The Flats and the Back Country

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 he was used to dealing with immoveable objects and stubborn, dogged resistance. The transition to being a fishing guide must have been seamless. He had grown up on Captiva Island 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 meat hook, sling it out into Redfish Pass and then tie the rope to the back of the pickup truck where they retired to drink beer until they got a bite. When the rope started pulling, they slipped the pickup into gear and "drug the son-of-a-bitch up the shore". The biggest catch was a 700lb plus Jew-fish. Hardly in the Lee Wulf tradition of gentleman's fishing, but a good yarn to spin nonetheless. Anyway, 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, and I was trying to book some fishing for my next trip to Florida. I had already booked another day on the Jeanne Louise, but I fancied a go 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 evidenced by the simple fact that whenever I'm in Florida, I go out of my way (sometimes even with a 3 hour drive) to get a days fishing with him. 

The acid test, and what finally swung it in his favour on that first trip, is 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 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 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, it’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 his hand to grasp Butchie’s 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 a Cheshire cat all the way out at the speed of the Barhopp’r, Butchie’s aptly named boat. 

I’d never seen bait caught like this before; first we baited the water with some ground meal and then, when there were enough underwater flashes, Butch threw a cast net and hauled in a ton of bait. Jamie was beside himself with excitement and ran about 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.