Pete the Pirate

I grew up on Roberts Bay between the north Siesta Key Bridge and the entrance to Phillippi Creek here in Sarasota . Before the fill islands were created by The Army Corps which are now generally referred to as " Edwards Islands" , there was an island called Edwards Island . The island today faces north and provides a clear view of the north Siesta bridge . The island was often used by commercial fishermen to organize their catch , mend mullet nets , eat lunch , or simply talk about fishing . I would beach my skiff and pass the time listening to them talk and watch them as they went about their daily routines . All of them were weathered by the sun and salt , hands rough hewn from hauling their catch and working with nets . Many seemed to be worn by a tough life and again , most , were missing teeth . Relaxing on the island meant smoking mullet and drinking lots of Busch beer . Some of the fisherman ignored me . I was the kid who would come from the mainland in his skiff and bother them but one in particular began to trust me and would talk with me showing me how to mend nets and smoke mullet . I knew him only by Pete and this was from the others calling him by name since he never formally introduced himself . He would talk of fishing , the freedom , drudgery , and hard work . I think he was a pirate at heart because he would always talk about the pirates who had worked and hidden in the waters around Sarasota . So , I began to talk about Pete the Pirate who stayed on Edwards Island to my parents and friends . I rarely took friends out to see him because he didn't like being around many people . Pete was the only fisherman who basically lived on the island . Eventually , he laid a slab foundation , still visible to this day , built a shelter out of wood and tin , and constructed a concrete cistern to catch rainwater , the remains also still visible today . Pete had all the amenities of home including a privy built out of the same wood and tin as his shack . He even constructed a shower of sorts using rainwater flowing from a hose stuck in a galvanized bucket . Sometimes I would glide my cyprus skiff onto the beach and he would be asleep which meant he had been on a beer bender so I would leave and come back a few days later finding him fine smoking mullet to sell on the mainland or at the Siesta Fish Market . I would while a way the time especially in the summer visiting Pete . Sometimes we would talk or I would just watch him work . Then , one day I arrived and he seemed to be out of sorts . I asked him what was wrong figuring he had a hangover . " Corps gonna come and dredge the new channel , things will be changin " . He was a man of few words anyway but I could tell this really bothered him . " Corps folks been here " , he went on . " What did they say ? " , I asked him . " Said I would have to leave when the dredgin starts , gonna make some big fill islands ", he added . This was one of the last times I saw Pete . I visited him a couple of more times and each time his face seemed to become more accepting that his world was coming to an end . About a month passed and finally I took my route to the island . As I cut my engine and scratched up on the beach I was in shock . Gone was the shack , nets , shower , smoker , everything . The only thing left was the concrete slab which is the only vestige of Pete The Pirate's encampment . Gone too was an era of independent and self reliant fishermen who could make a little money on Roberts Bay . Also gone was a friend who showed me how to smoke mullet and mend nets , and , a little about life . I stood there on the slab for what seemed an eternity crying and wondering what would become of Pete The Pirate .