The pulse of the Keys becoming more faint

LOWER MATACUMBE KEY, Fla. — No rod and reel in my hand, just a cup of shrimp bisque and some oyster crackers. You remember those tiny little crunchers from your childhood?

I was standing on the inner ramps of the bridge watching the tame tarpon come to the docks for a socialized gathering of free food and sweet-talking from the tourists. You pay your dollars and you are given the privilege of communing with some of nature’s beasts, holding their interest with morsels of food. As usual, there was the obligiatory fool who found it necessary to feed hard-to-swallow candy to the silver kings.

The pelicans continue to strut their stuff on the old wooden docks, looking like keepers of the realm, while a heron or two swoop down and grab a speck of fish the tarpon have rejected.

Down here, the pulse of both marine and on-shore life depends on the winds and waves.

The arriving tides bring news surprises while the exiting waters leave shorelines barren with water birds primed to pick up whatever tender morsels have been deposited.

And I stood there on the bridge, gripping my chowder with a sure hand, waiting for the liquid to cool enough to consume. I could see easily see the bottom of the channel, with its coral shelves and small crabs moving in many different directions.

Just a hop, skip and a cast to the south is my favorite wading spot in the state park, where I enjoy prowling the flats with a fly rod at low tide while searching for feeding bonefish.

I know at least a half dozen guides who have abandoned the Florida Keys for a more skin-friendly environment. My friend Bob is one of them.

He invested hundreds of hours poleing his shallow-draft flats boat over the sand for paying customers who didn’t have a clue which end of the rod was the correct end to hold. He wasted hours trying to inform the novices, to no avail. After 20 or so years of applying eight or nine coats of anti-sun grease to his weathered skin, Bob gave it up and moved to the Ozarks.

But others have persevered, despite the commonly known fact that the good bonefishing is in the Bahamas and what used to be a treasure trove in the Keys is a mere memory. It’s like the pulse of a very old man, on his last legs, his last breath — knowing that his moments are numbered.

Those who fish down there, especially on the west coast of Florida, have seen it. It’s called the Red Tide, an annual creeping death. It is becoming increasingly clear that marine mammals are sentinels of potentially dangerous changes in the ocean’s environment. Sick and stranded marine mammals warn us of changing ocean conditions in El Niño years, and poisoned marine mammals have protected human health by demonstrating the need for the screening of shellfish and other seafood for fatal biotoxins.

In addition to all of this, mankind hasn’t learned yet that overfishing and poaching are also taking their toll.

What was once a world-class bonefish factory along with permit and tarpon down here is now barely able to provide a living for the law-abiding guides who do their best to hold onto the days of yore, when the pulse ran strong and true.

ŸContact Mike Jackson at angler88@comcast.net, and catch his radio show 6-7 a.m. Sundays on WSBC 1240-AM and live-streamed at www.mikejacksonoutdoors.com.