Sometimes we find ourselves attracted to things so out of character that we become helpless in their face and can do no more than to follow them like beacons. This accounts for many seemingly inexplicable romantic pairings, the purchasing of ugly shoes, and the collecting of navel lint or airline vomit bags.
In my case, I am hopelessly drawn to fish camps. I’d never heard of fish camps until moving to the South and suddenly I found myself turning down any road that advertised one, the way I used to turn down any road that offered white-peach Bellinis. My first fish camp was Kate’s in Gainesville, and since that time I have blindly followed their signs, probably hoping to run into the type of characters and tales that might result in a creative non-fiction story. In one case, I followed a fish camp sign down by Orange Lake that led Mr. B. and me into what suddenly seemed like a sketchy situation. I may have to leave this type of camp to my friend Jack Riepe, simply because Jack of all people would relish the gaminess and know how to cope with the local color better than I would, especially if the local color was fishing in secrecy and without proper permit.
Driving through the Ocala National Forest, I saw not one but three fish camp signs. South Moon Fish Camp looked to be the most promising (read: downmarket) so I headed there late on a hot afternoon just as the sun was throwing a wash of gold over the St. John’s River. For those who aren’t familiar with fish camps, they are generally places where you can rent a no-frills accommodation and a boat and have access to cleaning and gutting facilities. Occasionally they are a bit more upscale and developed, like Parramore’s Fantastic Fish Camp & Family Resort just downwind of South Moon.
There wasn’t anyone around South Moon as we got out of the car and walked to the dock. I admired a pontoon boat and decided to rent it one day soon; I figure that just as I started “hiking” on concrete parking lots I can start “kayaking” by gliding down the river in a boat that holds 12 but will here transport two. If we discount my trio of rides on the glass-bottomed boats at Silver Springs, the last time I had been on the water was back in 1991, when my friend Big Pink and I took a turn or two around the Lafayette Reservoir in Lafayette, CA on a two-person paddle boat.
I don’t know what it is about Florida that has me reverting to baby steps. Perhaps it is greater awareness of the environment and perhaps it is something else more deeply seated that is in reality very obvious. Despite going into my second year here, it is all still strange and unfamiliar, so I am discovering things with a child’s sense of wonder but without a child’s openness to experience. This has created a lot of stress, if the truth be known. Given a slightly different set of circumstances, I’d probably be living in a condo in Sarasota and working in a retail boutique, selling designer handbags that claim to be leather but are really vinyl-coated canvas. And my feet would hurt and I’d hate it and I’d never be up enough on fashion to persuade anyone to spend ten thousand dollars on a purse. I was this person a couple of decades ago and my feet still have not returned to normal size and neither has any ability to persuade people to do what they really don’t want to do in the first place.
I stood on the dock at South Moon and asked my usual rhetorical question about alligators. Mullet flashed out of the water and something else briefly made a disturbance and then disappeared below the surface. I was secretly hoping to run into a grizzled local with beery breath and a big story of the one that got away, but no one materialized. The camp appeared to have a decent number of boats to rent and I made Mr. B. promise that when we rent a boat, I get to back it out of the dock.
Note: I am unable to find the Web site for the camp, although one of the boats did have a URL printed on its side. We took a drive around Passamore’s, finding much to like in a couple of the riverside cabins, so they get the link and South Moon does not. Also in the area is the Jungle Den (we didn’t visit). Jungle Den has a motel and it formerly had a restaurant. The link for the restaurant advises that the restaurant is temporarily closed, but that there are many fine restraints (sic) in the area that one might alternatively enjoy. Where is that adult toy shop, anyway?
www.passamores.com
www.blairsjungleden.com
The Blackwater Inn restaurant is just downriver:
www.blackwaterinn.com
From the pictures on their menu, they serve it up plain.
As we drove down Camp South Moon Road, we flushed a group of turkeys out of the grass. I love wild turkeys and used see many in California. They became so familiar that they used to run up the canyon to sit on the railing of my deck, and they’d wander around my house calling to me. It was a pleasure to see these birds in Florida.
This sign was at Passamore’s.
gainesville365.wordpress.com 
Pretty interesting stuff about fish camps. I thought they only existed in places like SC or NC. At least, that’s the only place I’ve ever seen them. Good on ya for trying new things Florida style.
SR, I’m shocked that you didn’t know about fish camps! But then again, you are not a river fisherman.
They are all over the place up here and I dig them. Some are just launching pads with small metal boats to rent and others are more elaborate and still others are just trailer parks.
I think we should arrange a blogger meet-up where we head out on Lake George on a pontoon boat, spouses (sig. others included). What say?
Dear Freshly-Squeezed:
I am about to surprise you again. My pard Ricky and I were guests of the Bass Haven Lodge (Welaka, Florida) on the Saint John’s River, about 12 years ago. We were there for five days, hired a guide for one (about $400), and got solidly skunked.
The guide, “Chip,” had the boat tucked away in some malarial corner, and I had to take a mighty 7-beer piss (as it was about 8:30am).
“Nose the boat into that hammock so I can step off and drain the iguana,” I said.
Now about this time there issued from the brush an odd noise that sounded like a bird dealing with constipation.
“Hear that,” asked Chip? “That’s a ‘gator sitting in those bushes someplace. “Still want to hop off waving the old chicken neck?”
“Never mind,” I said, directing a perfect 30-foot arch into the tangles of roots. “I can get him from here.”
Ricky and I rented a cozy, unair-conditioned cabin on the river. Our thought was to fish all day, eat gator, and find a topless joint for the evenings. We were out like a light by 7:30pm each night. I remembered thinking the place was hotter than hell and it was the middle of March. I’d heard about the Bass Haven Lodge from an article in “Field and Stream.”
There are fish camps all over Florida.
Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads
Jack, if you ever want to return and experience the best a fish camp can offer, I will direct you to something called Caraway Landing that is down by Cross Creek. A weathered and barely legible sign on the side of the road had me bumping down a dirt lane for several miles until I reached a little bridge. Just as I was going to cross the bridge, Mr. B. announced the appearance of another vehicle coming in the opposite direction. I backed up a bit and let him take the bridge first.
As soon as he passed me, my hackles went up. We were a good five miles into the woods, a blonde and a longhair in a girly-blue Toyota SUV. I reached around in back of my seat for my NRA cap and I suggested Mr. B. put it on, or at the very least try the USMC cap on for size. No go.
We had come to a fork in the road, literally. Mr. B. wanted to drive to the right but I pointed out that the bridge we had just crossed could very easily be blocked by the other driver if he so desired. I drove another 50 or so yards and turned around and drove back over the bridge. Within half a minute I was, at 10 MPH, up this guy’s arse. He went slower and slower until I had no choice but to let off the gas pedal completely. The parade went on for a couple of miles, with both Mr. B. and I growing increasingly wary. Mr. B. entertained me with a story about camping in the Virginia woods and having to ask his then-girlfriend to hide silently in their tent when some local types came drunkenly through the woods with shotguns.
Eventually, the guy turned off to the left, but not before he had executed a nice reverse maneuver so he could get a good look at us. After this, I sped up to a whopping 40 MPH until I got to the main road, where I saw that the other side of the sign read “CLOSED.”
Later, I heard from a state folklorist that this area around Cross Creek was still notable for its special citizenry and their special activities. From now on, I am restricting my fish camp investigation to those that can rent you a line and a pole for a punter.
P. S. It is hotter than hell here, but not to blast-furnace level. You would be sick.
Ten thousand dollar purses? Good grief. By the way Florida turkeys aren’t like wild California turkeys- they are vicious aggressive and poisonous. Not that I want to feed your paranoia or anything.
But, CS, they are BRONZE.
Phobia, CS, not paranoia! Paranoia sounds so Sixties.
Dear Freshly-Squeezed:
From what I’ve read, the swamp boys would wear your clothes while they took turns having sex with your boyfriend. That’s what happened to a friend of mine who got stranded on Ramroad Key on night. (Why do you think the call it that?)
Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads
Jack, leave it to you to know the score! In the future, I will ask you. I am about to embark upon the book I’m writing, about Florida’s special people/events/things/circumstances. No doubt there will be call for an advisor. I will put you in the dedication.
Great post, and thanks for solving the mystery of what a “fish camp” is for me! I too have been fascinated by those places and had never heard that term before moving out here. It might be time to check one out!
Felicia, make sure the fish camp is open. Read my story above.
If you’re over near Gainesville, Kate’s Fish Camp is scenic, but has no community. There’s another down at Orange Lake (or more than one) and the three I discuss in this post.