No one feels the loss of free and wild fishing spots more keenly than my brother Doug. He loves nature for its own sake. We grew up in a part of Miami cut through and through by canals that had been dug in the three decades before World War II to drain soppy South Florida so it could be covered with houses and sidewalks and buildings and, of course, highways. As kids we fished these canals at every opportunity.
Fishing near the turnpike on a recent afternoon, Doug and I aren't having much luck catchwise, but we're seeing some neat stuff. Even in the shadow of the DOT's asphalt, nature can still put on a show. At one point I take a tiny hook tied to a piece of line and bait it with a minuscule breadball in an effort to catch baitfish. In the jumble of underwater weeds just in front of me, I see a head poke up, duck back down. What the heck? I gawk as the tiny head ascends again and again. Finally more of it comes up out of the vegetation -- a young water snake, probably a brown or banded, about a foot long, attempting to catch "baitfish" for himself. Later, when we explore the other side of the highway four lanes away, where we see a guy fishing the canal, we scope what could be the same snake. Cool.
At another spot a female peacock bass is guarding her young. Dozens and dozens of baby peacocks peck at our baits. When big fish swim in, the mama bass chases them off, effectively eliminating our chances of hooking anything.
A bearded man pulls up in a van. "Any luck?" Nah, man, there ain't no fish here -- see any structures? "Oh, there are plenty of fish here," the man says. "Snook four feet long. Crappie. Giant piranha. Cichlids. Pacu. Shad. And a big oscar, but with hairs like a catfish. Something with three black triangles on its side and an orange spot on its head." Doug, ever the level-headed nature veteran, looks cockeyed at the man and suggests that perhaps these are mutant fish from outer space. The man continues listing species after species, only a few of which are native to South Florida waters.
Doug and I glance at one another and smirk. The man climbs out of his van, slips on a mask and snorkel, and plunges into the lake. His fish tales take on new credence, and we cast our lines once again.
Eventually we grow thirsty and tired of hearing envious motorists hoot and holler at us as they cruise along the nearby expressway.
During my next trip with Zap, we find Blue Lagoon -- a series of large lakes on the south side of 836 near Red Road -- irresistible. In 1991 the Herald ran a story about how Jose A. Fuertes caught a peacock of 5.76 pounds and several largemouth bass, using a Rapala lure in Blue Lagoon. We exit 836 at Red and drive into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn. Another dead lake, at least from the spots we're trying. A spectacular snow-white crane is perched on a rock -- bird's eyeing the vast lake. He doesn't see any fish either.
Not much farther east, on the other side of 836, we backroad our way to another seemingly worthwhile spot. As we curve off the expressway at Perimeter Road onto Tamiami Canal Drive, the lake comes into view, along with about a thousand people who have parked around the edge of it and are now tearing through the water on waterbikes and Jet Skis and outboard-motor-propelled skiffs. I sort of wish I had a gun, at least a pellet gun.
"What's that?" Zap suddenly says, pointing toward the water. Oh. A tire. I see something, too, I announce. Just some trash.
We return to 836 to seek new and less-humanized adventures. "We'll have to go to my spot once you're through with expressways," Zap says in an effort to keep spirits up. When we stop at the next pond, I pop open a beer and make a mental note to dispose of the bottle properly.
On the way home, as we wait in traffic, Zap turns serious for once in his life. "Bro, you remember how this place used to be when we were kids? Look at this shit. They really fucked it up. And now my kids are going to grow up without it. By the time they're our age, it'll all be gone."
He calls me the next day for another fishing trip, but I have an appointment on the other side of town and I know traffic is going to be a bitch.
