Fort Lauderdale is a busy place. Trust me, I know. After living there for one whole week I determined red doesn’t mean stop and the term “slow down” is a very rare occurrence, in all aspects of the phrase. New location, new job, new house, new roommate, and one big cultural learning curve. It was a wild time to say the least. 

So when the new gig tells me “hey there’s a tarpon trip booked with your name on it, up in Homosassa with Florida Outdoor Experience,” I couldn’t help but put on a sly grin. 

With a past career at Hell’s Bay Boatworks, I’ve known Gray and Lacey for a few years now and have always envied the operation they run on Florida’s serene Nature Coast. A true testament to Old Florida, littered with southern hospitality. Not to mention a client lineup of anglers and hunters that typically grace magazine covers and tv screens. 

Somehow through all of my many travels with HB, Homosassa was the only piece of water in FL I’d never had the opportunity to visit. Let alone even seen. 

We left Ft. Lauderdale at a nice time of day. 4:30 pm. The first hour was spent in bumper to bumper traffic. Lots of horns. Lots of middle fingers. The real pleasant side of south FL. 

A few hours later we pulled off the turnpike and pointed west, scouring the countryside over rolling hills and pastures riddled with the livelihood of many in this part of the state. The windows rolled down and the sun wasn’t far behind. 

You can tell when you’re getting close. The trees get a bit more crowded over the roads, the speed limit signs keep you at a cool 35mph, and the smell of some mix of salt and oyster mud begins to fill the air. A natural canopy has always been a special sort of thing to me, the kind of thing that makes you feel home no matter how far away it may be. 

We pulled into the Old Mill Tavern and were greeted by lightning bugs and laughter. Followed by hugs, handshakes, and cold bud light. Our polo shirts may have been a bit out of place, but just added to the laughter. Friendships were rekindled and new ones formed as we scarfed down some chicken wings and curly fries, hardly coming up for air. There was no formal planning for the coming day, just a general game plan of we’re gonna give it hell and I promise your arms will be sore by days end. 

Tabs paid, we headed off into the canopy towards the Poon Shack as they’ve eloquently deemed it. Standing tall on stilts, the Poon Shack was far from a shack. An Old Florida home on a canal just off the main river, with its own boat ramp and a yard full of skiffs full of stories. Home. 

Gear prep was easy as pie, thanks to the FOE crew staying on top of things; a theme that rang true throughout the trip. We finished off our night caps and headed off to bed, although I can’t say much sleep was had. That night before Christmas feeling crept in as my head hit the pillow and I spent most of the next hours eyes wide open, waiting for the 5:30 alarm to go off. Naturally, I didn’t need it. 

Gray slid the boat off the trailer and I slowly motored it over to the floating dock where he and my buddy/colleague, Harcourt, hopped aboard. We were off for day 1 of our annual “sales trip”. Did I mention it was a Friday morning? No emails, no calls, just a front row seat to a region of Florida that reminds me of what it must’ve been like for the early pioneers. Untouched. Unharmed. Real and beautiful. As we hung a left off the main channel Gray told us to “hold on.” Running shallow creeks with rock piles just below the surface will wake you up faster than a Cuban coffee, and you better make sure you listened when he said hold on. 

We entered the Gulf of Mexico and headed in a direction I’ll leave to your imagination. The sun hit the horizon as we ran along the coast, giving us our first glimpse of the Nature Coast in all its glory. Clear skies and a light breeze. How often does that happen when you actually want it? As we came off plane, gray climbed onto the poling tower and I demanded Harcourt get on the bow. I hate going first. Hell, usually that’s just because I love to pole the skiff. But today I was kicked back in the center console seat with a coffee in hand and grin on my face. That didn’t last long as I heard Gray say, “there’s 2 rollers up ahead at 11.”

Of course I had to get up for a closer look. Sure enough, a group of tarpon were rolling and headed our way. The first casts are always the hardest. Shaking off cob webs and steadying your shaking knees ain’t a task for the faint of heart. I think those fish knew, because they made it a sure point to let us know they would not be playing today. No worries, another group over yonder. 

This was about how the whole morning went. Roll. Cast. Roll. Cast more. We chased one group for about 15 minutes as they continued to give us shots, but only reciprocated with middle fingers. Gray got a workout on those fish for sure (sorry buddy!). 

As we switched spots on the bow we exchanged huge grins. To see tarpon in their environment doing their thing is always an incredible sight. To cast at them, even with rejection, will put a thrilling smile on any skilled anglers face. You don’t come on a trip like this to catch fish. You come for the opportunity to catch fish. If you think you’re coming for the latter, I’m sorry my friend but you have things wrong. 

In between all the casting, I couldn’t help but ask Gray the many questions on my mind. I was curious about the fishery, the place, the guide culture, his family’s history, his pure love for Florida, the state of the fishing industry. Gray’s family history could make for a book of its own. Coming from the Carolinas and settling in Chiefland, FL, their roots run deep in the local community where they’ve built successful businesses based precisely around that. Community. The Florida Outdoor Experience is no different. The quickest question he answered all day was “do you ever get tired of guiding?” Before I could get the last word out of my mouth he responded, “No.” No hesitation, no second guessing. Just a firm “No.” He is a guide, through and through. Gray embraces the position he is in, perched high above us. He is a teacher.  And not the kind that yells when you get an answer wrong. His passion for everything about this world is like that of a child picking up a rod or bow for the first time. Some people have this rare quality, but it’s a very small pool. 

We moved spots and we were in a totally different scene. Sand bottom and strings of fish. For a second I almost felt like I was oceanside in Islamorada, but brought back to reality by the peace and quietness, and lack of jet skis wizzing by. I was on the bow and spotted a quick roll. Keep an eye at 10 o’clock, 80 feet. The fish entered the sand bottom in front of our skiff at about 40 feet and I realized it was a string of 8. Scramble. Cast at the leader, nothing. Recast between 2 and 3. Fish follows and eats... as my hand was at the very back of my strip. The line came tight and as I gathered my composure to give him a good stick, poof he was gone. It’s amazing how a few seconds can seem like a lifetime in this situation. Hell, Gray already thought we were off to the races before realizing the fish popped off. A few select words were rattled off, and then came that thrilling smile. My first go with a nature coast tarpon. Guided by a great guide. Cheered on by a good friend. To me, the day was won. 

The day continued on with plenty more shots at fish, plenty of follows, a few more swipes at the fly, and a total change of scenery in every spot we hit. At 5pm we loaded up and headed back to meet the rest of the crew. Parked on a flat, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, our 2 skiffs hugged tight as Capt. Lacey concocted her famous gin drink and poured us all a round. They’re good friend Fred Eichler had just arrived in town and was on the skiff with Lacey. A legendary bow hunter, Fred spoke of the tarpon he’d seen prior to arrival in the tone of a little child. Pure excitement. We swapped stories of the day, and made sure to point out the fish that got away. Laughter continued as we motored on in to the local watering hole. 

Back at the poon shack, the crew grew as friends and friends of friends poured in for the evenings main event: a steak dinner. But not just any steak. These came from the Drummond family’s cattle ranch. To say they were top notch would be lying. They were perfect. Even with Sawyer almost burning the house down while cooking them. 

The best part of southern hospitality is it is universal. If you have it, you have it. A group of people get together, where many don’t know each other from a hole in the wall, and by nights end, the “friend” group is grown. One guy walked in and looked familiar to me. It was driving me crazy trying to figure it out, so we got to talking and found out he was from Orlando, my hometown. Ok, but still, how do I know you? A couple minutes later we realized we met at a Tyler Childers concert in Orlando just a few weeks prior. My world has always remained small, and this was just another one of those “how the hell” moments. 

Bourbon flowed and stories of fishing and hunting were swapped. Fred Eichler engaged with everyone. No “celebrity” like persona. Just a normal guy with the same passion as everyone in the room. What a cool dude. His questions of tarpon were much like my questions of his bow hunts for elk. A pure curiousity to understand a totally different world. 

As the evening settled down, Lacey sat in the screened front porch at her tying station, whipping up tomorrow’s lunch. Organized chaos is the best way to describe her setup, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Our buddy Bennett made sure we tied up the fly he threw earlier that day, which resulted in 2 eats. Don’t mind if we do. Another night cap and off to bed, but this time I slept like a baby. 

Day 2 decided to bless us with clouds, storms, and a cool 10-15mph solid wind, creating a rather difficult morning with few fish to be seen. But around 11 it calmed down and the sun rang high as we sat on that white sand, in close distance to our buddies Bennett and Capt. Nate. As the fish started to show themselves, today they decided not to hold tight to any type of pattern. From the left, from the right, oh there they go behind us just out of reach. It’s hard to get frustrated when seeing fish, but I could tell we were all a bit tense. We swapped spots on the bow as I took a little lunch break. Off to our left, Nate yelled to us there were fish headed our way. At the same time Bennett scrambled on Nate’s bow and made a Hail Mary shot off the stern of the skiff. Tick tick tick, hold, tick, boom! We had the front row seat to watching this tarpon inhale the fly and head skyward, peeling into the backing in seconds. We hooted and hollered as they began their chase, Nate remaining on the push pole as Bennett played tug of war with the silver king. This was something that made me smile greatly. These guys don’t kick their engines on and ruin everyone else’s shot at another fish on the flat. The respect they share for the fishery and each other is something to be envied. A little while later the tarpon decided to shake the fly and the fight was through. You can’t win them all, but this was already a win for everyone. 

We continued on with more shots and more refusals, but certainly rejuvenated after seeing Bennett’s fish up close and personal. By days end we had our sore arms, a head full of memories, and just enough Budweiser to get us back to the Poon Shack. All good things must come to an end, unfortunately. We packed up and said our thank yous to Gray as we headed back into the canopy, en route back to sunny south Florida. Leaving behind southern hospitality has become something I’ve struggled with for years now, and the reason I know I still haven’t found “home” for me. 

This trip was everything I’d hoped for and then some. A first class operation, a fishery that takes you back in time, and a group of guides who truly believe in sharing the Florida Outdoor Experience. Until next time.