Kalyn Hoggard | Monday, 28 July 2025
My wife’s family and I have gone on a family vacation to Florida every year for the last 15 years. It just so happens that I am on one of these vacations right now in Marco Island, FL. These trips have always had a strong fishing flavor to them, and I can say that we have had some great times exploring Florida’s coastal waters, making memories, and having a yearly family gathering that none of us will forget. A vast majority of the vacations took place in the same house along Florida’s forgotten coast, the “Bayou Belle.” I suppose houses of that magnitude on the beaches of Florida get a name. Although it was a big house, it was about as fancy as we are. Just the right amount space and just the right amount of rough around the edges for us to fit in there pretty well. In 2018 hurricane Michael put the Bayou Belle in a place of memory forever. The least that I can do in memoriam is to tell a fly story about the Belle.
I’ve been a fly only guy for quite some time, but I did hold on to one type of gear fishing, and you can get me to go any day or time, and that’s beach fishing for sharks. I love it. I love the technical aspects that are necessary to master. I love the brutal fights that may push the physical ability to your forearm’s limit. I also love to just sit on the beach and drink beer, and that’s mainly what you do when you are shark fishing. I don’t know how many hours I’ve spent hammering beers, re-tying leaders, and cast netting bait to catch bigger fish to use for bait, but it’s a lot. For the very few of us that really know the game, you never know what might happen on the beach at night. Someone might even lose a contact.
So, for a majority of the time the family spent at the Belle that’s what we would do. Catch a bait, throw it on a 14/0 hook, attach that hook to a cinder block with a break line, kayak the bait out 300-500 yards, kayak back to the beach, and wait. At the height of our game we had gear that could stop a boat if we wanted it to. Now, for those of you that are getting to know me, I still have to sling a fly around everyday if I can, and it worked out well that we could wade fish in Port Saint Joe Bay in the mornings have lunch, grab a cooler of beers, and head down to the beach dragging along a kayak loaded down with the type of arsenal I would expect from a small commercial outfit. Whatever the outcome of the nights shark fishing, there was always a time for us to go up to the house and have dinner and sit on the porch where we would spend all of our non-activity hours eating, talking, and planning the next days affairs.
The very first year at the Bayou Belle, circa 2009, we had started to feel the exhaustion of the day and were done fishing, but for some reason or another (probably beer) I had begun to speak quite highly of my fly fishing prowess. Given that our family is more of a put up or shut up type, we had to devise a way for us to show off our fly casting abilities. There was a tributary that cut right next to (if it wasn’t for the seawall it would have flowed underneath) the Belle and (most of the time) flowed into the ocean, called Money Bayou. To us though, it was more affectionately named Poop River, because it was a high tannin water way, and when it wasn’t flowing into the ocean it had a special smell to it. We are quite creative with naming things like that at times. Although Poop River did have its less desirable side it was an awesome place to hand line Blue Crab, and I have made several Blue Crab dips thanks to its bounty (not a fun chore, by the way).
We have a flowing river, we have paper plates, we have lighter fluid, and a competition was born. The idea of the competition was that we would put a small puddle of lighter fluid into a paper plate, set the plate on fire, allow it to float down the river from a specific location, and we would try to put the fire out with a fly before the plate got to the ocean. The fire was necessary, because it was in the dark, and we had a large peanut gallery observing from the second story porch. At first that might seem to be a quite easy feat, but the distances were extremely variable. The plate was cruising down ole Poop River, and if you weren’t on your A-game and really fishy it was pretty tough to do. I will say that plates were hit during our shenanigans, but I do not consider myself the victor of my first casting competition.
A family member, a friend, a real fishing buddy, and someone that I am excited to have so many more fishing trips with in the future Jake Hackman put out the light. No question, no competition, he buried that paper plate, and put out the fire. Landing the weighted fly almost dead center of the paper plate forced the water in around the edges and the fire was out. Although I lost after I talked so much shit, it will go down as a memory never forgotten. A fun time that we had with the entire family and will never have again. Here’s to you Jake. You got me once. Don’t expect to do it again. And rest in peace Bayou Belle you live on in my memories.