A vicious cold front is bearing down on us, the fishing will stink but that doesn’t prevent the few and the brave from sitting at the bar at the Rock Bottom with mittens and scarfs, and old giant jackets we’ve retained from our sojourns up north. My main man Floyd was there and we had some interesting palaver about the winter fishing.
There’s a lake, deep in the Everglades that is usually a winter hold out for giant snook, they’re not giant for no reason and impossible to catch but when the weather gets cold like this they emmigrate, schools of them, big ones. Floyd says they are seeking salt water, that fresh water cools faster and has less oxygen, and the snook move out of their safe house under stress and try to find saline water that is warmer. It certainly looks that way and after observing this puzzeling behaviour I can think of no better explanation.
Not to mention the Tales of The Bay of Pigs, the Smuggling in years gone by, the guiding out of the Rod and Gun a half century ago, did you know there were fifty guides working out of there in the heyday of Barron Colliers regime in the Everglades?