There’s fishing guides and there’s fishing guides. And then there’s Captain Butch Rickey.
Butchie used to be a US Tax Advisor/Attorney so the fact that he was used to dealing with immovable objects, hostile environments and stubborn, dogged resistance probably stood him in good stead for a life of guiding. The transition must have been near seamless.

He grew up on Captiva Island, South West Florida, before it was the tourist and snowbird centre that it is now, and he tells some wild fishing tales from his youth. Like how he and his buddy would take a lump of meat, hook it onto a large butcher’s hook, sling it out into Redfish Pass and then tie the rope to the back of the pickup truck to whence they would retire to drink beer until they got a bite. When the rope started pulling, they simply slipped the pickup into gear and "drug the son-of-a-bitch up the shore". The biggest catch was a 700lb plus jew-fish (now undergoing a name change to goliath grouper in the interests of political correctness). Hardly in the Izaak Walton tradition of gentleman's pursuits, but a good yarn to spin nonetheless. We were all young and crazy at least once.

I don’t fully recall my first contact with Butch. It was via email, of that I’m certain, but I do recall that I was trying to book some fishing for my next trip to Florida. I had already booked another day on the Jeanne Louise with Captain Chuck Skinner, but I fancied a cast on the flats, maybe even with a flyrod, by god.

Anyway, Butchie must have been the most persistent or the most persuasive because I took some more time to look at his website and I was convinced that he was the man for me. That I was proved right is borne out by the simple fact that whenever I'm in Florida, I go out of my way (sometimes even with a 3 hour drive, by the way) to get a days fishing in with him.

The acid test, and what finally swung it in Butchie’s favour on that first trip, was that he agreed to take my then four year old son, Jamie, along. Jamie was determined to come with me next time I went on a boat and had talked of nothing else for weeks before our trip.

It was only a half-hour drive from our rented villa on the beach at Fort Myers to Butchie’s boat docked at Punta Rassa ramp, just off Sanibel Island. “How will I know you?” I had asked Butch on the phone; “Hah – just look for a six foot bear topped with ginger hair. You’ll know me!” he replied. He was spot on.

I liked Butch straight off, mainly because his first words when we met at the ramp were “It’s blowin’ a north east wind today and I have to tell you it’ll be cold and the fishing will be tough. We can go out, but if you want we can reschedule – no extra charge. Best I could do is put you on some speckled trout for the boy here.”

I considered this; if the guide says it will be a tough day, he’s worth listening to. If the guide is honest enough to tell you this, he is a guide worth knowing. I looked down for the deciding vote and saw Jamie’s face fall at the prospect of his big adventure being cancelled. “I think we'll go out.” I replied.

“Okay, you’re the boss,” said Butch “And how about you young fella, want to help ole Butchie catch us some bait?” Jamie looked up at the giant towering above him and put out a small hand to grasp the proffered big paw. Butchie had joined the family.

Floridians think it’s cold when it’s still T-shirt weather. On the trip out to get the bait, I heard Butch say “Brrr” more than once, I’m sure. It was at least 60 degrees - that’s high summer where we come from. Jamie huddled between my knees and grinned like the Cheshire Cat all the way out with the speed of the Barhopp’r, Butchie’s aptly named boat.

I’d never seen bait caught like this before; first we seasoned the water with some ground meal and then, when there were enough underwater flashes, Butch threw a cast net and hauled in a heap of the little sardine-like fish. Jamie was beside himself with excitement and ran around at the back of the boat picking up the “shiners” and putting them in the live-bait well.

“That’ll do for bait,” said Butch, “Lets get this young man into some trout!”

Jamie grinned as we tore off again in the Barhopp’r.

We set up near a large hole in the flats and Butch showed me how to lip-hook one of the shiners and cast it out on a bobber (float). He took the other rod and did the same but let Jamie hold it. Within seconds, it shot under and Butch grabbed the rod from Jamie, struck the fish and handed the rod back to him saying “There’s your first one, son!” Jamie cranked the reel for all he was worth and soon enough, in came a beautiful speckled sea trout. Not the same as our Scottish sea trout, but a fine looking fish and apparently great to eat.

That was the start of it; every time the float went down, Butch would strike the fish, hand Jamie the rod, Jamie would let out a whoop and Butchie would guffaw. “I’ve got another one! You’re rubbish at this Dad!” he’d shriek at the grinning adults. “You’ve created a monster!” laughed Butch.

We caught trout, ladyfish, catfish, jacks and mangrove snappers. We had a fantastic time and, best of all; Jamie hardly uttered a single complaint which was remarkable for a four year old out on a small boat all day.

Back at the jetty at the end of the day, I asked Butch if the other date was still free and he said “Sure”, and that it would probably be a better day for the “reds and snook” too.

I had no idea what he was talking about. Anyway, I asked if he could bring a flyrod and he said he could so we agreed to meet again on the Thursday for a day of “serious” flats fishing.

Jamie had enjoyed his day so much that there was no way that he wasn’t going to tag along.

So we met up again and went out to get the bait, with Jamie chasing the shiners around the deck and playing with them in the bait well. Then…some trouble; the bait-well jammed up and the shiners started dying. Jamie thought that he was to blame, and maybe he was since Butch and I had been busy looking the other way. There were a few tears from Jamie, but some mechanical magic from the Captain soon put things to rights. Butch then said to Jamie, “It wasn’t your fault son, why don’t you come up here and drive the boat whilst ole’ Butchie has his breakfast” Never seen the boy move so quick or grin so wide.