we only had a few in the tacklebox, I made sure to maneuver the boat into the mangroves to retrieve the lure after every bad cast (which happens on a near constant occassion).

It was getting long past mid-day now and the bite seemed to be slowing down. My dad and I decided it was getting to be time to head back, just after we fished one last little stretch of shoreline. I cast my DOA shrimp right up along the edge of an old dead tree and let it sink. After a few twitches, I felt a strike, set the hook, and began reeling in about a 10 inch Black Snapper. What happened next, I could have never been ready for. The fish fought his way to the surface and in an instant, disappeared in an explosion of water and foam. I saw a giant tan Snook tail disappearing back into the tannin stained water, and my drag began to sing.

But only for a second. I was broken off almost immediately by a Snook big enough to swallow a Snapper...whole.

Part II soon to come. Stay tuned!

Everglades Exotic Fish Tournament

So I meant to post about this back in July, but got...side tracked.

I realize posting about it in November is a bit late, but bear with me. I found it interesting.

Back in July, the Everglades Cooperative Invasive Species Management Area hosted a non-native fish roundup. Simply put, a tournament to catch exotic fish in South Florida. The results, along with pictures can be found here: http://www.evergladescisma.org/roundup/results.cfm

I found this whole thing interesting because of recent events here in Florida. Two winters back, Florida had near record breaking cold snaps and freezes. There were widespread snook kills and a massive die off of exotic fish, in particular, the Oscar.

The ecologist in me was happy about the exotics dying off, but the fisherman in me worried. Even for their small size, Oscars are one of my favorite fish to catch. There's just something about tossing a fly near a fallen log, and having a fish a little larger than a bluegill, engulf it and fight 10 times as hard. So was having a large population of these exotic fish die off a good thing?

It's hard to tell really. I've read papers about both Oscar's and Mayan Cichlid's effects on native species such as Largemouth Bass. From what I've read, having the exotics around hasn't really caused much damage. Yes there is a large amount of predation on small bass by the exotics, but at the same time, big bass have an almost unlimited supply of tasty cichlids.

To add, there's actually an exotic species that may suffer from a die off of Oscars. That species is the Butterfly Peacock Bass. Native to the Amazon in South America, the Butterfly Peacock Bass was purposefully introduced into the Florida Everglades by the state to help control Oscar and Mayan Cichlid populations. Since then, the Peacock Bass have become a major sport fish. So there's the possibility that having a large amounts of Oscars dye off could be detrimental to the Peacock Bass.

I've seen a change in the amount of exotics first hand. My first encounter with these fish was in May of 2008. My dad and I stopped along the Tamiami Trail and noticed that there were -hundreds- of fish teeming around the rocks and bushes in the near by canal. At the time, we weren't sure what they were, but we knew they weren't native. Using worms and gold hooks, we proceeded to have a hay-day.

My next trip occurred in early August of 2008. -Something- changed in between that time. Perhaps the heat forced some of the fish into deeper water...Who knows. But they weren't as thick as they had been in May. That's not to say, however, that they weren't there. We still found them, and filled the cooler.

In May of 2009 I found myself down in the Glade's again and just like the previous year, the fish were thick. I caught close to 10 Oscars off of one sunken log at one point and this time we laid into the Peacocks as well.

Winter of 2009 was when the freezes hit.

I made it back down to the Glade's in June of 2010. Immediately, I went to see if the exotics were still there. It took quite a bit of poking around, but I finally found them. They weren't -nearly- as thick as they had been the year before. They were definitely few and far between. I made another trip later in the summer since I was working within 3 hours of the Glades. Once again I found the fish, but they were still lacking a bit.

Realizing that the fish were still alive, I desperately wanted to get back down there. And from everything I'd read, the BEST time to fish for them was around December or January. I made a trip down there again this past February to get in on some of the -awesome- fishing...We went just in time for a cold front.

The cichlids were all but gone. The cold had driven them into holes and deep spots, and we only saw 2 or 3 Peacock Bass the whole trip.

It, of course, was in the 70's the following week, and I'm sure the fish were teeming once again.

I haven't been back down there since. So reading about the exotic fish tournament was interesting. The total weight of fish they pulled in was almost 226 lbs. That may not sound like a lot, but remember, Oscars and Mayans usually weigh about 1-2 lbs. They pulled in -alot- of fish. However, I searched and couldn't find if they'd had previous tournaments. It would be interesting to see if there was a change in the amount of fish pulled in before and after the kills.

I'm really not too worried about the exotic populations after the freezes though. From keeping Oscars in an aquarium, I know that under the right conditions, they can grow up to an inch per month. They usually max out at about 12-13 inches, so you do the math.

I've no doubt that the exotic fish species are there to stay. It would take more than just some cold snaps to get rid of them. I certainly look forward to the next time I can make a trip down there. Until then, I'll just tie up flies for cichlids, and look through old pictures in anticipation.