Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/742011
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S • 163 S ome anglers travel halfway around the world for a shot at a fish that doesn't see a fly more than a few times every decade. It's not a new phenomenon, for anglers have visited such faraway places as the Northwest Territories, Mozambique, eastern Russia, and the remote parts of South America. Some of these places are on my bucket list, but until I hit the jackpot, I go in search of similar champagne destinations on my beer budget. Over time I have found there are still enough true wilderness areas just a short poke from a major metropolitan city. A few years ago I packed up my kayaks and headed to Florida to rendezvous with my friend Don. Our objective was to fish for snook, trout, reds, and baby tarpon in the No Motor Zone of the backcountry. Everglades National Park is a chip shot away from the bustling city of Naples, but when you're paddling through the mangrove tangles you'd never know it was close. It's a million and a half acres, which means it's far easier to get lost than found. Half a million of those acres are water— water means fish, and fish call my name. The well-known towns that pockmark the Tamiami Trail on the northern end down to Route 1 on the southern end have a similarity. Most have a motel and a restaurant, a bait and tackle shop, an outboard mechanic, and most importantly, a ramp. Sometimes I launch from Everglades City, other times from Chokoloskee, and still other times from Flamingo. With so many archipelagos along the western side, there is more water than you could fish in a lifetime. That said, many anglers, me included, never venture into the No Motor Zone. The area comes by its name honestly, for the only way to get around inside the zone is by paddle. Kayaks get the nod for accessing the area deep in the 'glades, but a canoe or a SUP would qualify, too. The zone is ripe with all things unsavory to man, which adds to the drama. There are swarms of mosquitos, gators, and the elusive Florida Black Panther. Add a few bears to the mix and you get what it's like. Normal people seldom venture forth into this area, and it is for that reason that drug runners in the 1970s air-dropped bales of pot from small prop planes. It made sense, for you'd have to be high as a kite to paddle Destinations by tom keer THE GLADES PROMISES SUPERB FISHING . . . BUT WATCH OUT FOR THE GATORS. into the zone at night, but that's allegedly what they did. The code name for their hauls was "square grouper," and if someone bragged about catching a bunch of "square grouper," you knew they scored big. The opportunity to cast to fish that rarely if ever see a fly . . . yeah, that got my attention. I brought my two kayaks down to load into the cockpit of Don's skiff. Our plan was to run out to the entrance of the Zone, off-load our Hobie kayaks, and paddle our way to epic fishing. Water depths are pretty consistent throughout the area, and it's generally under five feet deep. We'd be happy with a backcountry slam for snook, redfish, and sea trout, but there were also a ton of jacks, baby tarpon, and ladyfish. Some folks say there are bones and permit up there, and that may be true. I just don't know. Our plan was to spend a few days coming and going, our lodging coming through the good graces of some chickees. Before your mind goes in the gutter, a chickee is a T-shaped platform built high enough above the water line so a gator can't crawl into your tent. They have roofs to keep the