By: Matt Badolato
Article Category: Matt Badolato
“Here Mrs. Thomas, let me put those waters in the cooler.” “Thanks, Matt.” From up on the dock she handed down a cardboard box full of bottles and snacks, her wide-brimmed straw hat shading her saltwater-tanned face. “I made some sandwiches, one for you, too. Fresh sliced turkey with lettuce on wheat. Got a little jug of rum, too.” “Dang, Mrs. Thomas, you sure know how to fish in style!” I said with a smile. “It sure is a nice morning. Those snook should be hungry with that full... [Read more...]
By: Matt Badolato
Article Category: Matt Badolato
Five a.m. My cell phone alarm clock ring-a-ling-lings in my dark room and I slide sideways out of bed, right onto my feet. I do the whole morning thing — clothes on, coffee on, cereal in a bowl — but with zest and enthusiasm. Not a school morning. I hop into my truck and get on the half-hour drive to my fishing spot. The dark, early morning drive is foggy and surreal and has me on a caffeine-induced thinking spree. Life has been weird lately. I graduated high school a few months ago... [Read more...]
By: Matt Badolato
Article Category: Matt Badolato
I am a fisherman. Born to be one. I love the challenge of catching that fish of a lifetime or just trying to help someone else catch a few. The competition at high-dollar fishing tournaments gets my heart racing like a tail-hooked tuna. Nothing beats the camaraderie of fishing with friends or the peacefulness in a solitary journey on the water. What’s more satisfying than landing the big one on light tackle and releasing the trophy to fight another day? Okay, I can think of one other thing. Overall,... [Read more...]
By: Matt Badolato
Article Category: Matt Badolato
All week I spend studying for this, working on that. Car horns are honking and the TV news keeps babbling. Just as my skin is about dried up from city life, my buddy and I plan a dive trip. The next morning I find myself sitting on a big Igloo cooler slid up against the transom of a twenty-foot catamaran. As we pounce over the smooth, sun-glazed swells, the bow of the boat sneezes up a mist of water that blows back and cools my face. My mind stays quiet except for the dub-reggae baseline still stuck... [Read more...]
By: Matt Badolato
Article Category: Matt Badolato
At the end of my neighborhood in Indialantic, Florida, a narrow drainage canal begins and runs in a straight line toward the lagoon. Lined with cattail reeds and tropical philodendrons, the hundred yard-long conduit is the path I follow to the old dock. Tree frogs bark from deep in the ditch. Startled soft shell turtles slide off the shoreline as I stroll by. In spots where the plants clear up, timid tilapias cower for cover in the clear canal. Where the freshwater canal dumps into the saltwater... [Read more...]
