Eye of the Cormorant

another odd bird who chases fish.

Author: pkstoddard

  • Everglades tarpon fishing, with thanks to Woody Guthrie & Drew Chicone

    As I went walking I saw a sign there,
    And on the sign it said “No Trespassing.”
    But on the other side it didn’t say nothing.
    That side was made for you and me.

    © Woody Guthrie Publications, Inc.
    & TRO-Ludlow Music, Inc. (BMI)

    Contrary to my religious practice, I have been off the water for two long weeks. Bunch of pressing things going on, but my psyche demands TOW (time on water). Rain is predicted for Saturday afternoon but the morning looks good in the western Everglades if I stay south of the fire. The plan unfolds to shirk the day’s assorted social obligations and to start the morning fly fishing for juvenile tarpon from my kayak. Play it by ear after that.

    I packed the car the night before, bringing a single 7-weight fly rod, a clear-tip intermediate sink-tip line, and an assortment of proven flies that I tied to entice juvenile tarpon. Going “fly or die”.

    * * *

    FINDING JUVENILE TARPON AFTER A COLD SNAP

    A few days back, a friend reported seeing 100 dead juvenile tarpon in my favorite Everglades tarpon fishing area, killed by the recent cold event. The spot I chose for today, ~60 miles northwest of there, is a brackish canal network dug 20’ deep to excavate fill to create adjacent dry land for buildings. Some people still think building in the Everglades is a good idea. On the plus side, deep water makes a good thermal refuge for manatees and juvenile tarpon during a winter cold snap. I always find tarpon holed up there in the winter and especially when it’s cold. 

    The general area sees significant fishing pressure, evidenced by the occasional snagged fishing lure I pluck from a mangrove and by the landing net sitting next to a kayak on the shore at a nearby residence. Educated tarpon are hard to catch, especially on fly, and these tarpon most often refuse my two best producers along  the Tamiami Trail: Mike Connor’s Glades Minnow and Jay Levine’s black micro-bunny.

    Water access is controversial. There’s a boat launch a mile away, but a clear “NO TRESPASSING” sign is posted on a buoy you’d have to pass to get to the canal network. It’s all public water but I assume someone of authority doesn’t want motor boats shattering the peace in the canal area. Fishermen have told me about being issued a $125 fine plus administrative fees when they were caught on the wrong side of that sign by an officer from the Florida Wildlife Commission.

    Florida Statutes Ch 810.011 states that No Trespassing signs must be “…placed conspicuously at all places where entry to the property is normally expected or known to occur.”  

    If I approach the canal system in a kayak from the tidal creek on other side, the only posted sign says not to feed the alligators. By my read of the statute and the signage, a person can lawfully enter by kayak or canoe from this creek (nix the paddleboard – see below). To honor the implied intent, I paddle solo and fish in silence.

    While no sign prohibits entry from the creek, a militia of large alligators guards a shallow area in the creek outflow. It’s such a good spot to snap up a passing fish that only the biggest gators can command a seat at the table. They allowed me to pass hassle-free on prior trips, but I always treat them with respect and get past them quickly lest they think up some excuse to engage.

    * * *

    THE WEE HOURS

    Dream after dream has me looking for a bathroom. At 1:35 am, my conscious brain integrates the repeated hints that I need to get up to pee. Sleep is over. The alarm is set for 3:30 am, but lying awake at 3:05 I give up and start my day. Dress, shave,  sunscreen, pet the cat, coffee, granola, Heather Cox Richardson, pack the cooler, and hit the road to cross the Tamiami Trail in the dark. 

    A dense fog in the Everglades blocks the full moon and lowers my driving speed to 35 mph. Ninety minutes later, I pull off onto a gravel lot in pitch dark. Fifty minutes to sunrise, and twenty to the start of civil twilight.

    * * *

    GATOR GAUNTLET

    Water levels are very low this winter. The gators’ usual ambush spot in the shallow portion of the creek bed is high and dry. Seeing no gator eyes glowing in the beam of my headlamp, I haul my kayak overland in the dark to the rocky exposed creek bed. The sky shows the very first hint of dawn as I launch in the fog.

    The dark water explodes around my kayak. The gators hadn’t gone far. Huge bodies, black and cream, churn in front of me and on either side. So much for silence.

    The glassy water is dotted with dead cichlids killed by the cold, mostly tilapia. I’m sure the gators have been enjoying the feast. Just past the gators, foot-long mullet begin leaping into the air and crashing onto their sides. Nobody knows why mullet jump, but I’m pretty confident it’s a courtship display. Fifty yards further, a dorsal fin and tail nick the surface. Tarpon can breathe air and come up to the surface for a quick gulp in a behavior known as “rolling”. The tarpon are alive and rolling.  

    * * *

    FLIES 

    In very tannic or murky water, tarpon bite dark-colored flies, but they prefer white flies in clear water. The water today is clear but somewhat tannic, so it’s anybody’s guess what shade of fly will do best. I start with a black baitfish fly that’s been super-effective for tarpon and snook in dark water.

    I pull some fly line off the reel and make my first cast in front of three rolling tarpon. Nice to have my right arm working again after four months of physical therapy for a torn muscle in my rotator cuff.

    The tarpon ignore this black fly over the next dozen casts. That means they won’t take Jay’s black micro-bunny either. I switch to a white micro-bunny fly. They like that one better, but not enough. They nip and pull its tail, “short-strikes” in fly fishing parlance. I begin counting short strikes.  

    Since they don’t want black or white, how about olive? I try an olive micro-bunny. Nothing. Black & white bunny?  Nope. White baitfish with swishy peacock herl tail? Nope. Black & purple tie of Paul Nocifora’s BMF?  It gets a bunch more short strikes, but no eats, even after I snipped off the weed guard. A black & purple tie of Chico Fernandez’s Marabou Madness, weighted to get down deeper? Nope.

    The proven tarpon flies that did not catch tarpon today.

    I have been on the water for two hours now, fishing the best time of the day. I have made over a hundred casts at rolling tarpon with seven flies, two of which received 13 short strikes between them but zero eats. Mangroves lining the canals have been more eager than the tarpon, grabbing my flies on the errant backcasts. My newly rehabilitated rotator cuff is starting to complain.

    I suppose it’s possible the tarpon, though plentiful, just won’t bite today.  The water feels coolish but not cold, maybe 68°.

    Not catching fish is hardly the worst thing on a spring morning in the mangroves. A bull manatee is swimming back and forth underneath me, probably curious about my kayak. Chortling songs of Purple Martins grace the air. Mullet sploosh nonstop under the watch of Great Blue Herons waiting in ambush on the odd bit of open shoreline. Anhingas and cormorants dry in the trees overhead as they digest their breakfasts. Alligators rise and sink as I pedal-paddle past.

    * * *

    THE DEVIL’S DAUGHTER

    Master fly designer Drew Chicone of Ft. Myers publishes an email newsletter with detailed instructions for tying his more successful fly designs.

    Drew invented “The Devil’s Daughter”, a big black fly for targeting overfished snook and juvenile tarpon who have seen every fly in the box. It’s a complicated tie as saltwater flies go, combining shimmering peacock herl, swishy ostrich herl, and fluffy marabou feathers into a pulsating body, with a head of spun black deer hair that displaces water as the fly moves. It’s light for its size, lands softly, wets quickly, swishes enticingly, and pushes water to announce its passage. I had tied one and used it only once, but it caught a 40 pound canal tarpon.

    This fly is in my collection today so I throw it in front of the rolling tarpon and move it through the water steadily with tiny twitches to make it quiver. The fly stops and I give the line a tug…

    Line rips out of my hand and screams off the reel. I take back line and a five pound tarpon goes airborne. They always do and it’s always a remarkable show of athleticism.

    The pink and lavender iridescence blows me away.

    Over the next two hours I catch and release eight tarpon ranging from 3 to 10 pounds.  Two toss the fly and six have to be unhooked in the net.

    After being unhooked, this ten pound tarpon chose not to stick around for the photo op.

    Expert wisdom has it that the fly design matters much less than how you move it. True enough, but this morning’s fishing success has hinged on one black fly designed by Drew Chicone. Both times I’ve fished it, 1/3 of tarpon contacts resulted in hook-ups. Heck of a fly, Drew.

    * * *

    The sky opens up as I pull into the driveway. I could use a nap. 

    One last nod to the enduring spirit of Woody Guthrie:
    Roll on sweet tarpon, roll on.

    © Philip Stoddard

  • Too clever by half

    Here’s a stupid story that also explains the name of my little flats skiff.

    * * *

    Monday morning before sunrise, I launch my skiff from the front boat ramp at the marina at Flamingo in the south end of Everglades National Park. 

    When launching the boat solo, I secure the loop of a dock line rope to the cleat on the front of the skiff and tie the other end to one of the two vertical PVC posts at the rear of the boat trailer. Then I back the trailer into the water and stop abruptly. The boat floats off the trailer into the water, tethered to the rear of the trailer by the dock line. 

    Dock lines come in 15’ and 25’ lengths, so when I got my 14.5′ skiff, I bought a pair of 15′ dock lines, one for each end of the skiff. Fifteen foot dock lines are the perfect length if I’m backing the trailer down the boat ramp and someone else is guiding the boat along the dock. Launching solo, however, a 15’ rope is just long enough to tie a clove hitch around one of the 2.5” diameter PVC pipes enclosing the risers on my boat trailer. The clove hitch is not the most secure knot one could tie onto a slick PVC pipe, but it’s the only snug hitch knot I can manage given the limited length of the dock line.

    Launching solo this morning, I remove the safety straps, tie on the dock line, back the trailer into the water, and the boat floats backwards off the trailer as planned. I ease the car forward to bring the back of the trailer onto the dry part of the boat ramp, placing the rope within my reach. 

    As the rope comes taught, its tip pulls free of the clove hitch on the trailer’s riser, the knot unwinds, and the skiff continues its backwards drift untethered.

    Expletives fly as I leap from the car. It’s early on a chilly weekday morning and nobody is on the water nearby where they might grab my skiff before it floats across the cove.

    The air is 47°F, the water is 59°F, and I am not up for a frigid swim in my fishing clothes. More to the point, I am not up for a half-hour run to Cape Sable in soaking-wet fishing clothes. I scamper down the adjacent dock, hoping I might find a way to intercept the skiff as it floats past.

    The boat’s drift takes it close to the end of the dock. Jumping from the dock into the small skiff looks possible.

    Now is a good time to tune in to my two inner voices, akin to what Terry Pratchett dubbed “first sight” and “second sight”.

    The first voice says:

    “I should make this jump OK … but it’s a moving target, I might miss, and the boat has many sharp angles and no soft surfaces.“

    “If I miss the jump and break a bone, neither my wife nor my orthopedist will show me any sympathy, and that’s assuming I don’t break something then fall in the cold water and drown.”

    “The internet has a thousand videos of people who injure themselves attempting to jump from docks into boats.”

    Not everybody tunes in to their second inner voice, but I heard mine state clearly:

    “Did you hear the part about broken bones and drowning? Listen to the first voice.”

    Heeding the sage advice, I abandon the jumping idea posthaste.

    Instead, I climb down from the dock onto a wooden beam just above the waterline, wrap my right arm around the nearest piling, and extend my left leg over the water as far as it will go. My toe catches the errant skiff. Whew! I ease the skiff close to the dock step onto the deck, and motor to the closest tie-up spot. My car is waiting for me on the boat ramp, the driver’s door still wide open.

    Half an hour later, I’m 10 miles away. The water is too cold to catch fish on flies or lures, but the fish will bite shrimp soaked on the bottom. I bought three dozen live shrimp on my way to the marina this morning. Here are some of my catches:

    Black Drum
    Sheepshead
    Southern Stingray, 2 meters long nose-to-tail, and a 13 cm stinger barb.
    I did not bring the sting ray into the boat. Those inner voices again.
    a little Mangrove Snapper

    I hear a song of rising buzzes, my first Prairie Warbler of the year. A crocodile that slid from the sunlit bank is now eyeing me jealously, but keeping its distance. Good croc. A pod of dolphins spout spray as they venture past, chasing their own fish and not pestering the ones in my vicinity.

    When the fish stop biting, I watch birds and explore my way a couple of miles up a tidal creek where I eat lunch in a wild place with egrets, ibis, and rails for company, but no humans.

    Up the creek. Tide is down.

    Driving home from the marina, I spot a large Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake crossing the Park Road.

    Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake

    Monday morning would the SECOND time that my over-extended dock line has freed itself from the trailer during a solo launch.

    A quick trip the marine store and I am the proud owner of a 25’ dock line, long enough to tie the securest of Secret Navy Knots and then some. Of course I coulda-shoulda purchased a longer dock line the first time the boat escaped, or gee, maybe even before that. 

    Too Clever / 2.

  • Falling Iguana Alert!

    It took a week, but the Arctic blast freezing tootsies across the US finally made its way to Miami on Saturday night, dropping to 34°F by dawn Sunday. 

    Most cold fronts stall before reaching South Florida, so our exotic people and critters are not adapted to temperatures below 50°F.

    A chill like this brings Painted Buntings into our bird feeders and moves the manatees out of Biscayne Bay and into the urban canals.

    Displaced northerners walk around shouting “Yes! Yes!” Teenage girls across Miami break out the boots with the fur. I unearth the LL Bean flannel-lined jeans and my 40 year old fleece jacket, recently refurbished by Patagonia at no charge. Everybody else wearing a too-thin jacket mutters profanity beneath their frosty breath.

    LL Bean flannel-lined jeans. Love ’em!

    The long, hard freeze of 2010 clobbered our native bonefish, snook, tarpon, and shark populations. A hard cold snap also kills-off many invasive exotic tropical fish and reptiles, but never gets them all.

    When the temperature drops below 40°F, local news organizations issue Falling Iguana Alerts. The Falling Iguana Alert is kind of a joke down here, except it’s a real thing. All over our neighborhood, fallen iguanas littered the ground.

    This Iguana fell onto the windshield of a neighbor’s car.
    This one made it all the way to the ground.

    The bigger they come, the harder they fall – neither iguana in the photos survived. Had either of these bad boys landed on someone walking their dog, it could have done some damage.

    Don’t be fooled, this frigid Cuban Knight Anole is not dead.

    A Cuban Knight Anole fell onto the patio near our backyard pond. Good-intentioned folks who don’t know better sometimes bring a cold-stunned Knight Anole indoors to warm it up. Remember the velociraptors that chased people around the lab in Jurassic Park?

    I moved Señor Knight Anole to a sunny spot by the front patio and he took care of the rest on his own.
    This little iguana only partially lost its footing and was found hanging upside down in a bush outside our front door.
    Cute little guy, huh?

    In the afternoon, Gray and I bundled up and biked over to check on the manatees at a nearby marina on US 1.

    I counted 31 altogether. One big male kept rolling onto his back and waving his flippers in the air.

    Several bulls were quite frisky.

    It’s dropping into the 30s again tonight, perfect weather for snuggling around an outdoor fire.

    Vetoed. Both Gray and our neighbors agree that it’s too cold tonight for an outdoor anything. Sheesh. Somebody I know will be getting flannel-lined jeans for Christmas.

  • Endings and Beginnings

    Dave Barry once noted that he’d seen more spectacular sunsets in his first year in Miami than his entire life in Philadelphia. Having an iPhone in my pocket helps to illustrate his point. Sunsets are splendid, though as a fisherperson, I’m partial to sunrises.

    Dusk

    Wild pony, Assateague Island, VA
    Assateague Island, VA
    Spring equinox, Southwest Miami-Dade County, FL
    Tarpon rise (lower right), Ochopee, FL
    Womenfolk on Rabbit Key, Everglades National Park
    Ochopee, FL
    East Everglades, Miami

    Dawn

    Fly fishing at the start of civil twilight, West Lake, Everglades National Park
    Two planets and a moon, Everglades National Park entrance road
    West Lake, Everglades National Park
    Assateague Island, VA
    South Pointe Park, Miami Beach
    Crandon Park, Key Biscayne
    Key Biscayne, FL
    Little Duck Key, FL
    Palm Key, Everglades National Park

    P.S. Last sunset of 2025

    Assateague Island, VA.

    P.P.S. First mosquito of 2026

    Remnants of a mosquito that entered through the heat vent at our rental house in Chincoteague VA, assisted by raccoons who partially dismantled the heating ducts under the house.

    © Philip Stoddard

  • Tarpon colors

    Fish are often camouflaged, some by color and patterns that resemble their backgrounds, others by reflecting the light around them and thus matching any and every background. Tarpon do the latter with scales that work like mirrors.

    Juvenile tarpon are about my favorite fish to chase on the fly rod. I say “juvenile” because the adults weigh 70 to 200 pounds. I normally avoid disturbing the adults and fly fish instead for smaller juveniles weighing 3 to 20 pounds, reasonably common in the canals and tidal creeks of South Florida.

    Tarpon are smart and strong, and they are spirited jumpers. The mantra among tarpon fishers is “Bow to the King”, meaning when the tarpon jumps, you lower the rod to create slack and prevent it breaking off or throwing the fly.

    Instead, I lightly tension the fly line during a jump to help the tarpon toss the fly without breaking the line. My goal is to fool the tarpon into eating my fly, have it give me a showy jump or two, but spare it the exhaustion of a complete fight and spare me the guilt of exhausting a beautiful fish.

    Yesterday, while kayak-fishing a saltwater canal, three miles from home as the cormorant flies, I spotted a couple of big juvenile tarpon in the 40-60 pound range. I swapped up to a larger fly “the Devil’s Daughter”, a muted black pattern designed by Drew Chicone for catching tarpon that are wise to the fly fisher’s usual sparkly fare.

    Tarpon can breath air, “rolling” on the surface to gulp a bubble before descending into the murky water. Following a roll, I’d cast the fly 6-10 feet in front, let it sink a bit, and retrieve it steadily. Twice I felt “short strikes”, in which an unseen tarpon grabbed only the feathery tail of the fly. A couple of casts later the fly stopped mid-retrieve, like I’d hooked a log. I set the hook and the line began to pull. The fish was in no hurry.

    Smaller tarpon jump immediately. Instead this tarpon went deep and swam away slowly. I took up the slack and kept reeling until my 7wt rod bent double and the leader touched the tip guide of the rod. The tarpon turned and made a dash under the kayak. I flattened the propulsion flippers to keep the line free as I worked it around the bow and the tarpon took off. Once in a while, I’m glad for the smooth drag on my fly reel.

    We had been pulling back and forth on the fly line (intermediate clear tip) for a couple of minutes and the tarpon had enough. It took to the air, arcing its body in a fast reciprocating shake that tossed the fly. I got my fly back and the tarpon continued on its hunt for hapless baitfish. I was ecstatic – that’s about as good as it gets in my book.

    Sometimes the fly won’t shake loose and I must net the fish to release it. While I have it in the net, I usually take a photo to document the spectacular purples, pinks, blues, and greens reflected by the tarpon’s mirrored scales. Here are some photos from my collection.

    Thank you, tarpon.

  • Pandora’s Flats

    I’ve been grappling with a multi-way conflict: (1) trying shake the “forever cold” while (2) healing a torn rotator cuff muscle (supraspinatus) in my fly casting arm, and (3) enjoying every nice day I can on the water with a fly rod and binoculars. At least I don’t have to grade papers.

    A cold front reached South Florida, knocking down the mosquitoes and moving sharks away from the shallows. The Everglades mangrove flats beckoned me southwards.

    Entrance to the flats.

    One shallow flat in particular draws me to watch shorebirds and chase game fish.

    Birds gather on the falling tide. Snook and Redfish forage near that edge.

    To get the best experience, you have to get the tides right. Depending on the moon and tide phases, the area can be 16 square miles of water (birds wait in the trees and fish are everywhere), 15 square miles of exposed mud (birds dispersed everywhere and fish are concentrated in the channels with the sharks), or something in between (birds and fish both concentrated on the edge of the tide). If the wind comes up, water might blow onto or off the flat, superseding the tidal prediction.

    Several two mile trails lead to the edge of the flat. When my late colleague George Dalrymple took his zoology class down the Snake Bight Trail, one student had to be carried out after she fainted from the sheer horror of the Black Salt Marsh Mosquitoes. I found that pedaling my bicycle down the trail lets me keep ahead of the swarm. Just don’t stop! But the best access is in a shallow-draft boat, a kayak, canoe, or technical poling skiff.

    Coming by boat, you have access to more of the flat and can approach the edge of the tide where birds and fish are concentrated. However, it’s easy to get trapped by the falling tide, particularly when distracted by fish or shorebirds, both of which follow the rapidly moving tidal edge. If Poseidon empties the bathtub while you are far from a channel, there’s no walking out. The deep, sucking mud steals your sandals before eating you whole.

    People who get stuck sometimes phone the Park dispatch office. The ranger explains:“Yes, we see you out there, but we can’t get to you. Unless it’s an emergency and you want to pay for a helicopter, you are going to sit there until the tide comes back in.” You might spend up to eight hours waiting for the next high tide to free your boat. Hope you brought extra water and a granola bar, and good luck with the lightning.

    I have willingly allowed myself get stranded at the bottom of the outgoing tide while watching shorebirds, chasing fish, or watching shorebirds chase fish. I eat lunch then escape when the tide returns to float my boat. The show can be worth the wait.

    Tricolored Heron
    Black-necked Stilt
    Speckled Seatrout that took my fly.

    The low tide can bring spectacular birding as it did last week when baitfish and birds filled the runouts along one of the main channels. The flats were covered with winter waterbirds: White Pelicans, Black Skimmers, all the long-legged waders, Marbled Godwits, Short-billed Dowitchers, Wilson’s Plovers, and assorted “peeps”.

    White Pelicans fishing cooperatively for mullet.
    Black Skimmers leaving the flat as the tide rises.
    White Pelicans, Great White Herons, Great Egrets, Roseate Spoonbills, Snowy Egrets, all fishing the shallow run-out at dead low tide.

    When the high tide pushes birds off the flats, some regroup on the highest shorelines, while others settle into the mangrove trees.

    Reddish Egret takes refuge from the high tide on a mangrove island.
    Yellow-crowned Night heron practices the Angeli Mudra yoga pose.
    Roseate Spoonbill looks down to assess the water level while waiting for the tide to recede.
    A Mangrove Clapper Rail skulks through the matted seagrass caught in the mangrove roots.

    A couple of days prior, my friend Jay Levine had caught and released 30 Snook on fly in a channel and had zero shark hassles. But when I arrived, the water had rewarmed, the sharks were returning, and the Snook were making themselves scarce. I caught and released a couple of Snook safely but an unseen shark took the third one and I called it quits.

    Four days later, my fishing friend Jeremy Nawyn asked me to join him kayak fishing this same flat once again. At first I declined, but then I took a look at the tide chart: 

    Tide chart for Flamingo on 26 Nov 2025. The black band in the middle is daylight and the gray bar at the top is the moon. The tide on the flat we are fishing is delayed by an hour. It will fall for eight hours, from 7:45 am until 4 pm .

    I normally fish this flat by motorized skiff because it’s so exhausting to exit by kayak. If you fish the rising tide (safest) you must paddle back against the fast incoming tidal current to escape, but a long falling tide like this one is a virtual water taxi service. As a lagniappe, the wind would be at our backs coming out. I texted Jeremy that the tide chart had changed my mind. I was in.

    Jeremy’s proposal was to head out in the dark before dawn and ride the incoming tide up a narrow unmarked channel on the edge of the flat, then ride the outgoing tide back toward the marina with the wind at our backs. We faced little risk of getting stranded if we stayed in or near the narrow channel, and would not have to fight the tides or winds to escape.

    I arrived early to enjoy the starry moonless sky.

    Orion.

    I rigged my kayak while the resident Barred Owl hooted:“Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all?”

    Jeremy arrived at 5:30 am with his kayak mostly rigged in the back of his pickup truck. We were on the water by 5:45 am, 70 minutes before sunrise.

    Great Egrets and White Ibis leaving their roosts. White birds look black in the pre-dawn light.
    Jeremy in the lead. One of his teenage kids sometimes joins us, but not if we’re going out this early.

    Our fishing strategy was to paddle the narrow channel and cast toward the mangrove roots on shore where the predatory fish typically forage for crabs and small fish when the tide is up.

    I hooked a nice Snook near the mangroves then pedaled my kayak hellbent-for-leather onto the shallow flat, grounding the Hobie’s pedal flippers on the mud before stopping to work the fish to my landing net for a quick measurement and release.

    Phil with Snook in shallow water. Photo by Jeremy Nawyn

    Grounding the kayak on the flat might seem like an odd thing to do on purpose, but it prevents unseen sharks from popping up from below and grabbing the fish on my line. A Snook or Redfish hides handily in a foot of water, but a Lemon Shark or Bull Shark is conspicuous. If a shark comes for my fish in super-skinny water, I can see its approach, open the reel, and let the fish run. My trick worked this morning with a handsome Snook and a chunky Redfish.

    Snook, 24″.
    Redfish, 24.5″

    A Lemon Shark circled my kayak looking for my redfish as I hefted it in my landing net from one side of the kayak to the other. 

    Pesky Lemon Shark circling the kayak.

    Enough already. I pedaled the kayak right at the shark to chase it away. 

    Typical of this flat, the water was opaque with sediment. One could only make out detail in the top 6”, which made it hard to spot fish. At the farthest extent of the tiny channel, a three-foot tarpon swam under my kayak, which I only saw because the water was just a foot deep… and dropping. Time to turn around.

    I stopped in at a favorite cove on the way back, wherein I often find Snook and Tarpon. A four foot Lemon Shark had gotten in ahead of me and was working over the cove, chasing all the fish up the mangrove creek – definitely time to head back. As cool as they are to see up close, I don’t want sharks hanging around my boat jonesing for my fish. Lemon Sharks at Flamingo have bitten the hands of several fishermen in the past couple of years and even dragged one careless lad overboard and into the water (YouTube video).

    I paused to watch eight Ospreys circle a mullet school, diving in succession, snatching hapless fish, and landing in the trees on shore to enjoy a sashimi breakfast.

    This lucky Osprey caught a yummy seatrout.

    Full of fresh fish, the Ospreys set about collecting soft material to line their stick nests. Some carried clumps of dead seagrass in their feet.

    On our way back to the marina, I spotted a young couple in an inflatable kayak paddling the opposite direction, heading toward the heart of the flat. Unless they knew what they were doing, they stood to get stranded in about 20 minutes and stuck there for the next 5 hours. Seeing neither fishing gear nor binoculars, I took them for tourists. I paddled over and asked whether they came here often. “First time” responded the young man in a British accent.

    I explained about the tides and the mud, and pointed them toward a channel marker. If they paddled directly to that marker they could spend all day watching birds, sea turtles, and marine mammals from the main channel without getting stranded.

    As I packed my gear in the car, I watched another Osprey pair skimming the West Indian Mahogany trees to collect Spanish moss for their bulky nest on the water control lock that separates the Buttonwood Canal from Florida Bay. 

    Lock Moss Nesters

    I ate my lunch while overlooking Florida Bay from the refurbished visitor center. In addition to the wildlife viewing it’s entertaining to watch international visitors enjoying this National Park in their own ways.

    Keeping up with Instagram is priority anywhere you go.
    More my style.

    Hey, that’s the same couple in the kayak I saw earlier, now returning from the flats. They pulled their boat ashore and stopped by to say “hi”.

    Caroline from Strasbourg and Jason from London.

    They had decided to head back in after a large American Crocodile surfaced in the channel next to their inflatable kayak.

    My photo, not theirs, but you can see why they might have felt unsafe in an inflatable kayak.

    Until recently, I’d have told them not to worry about the normally docile American Crocodile, but last summer an experienced fly fisherman told me of a large croc at Flamingo that went airborne in its best attempt to take him off the deck of his skiff.

    I took Caroline and Jason over to the marina to admire the assembly of mother and baby manatees.

    Too cute.

    * * *

    Pandora’s Flats

    A couple of months back, I promised to write an essay about why you shouldn’t fish at Flamingo. The dense mosquito swarms are sufficient reason for normal people to stay away nine months of the year. Risk of stranding on the flats while exposed to sun and lightning should give pause to any sane person. We recently acquired the man-made problem of habituated sharks and crocodiles popping up at random from the opaque water below – recreational fishing boats have trained them well. If you just wanted to fish, you might find an equally productive area with fewer ancillary hazards.

    American Crocodile. Note the skinny snoot, Roman nose, and 4th tooth on the bottom that sticks up.

    All of these risks have proven insufficient to keep a certain zoologist away. The combination of birds, fish, and scenery will keep me coming back as long as my health and the rising seas allow.

  • The Bait and Switch

    The Bait and Switch

    I did not get into fishing at the age of 12 to meet girls. I was enchanted by the fish.

    Chuck Sheperdson and me, with my brother Andrew in the back, August 1969, Lake Kerr, NC.

    Still, my early teen fishing obsession was quickened by an outdoor magazine article about wade-fishing for Jack Crevalle in Miami.

    The story featured color photos a pretty blond woman in a bikini wielding a spinning rod, waist-deep on the flats at Key Biscayne. The next photos showed her holding up good-sized Jack Crevalle that she’d caught. Pretty fish, pretty girl. Gorsh!

    Half a century later I remember those photos like they were yesterday. But in my early teens, the blue and green sea grass flats of Key Biscayne were a thousand miles away, while birds were diverse and abundant close to home. I switched from fishing to birding, a somewhat less male-biased activity, but only somewhat. The fields of ornithology and recreational birding are now, thankfully, well-mixed flocks, while fishing remains entirely too much a boy’s club. Even as a birder, it became clear that other social graces would have to be cultivated if I didn’t aspire to be a hermit.

    * * *

    In researching this post, I tried to find the original article so I could show you the photos that made such an impression. I checked the archives of Field and Stream Magazine from 1969 to 1974 with no luck. The story must have been in Outdoor Life Magazine, which I could not find archived from those years. 

    Could AI re-create the images? I haven’t tried AI image generation yet, so I figured I’d give it a go.

    I asked ChatGPT to create an image of a young woman with blond hair below her shoulders, standing waist-deep on a tropical salt flat, wearing a light blue bikini, and holding up a glistening Jack Crevalle about 20” long. ChatGPT responded that it does NOT make images of women in bikinis, with the implication that I should go take a cold shower and behave myself. The AI engine in WordPress, on the other hand, actually offered to help me produce such an image.

    Pretty close. The woman has shoulder-length hair, and is sitting, not standing as I’d described. For no discernible reason, the AI engine could not convincer her to stand up. The fish is very handsome, if somewhat plastic-looking. It even has the requisite yellow fins but it’s shaped like an Amberjack, not a Jack Crevalle. I’d call it an AI Hallucination Jack. The AI-generated lass is holding this invention the way you’d hold a plastic fish that had no interest in escaping or capacity to do so. A live jack doesn’t stop fighting when you land it so, so you’d best hang on tight to the skinny part near the tail (the caudal peduncle).

    This is a Jack Crevalle, one that I caught recently in Jupiter Sound, onboard the boat of former student turned fishing guide Mike Haines. Note the secure grip for a quick photo prior to launching it head-first back into the water.

    Google is not so modest as ChatGPT and found half a dozen images that matched my description, though not the ones from the article in the early 1970s. From their genuine grins and their practiced grips on the fish, most of these young women appear to have caught their fine jacks themselves – congratulations!

    Pretty blond fisherwoman with the proper grip for catch-and-release of an equally pretty Jack Crevalle.

    My wife Gray advised me to limit the number of sexy fish photos in this post, so I just kept the one closest to the original. Still, even today, the ratio of online photos of men versus women holding Jack Crevalle is about 50 to 1.

    Since I moved to Miami 33 years ago, I’ve spent plenty of time on the flats around Key Biscayne and I have yet to see a woman do anything serious with a fishing rod. The famously gorgeous women of Miami are abundant on the beaches, picnicking, reading, sunbathing, taking selfies, even bird-watching. They can be seen doing all manner of things in the water – except fishing. When I wander past them, covered head-to-toe in SPF-50 outdoor clothing, as per the dermatologist’s orders, I look and feel like a different species. When I say “hi” to women I know, they are surprised to hear a familiar voice emanating from under the layers: “Oh, Mayor Stoddard! I didn’t recognize you! Can you join us for lunch?”

    The implication of that article from around 1971, that a fellow might be joined by pretty girls while wade-fishing the flats at Key Biscayne, fits the very definition of a bait-and-switch. Other social graces are still required.

  • Jimmy Carter

    Carter was both my favorite president and my favorite former president.

    James Earl Carter, Jr., 1924-2024, 39th President of the United States

    Carter had served in the US Navy as a nuclear submarine officer and engineer. He not only knew how to operate nuclear subs, he knew how to repair them and their complex electronics.

    During his initial security briefing after being elected president, Carter greatly impressed the briefing staff with the insights in his questions and his ability to absorb and integrate complex information. My father told me that the Naval intelligence community considered Carter the smartest politician they had ever briefed.

    President Carter emphasized human rights as a guiding principle in American foreign policy. Critics said we should be more instrumental in our policy, but Carter’s stubborn implementation of his Christian values made me proud to be an American.

    Only when Carter was four decades out of office did it dawn on me how much inspiration I had drawn from his exemplary public service.

    President Carter installed solar panels on the White House. As a teenager at the time, that REALLY impressed me. I dreamed that someday I would be able to do the same.

    You can also explore my solar blog, SomiSolar.com where I explain solar home economics and how to run a house with solar + batteries when the grid is down.

    Jimmy and Roselyn Carter were big supporters of affordable housing and worked closely with Habitat for Humanity for many years after leaving the White House.

    One frequently saw photos of them helping to build and refurbish houses for low income families. 

    Inspired by the Carters’ commitment to affordable housing, I agreed to serve an extra, 5th term as mayor of South Miami so I could lock in the zoning approval and funding for two major affordable housing projects, both of which were completed after I left office. Here’s one of them:

    SOMI Parc, South Miami

    After leaving office Carter championed democracy and protected election integrity throughout the world.

    I am writing this remembrance in a quiet moment as I volunteer as a poll observer, something I have done for the past two decades.

    For my non-Miami resident friends, 305 is our area code and thus greater Miami is often referred to as “The 305”. This year, two friends and I started an organization, We the People of 305, to coordinate events supporting democracy in greater Miami. You can check out our Pro-Democracy Events Calendar at wtp305.org/events. We will make our software available if you or someone you know wants to host your own local events calendar.

    During his presidency, the Carters would slip out the back door at Camp David to evade the press, whereupon the Secret Service would whisk them up to the clear mountain streams of central Pennsylvania where they would unwind by fly fishing for trout.

    As Carter was leaving office, a reporter asked the President what he would do next. Carter replied: “I’m going to become a really good fly fisherman.”

    Not there yet, but I’m working on it.

    © Philip Stoddard

  • mystery of the day, and a hint

    Powering artificial intelligence might involve constructing a fleet of new nuclear reactors, yet natural intelligence runs handily on organic farm waste, such as tofu and kale.

    If powering Nvidia chips to make fake videos is that important, nuclear power is still the most expensive way to add power to the electric grid, while renewables, wind and solar/battery, are the cheapest.

    The push to build more old-style nuclear reactors suggests that AI and data companies have made so much money from their stratospheric stock valuations that they and everyone around them are willing to waste it.

    Seems like a sign, and I am hardly alone in thinking so. Here, I believe, is a hint to how this mystery might resolve.

    Remember Michael Burry and Scion Asset Management from the film “The Big Short”? Scion is betting big on an AI stock decline, allocating 80% of its $1.1 billion portfolio to put options against the AI companies Nvidia (NVDA) and Palantir (PLTR).

    Why stop at shorting NVDA & PLTR? When was the last time any utility company failed to lose money building nuclear power?

  • How to respond to our open-carry grocer

    Open carry of firearms became legal in Florida on  25 Sept, 2025, though private property owners can still prohibit firearms on their premises. To the horror of many, the Florida grocery chain Publix responded by changing their own policy to allow customers to bring loaded firearms into their 900 stores.

    How should folks like us respond?

    A boycott seems appropriate, and we do have choices. Most Florida grocers DO NOT allow their customers to display weapons in their stores. Here are the ones I’ve found, in alphabetical order who do not: Aldi’s,  Milam’s, Sprouts Market,Trader Joe’s, Whole Foods, and Winn-Dixie. 

    Fresh Market does the same as Publix. Walmart prefers you not bring a weapon into the store, but does not outright prohibit open carry.

    If you boycott Publix over this policy, please amplify your power by letting them know:

    1) Call Publix headquarters at 1 800 242-1227.

    2) Go to their website and send a “contact us” message, http://www.publix.com/contact/contact-us.  

    The problem for my family is that we pretty much already boycott Publix over their dark money campaign to prevent single-use plastic bag regulation in Florida and their refusal to support the Immolakee farm workers with a penny-a-pound bonus for tomatoes.

    As an alternative to the open carry boycott, what if we give Publix what they seem to be asking for? Open carry.

    Engaging in open carry in Publix, to the extent allowed by their own policy and Florida law, would do far more damage to the Publix brand than by shaking our fists and shopping at Sprouts. 

    Go for it.

    1. Acquire an assault rifle, such as an AR15.
    2. Insert an empty ammunition clip, release the safety and dry fire once at the ground to make sure the rifle doesn’t have a cartridge in the chamber.
    3. Dress in black (trick or treat!).
    4. Strap the rifle across your chest.
    5. Stroll the produce isles at your nearest Publix. 

    For my family, that would be the sparkly new Publix that replaced the theater on US1 in Coral Gables. Knowing the Coral Gables clientele, I’m confident that a man in black strolling the produce isle with an AR15 would empty the place in a heartbeat. For a woman doing the same it would take several heartbeats – maybe snarl every few moments: “Publix – where shopping is a pleasure”. 

    My stomach isn’t strong enough (yet) to purchase an assault rifle, much less carry one, even for such a noble cause. When it comes to any type of firearm, the only civilian use I entertain is deer hunting (for conservation purposes, of course). There I draw the line at single-shot hunting rifles and I prefer to borrow cousin Jon’s crossbow. Oh yeah, and shotguns are useful for shooting down those pesky quadcopter drones.

    Still, I continue to entertain the AR15-at-Publix fantasy and hope someone with serious cojones is inspired to pull it off. 

    Publix deserves it.

    © Philip Stoddard