“Then I heard the Lord asking, “Whom should I send as a messenger to this people? Who will go for us?” I said, “Here I am. Send me.” Isaiah 6:8 NLT
The Bridge Fisherman of Matlacha
By: Sir Alden Pines
“Well then, Mr. Brother Patrick, what did you think of Cabbage Key? Getting there, only by boat, is really a different experience and the private way to get there, right?”, I quizzed my old pal, then summed up the day by reminiscing about our trip, “There is nothing like porpoises jumping in the wake, sea spray in your face and the feeling of being on a boat. And now, you can say that you have enjoyed a “Cheeseburger in Paradise”.”
My long, long time friend, Mr. Brother Pat, replied and then asked, “100%”, “Do a lot of people come the end of the island to watch the sunset or something?”, It’s nearly twilight, we had better hustle back to that Jack’s place you mentioned before it gets packed.” We were to drive toward the island center and then toward Jack’s for the best fresh potato chips in the universe and some refreshments.
“What is with all this traffic?”, asked he, sounding like a frustrated commuter. “I haven’t seen so many cars coming up to a stop sign in quite some time”, he continued.
Acting much like a tour guide, I said, “Well, Phillips Park is just to the right over there, and it’s time for the annual “Mullet Toss”. “That is the reason for the traffic.”
“Really, what in the world is that?”, Pat asked as he was trying to understand what was going on.
I replied, “The Pine Island Chamber of Commerce puts on a seafood festival and mullet toss each year. Island people and others enter to literally toss a mullet as far as they can. Winners have bragging rights for a year. Losers go away and practice for the next year. It’s a big deal for the locals.”
Finally reaching the Island center stop sign, I turn my car left toward Matlacha. After leaving the center area as we started through the state reserve.
Here goes the tour guide in me again, “You know, this reserve is right at sea level. During the highest of tides, the water comes all the way up to the roadside. That creates an environment where small animals and sea creatures can thrive, while being protected, at least for a while.”
We continued the mile and a half or so toward the bustling metropolis of Matlacha. It is a tourist destination made up of only small shops, all painted with various tropical colors. It is very festive. The small shops line the road and a seawater canal is behind each of them. It takes a while to go through because of the large number of shoppers. I pointed out the ice cream shop to die for and some great seafood restaurants.
Passing through even farther, it appears as though the Matlacha draw bridge was going up. A boat could not be seen yet. Now, there is another line to wait in. Shortly, a very large sail boat began to go through the channel. My car was several cars back, but we could still see and hear the loud party on board. They had not a single care for the goings-on around them.
The traffic started clearing, and we began to cross the fabled bridge at Matlacha. It is the most fished bridge in the world. There are fishermen fishing twenty-four hours a day off a bridge. While crossing, we simultaneously saw the silhouette of a magnetic looking figure before the background of a Serenity Bay sunset. He seemed to be overseeing the entire group of fishermen and their activity. Suddenly, thoughts of chips and refreshment vanished. We were curious and drawn to the scene.
As busy as the area was, we immediately found parking.
Pat and I found ourselves standing in the middle of the bridge, by the light of a full moon, in the company of this mysterious man, this bridge fisherman of Matalcha. We turned to see what must have been a hundred or more fisherman from all works of life and all nations. Some were casting nets and some were fishing with poles.
The fisherman said nothing, but His was mission was clear. We understood and knew there was no time to waste. The bait must be cast. The fish must be caught.
In spite of the ominous terrain, which was the tidal channel that curved ninety degrees with rocks above and below the water line. There were also bushes with branches above and below the water line. If there was a good place to cast, it was not visible. The tide was going out into the Gulf of Mexico and moving swiftly.
The fishermen fished all night, and we believed it was the goal to reach and pitched in to help too.
Some fishermen cast their bait across the channel only to get hung up on the rocks where only the seagulls could reach it.
Some fishermen cast their bait short and into the stagnant water near shore, where only small fish could get at it and not be a part of a sustainable catch.
Some fishermen cast their bait at the mouth of the channel and into the water strewn with bushes and branches, where fish could be caught but with great difficulty.
Yet, some fishermen cast their bait into the middle of the tidal stream, where there was a sandy bottom and plenty of food flowing through it. The fish were as many as a multitude and were ready to be caught. The catch was plentiful.
Just like that it was over and we were all gone, the Fisherman, the fishermen, and the catch.
A feeling of accomplishment and earned reward fell over the bridge. The party boat was not to be seen or heard from again.