Well, here we are in the dead on winter. Thought I'd share some stories with you that have led up to this life, lived well here on the beach in Florida. A few years ago, I got to experience a strange take on “Fly Fishing”.
Mac Papers is an old family-owned business based in Jacksonville, Florida. Somehow, I managed to infiltrate the company, and make friends with most all the management there. Tom Fleming had been my neighbor at the marina where we both kept our boats in St. Augustine. Tom was a higher-up at Mac, and through him I met many, many of the other higher-ups at Mac. Must’ve been a good place to work, as they all seemed to retire with big houses, expensive boats and big pensions. But I digress.
From 2009-2013 I published a fishing magazine by the name of Coastal Angler. That particular publication introduced me to a number of renowned fishermen around Florida and the Bahamas. I even got to meet my hero, bass fisherman Bill Dance, at a fishing expo we attended in Orlando.
On one occasion I was introduced to a particularly likable gentleman by the name of George Kirby who had gotten wind of my magazine. “I hear you publish a fishing magazine”. “Yes Sir”, I replied. “Well, I’d like to take you Fly Fishing, Ken. Can you meet me this coming Thursday at Orlando Executive Airport at 730 am?”
I arrived at the airport not quite knowing what to expect. George was somewhat vague on the details of our upcoming adventure. Orlando Executive is a general aviation airport and home to a lot of hobbyists, private business planes and the such. George rented a private hanger for his plane that I was immediately smitten with, a beautiful 1982 LAKE, single engine, belly-landing seaplane.
The LAKE Buccaneer seated three. The pilot, co-pilot, and one other in the back seat.
We took off that morning, George, myself, a bucket of crappie minnows and two extendable fishing rods in the back seat. Shortly after takeoff we made a pit stop at a monthly gathering of vintage plane pilots where George seemed to know everyone, and we enjoyed coffee, donuts and breakfast. There was lots of talk between old friends and fellow pilots, and then we were off again.
Our first stop was Lake Apopka. George landed the plane on the lake’s glassy surface and we taxied to the nearest bed of lilly pads. After he opened the bat-wing windshield on the plane, we climbed out on the wings of the plane with the minnows and fishing poles, sat on the plane’s wings and began to fish. We caught bream and bass from the wings of this seaplane. We’d fish and chat, and then we’d taxi to another bed of lilly pads and fish some more. It was magical.
As the day progressed, we landed on other lakes, Kissimmee, Pierce, Monroe and Dora. We taxied on the water and saw homes of celebrities, Shaquille O'neal's place being one of them. The little plane was slow, a single engine. I once heard a comedian joke about a small plane he found himself traveling on flying at “the speed of smell”. I asked George, God-forbid, should the single engine fail, would the plane glide? “Yes, he said, just like a UPS truck.
I wrote a story about the “fishing from an airplane” experience that was run in the national edition of Coastal Angler Magazine, 500,000 copies nationwide. That was years ago, and I have gone back to the current Coastal Angler people to see if I could get a copy of the story as it ran in the publication, as a pdf with photos and all. I’d like to have it framed as a gift for my friend, George. They claim they can’t locate it. What a shame.
I flew with George on that Lake seaplane a few more times after that. We did an overnight fishing trip where we flew into Tavares Florida, a true seaplane destination and fished by day and stayed overnight in a lakeside cabin with some other friends who fished by boat.
My wife Karen joined us for one trip where we landed on Lake Pierce, south of Orlando. Our adventurous pilot taxied us into Cherry Pocket, and a little tiki hut of a restaurant for shrimp and oysters.
George flew the plane to the Bahamas, with his wife Patti one time, and spent a few days on a sailboat with myself and my wife Karen, along with friends Toma and Lona Fleming. He didn’t land in the saltwater of the islands, but instead landed at an airport in Marsh Harbor where we picked him up.
Eventually my friend sold the plane. His flying a casualty of growing older, but as Jimmy Buffett said, “not up”. We have remained close friends however, and to this day, when someone mentions fly-fishing to me, I just can’t help but recall George, myself and our minnows enjoying the friendly skies. In hindsight, we both agree we’d have gotten more fish with crickets, but the adventure couldn’t have been any better.
