I love boats. I love flats boats most of all. I also love drift boats and jet sleds and all the magical boats where I stand up, cast a fly and am rewarded with a fish.
If I had one, I’d probably die.
I don’t live in Florida, so I don’t have need of a flats skiff, but I like to fantasize (when the Mrs. is out) about having a flats boat of my very own that I could take out to explore the back country in search of tarpon or redfish or bones or cudas. I’m pretty sure if I took this nice, certified pre-owend Hell’s Bay Marquesa out that I would, likely as not, run into some sandbar or get so lost and turned around I’d never find civilization again.
I really love the local knowledge that a good guide has, how they know where the fish are going to be on what tide over hundreds of square miles. How they know just when to turn where, running at speed and never once killing me. I really value that, the whole not dying part.
That’s why I’m glad I don’t live in Florida and don’t have a boat of my own. It helps keep me alive, which is an activity I’m partial to, even more so than bonefishing.
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