Day 4 started how it had to:
Coffee, first.
Then the slow, sandy process of breaking down camp, stuffing damp gear back into trucks, and brushing off the kind of beach grime that doesn’t rinse out until the second or third shower.
With everything packed, the plan was set—roll out caravan-style to the ICW, squeeze in one last fishing session, and then hit the road. One last stop for bait along the way at the same ditch system behind the dunes, where the marsh drains toward the Intracoastal, and then onward.
They reached a little spillway where everything—marsh, ditches, and tide—funnels into one tight outlet. When the water moves, it’s a fish magnet.
But the tide wasn’t right.
Still, the crew picked at it:
- Dave caught a rat red
- Bret stuck a small black drum
- Gary picked off a couple of gaftop—because of course he did
After that, it turned into a half-hearted shot at an alligator gar, which were cruising slow and smug through the brackish water. They love saltwater more than they should, and while none came to hand, they were there—big, ancient, and uninterested.
The clouds finally started to roll in, but it didn’t matter. The heat was still locked in, the air was still thick, and after four days of wind, sun, redfish, sharks, and digging strangers out of the sand, the crew was cooked. Done.
Everyone split off separately, headed home in different directions, weaving down a dirt road past wild boar and washboard ruts.
The plan: shower second, clean the truck first.
Priorities intact.