Birthday letter to Whidden’s. It’s Americana at its finest

One hundred years of Whidden’s. I’ve been lucky to be a small part of that time

BY JAKE POEPL

Where do I begin?

Whidden’s is a true treasure. It’s where I first stepped on a boat in Boca Grande. It’s where I bother Donna at 11 p.m. for another three-dozen shrimp so I can keep fishing well into the night. It’s where I bring my wife and kids. It’s where I sit by Pinky Pie’s pig pen and tell her stories about the big one that got away. She always listens, never interrupts.

It’s where we celebrate tournament successes, and where we drown our sorrows from the defeats. It’s where I’ve met friends I will have for life (including a certain bearded hall-of-famer and artist).

If you want to meet genuine people, look no further than those who keep Whidden’s up and running (too many to name, I don’t want to forget someone and get in trouble). Do you think hurricanes, heat, bugs, rain, wind, red tide, parking restrictions or know-it-all-tourists deter them? Not a chance. This is the overall vibe you encounter when you step onto the property. Come as you are, they’ve seen it all.

In my opinion, this only scratches the surface of the Whidden’s experience.

If you are an angler looking for fishing-sensory overload, look no further than Whidden’s on tournament day. The place is buzzing. As you walk onto the dock, you encounter captains shouting playful jabs at each other over the sound and smell of diesel inboards warming up. All the while they encourage each other to “catch ‘em up.”  The sounds of cans, water bottles and ice being dumped into coolers fills the air. Leaders are being stretched; side bets being made.

Bait pens hang from pulleys and ropes along each slip. You lean on the rail and watch captains and mates scoop squirrelfish and crabs from the bait pens into their boat’s baitwell. The rested squirrelfish almost sound like they are vibrating in the bait net as they slap their tails against each other during their short flight from the pen to the baitwell, with the baitwell serving as the layover destination. Final destination, a tarpon’s yawning mouth.

When the fishing is done for the day and the boat is roped off, I usually grab a beverage and a spot on the dock or at the cleaning table. The knowledge (and a little BS) absorbed is vast and wide-ranging. You are guaranteed to learn and laugh. If you don’t laugh, remember rule #17. If you don’t know what rule #17 is, maybe go to Whidden’s and ask.

Whidden’s is the hub for all things angling (and wonderful people) in Boca Grande, and Southwest Florida, for that matter.

It’s Americana at its finest. It’s literally one of my favorite places on earth. It was an honor to write a birthday letter to Whidden’s and those who call it home. Happy 100th from our family to Whidden’s and the wonderful people within!