I recently took my 11-year-old son to Shell Island Fish Camp. Now regular readers will recognize the name and I dare say many of you have probably been there. I made my first trip there in 1981 or 1982. I don’t remember. For 20+ years my father and I went there several times a year and at one point once a month for years. I love it there. But the chase for bigger and better trout led me other places and I haven’t been back since 2006.
Recently a good family friend texted me and said let’s go camping! My response was ok but the more I thought about it the more I thought “I don’t want to suffer through a weekend in the heat in the mountains to catch a couple of small trout”. I would rather take my chances in my bay boat, in the gulf and at Shell Island. Memories flooded back and I got excited. Everyone loved the idea, and I made the arrangements.
In the almost 20 years since my last visit the previous owners have sold and are quietly retired now. The new owners have taken over and changed …. ALMOST NOTHING! How awesome is that for your childhood memories. The store was still a small wooden structure perched on the docks that showed the rising hurricane waters of yesteryear. The dock’s wooden planks that were rotten or missing than present had been updated. The old guide boats which were once made of wood and now simply fiberglassed over, still sat in their berths and waited the next young man to discover the wonder of the flats. The only improvement to the cabins, motel rooms and other lodging was simply the replacement of the towels. However, instead of a large 14’ gator prowling the depths beneath the cleaning table today tarpon swam and gobbled up every fish carcass that was tossed their way.
Camps such as this hold enormous importance in the lives of anglers worldwide. These places are where civilization fades away and the pursuit of fish takes priority. There is no beach, no 5-star lodging, no white glove restaurants. There’s a dive bar, a burger place, and this camp. It exists purely because a lot of us still love the simple pleasure of catching speckled trout and redfish. When we first arrived, we found our cabin and unpacked quickly then I took Beau to the docks and there he discovered his first tarpon. To watch your son experience something like these majestic fish for the first time is an almost spiritual experience.
Three days down there passed with watching it rain, smoking cigars, fishing, and men discussing the problems of the world and the pending engagement of a good friend. The TVs didn’t work in our cabin, and it was a glorious thing. We spent all our time on the porch when at the cabin. My son got to listen to a young man work through the questions of marriage, children, and faith. I got to spend time with my son and a young man that I admire and view as a member of my own family. Things like this rarely happen in a resort.
On the final day I had a chance to talk with the new owner, Mr. Horne, and I found a kindred spirit and an old Cracker that valued the Florida I love as much as me. Shell Island will enter another epoch of time in good hands and grandfathers, fathers and sons will continue to make memories on the flats and rivers around there for many years to come. For that I can simply offer a small and quiet thank you.
