When I arrived at the Bonita Beach Club for my spring break vacation I had goals that differed from most beach goers and spring breakers. While many kids my age played frisbee on the beach and tried to look cool decked out in their new spring break attire, I walked the beach with my fly rod in search of fish dressed head to toe in fishing gear. I must have looked kind of stupid to the average 16 year old with my Buff covering my face and my backpack over my long sleeve Salt Water Experience fishing shirt holding a long stick with a metal thing at one end. However, in my mind I was the coolest dude in all of Florida. Even with my sweet gear and new 8wt rod I was plagued by high winds and cold water. I had no success wading the shallows while getting pummeled by waves. None of my efforts paid off. While sitting in Pinchers Crab House on the third night I day dreamed of big snook and jacks ripping line from my fly reel, landing a beast on the beach and attracting all sorts of spectators. I was rudely brought back to reality by the “Whattaya want” type waiter in his tartar sauce stained t-shirt asking me how I wanted my Grouper cooked. Finally, that night the winds calmed and the crickets began to play their melody of chirps. I jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs to condo 219 to get my gear. I threw my pliers on the belt of my one pair of dress shorts that I had brought with me and rigged up my fly rod. My brother inside claiming that he wanted to go with. He got his spinning rod and we hit the docks. I had a key to get onto the “Family Fishing and Observation Deck” but there was a gate to get further down the docks. The “Family Fishing and Observation Deck” sucked as far as nighttime snook fishing went so I decided to hop around the gate to get farther down. This would turn out to not be the only barrier I would jump that night. I handed my brother my fly box and rod and climbed over. He passed me my stuff and I briskly walked down the docks, scanning each finger slip looking for the dark shadow of a snook. None to be found. I went to the very last slip, fighting my way through over-grown mangroves. A light from the next docks glowed brightly like a beacon. I watched it for a while. BANG! the water under the light exploded and baitfish scattered. “Holy Cow,” I said to myself. At that moment I turned from casual snook fisherman to the guy in Splinter Cell searching the mangroves for a way over. Nothing was available. I ran back nearly knocking my brother into the water as he had just made it over the fence. “C’mon D,” I yelled I climbed back over the gate and ran into the parking lot. My panting brother caught up. ” I need to get to those docks,” I said to him. I ran to down the mangrove line towards our neighbors at Sandy Shores. Then, in the distance, I saw the barrier between me and hungry snook. A 7ft wall marked the end of the Bonita Beach Club and the start of Sandy Shores. “Damn it!” I shouted under my breath “Who’s the genius who puts a giant wall here? It’s not like the retirees are going to be hopping fences to get on each other’s docks.” I, however, was not discouraged. A little wall never stopped anyone. I put my fly box in my pocket and began to scale the wall. “Uh, Zach. The sign says No Trespassing: Violators Will Be Prosecuted,” my younger brother, the voice of reason chimed in. “Well I’ll just have to not get caught,” I replied. “Well fine, have fun in jail,” he said, “Im going home.” I jumped over the wall and landed on the foreign ground. I grabbed my rod and kneeled quietly in the gravel looking for someone who may “prosecute me”. It seemed clear, however, the docks went down pretty far. I stepped onto the sand next to the tall docks, this sand turned out to be very soft and mucky. My clean new tennis shoes sank in. “Well, there go my shoes,” I said to myself. I fumbled around taking them off standing on one foot in the complete darkness. Slowly I waded into the pitch black water stabilizing myself on the barnacle covered pillars of the dock. I figured it was pretty shallow, but suddenly fell in to above my knees causing a big splash. “Well, there goes my nice shorts.” I surveyed the area for a while looking for a place to cast. I threw a few ugly ones but did eventually figure out a system involving roll casts and strange short back casts. My big snook mouse pattern was not a good fly I decided to cut it off. This left me with a problem I had to tie on a fly using only the light from the end of the dock 40ft away. “Christ!” I mumbled. Then suddenly I realized that every teenager in America has a wonderful invention called a cell phone. I reached into my damp pockets and pulled out my gadget. I clicked a button and the front light illuminated I put my phone in my mouth and began to try and tie a knot using its dim glow. After 5 minutes of dropping my fly or my line or having to take my phone out to breath I caught a glimpse of something moving above me. In my head I was screaming expletives. The figure which I could make out as a man was moving down slip by slip making a cast and moving my way. I went splinter cell mode and slowly made my way under the docks or as I like to put it, into the jungle. The man walked directly over my head. Grains of sand fell through the cracks as he stepped. He made a few casts and walked back. My heart was racing. A close call, but I was O.K. I finally tied on my green clouser and started to cast. Scenes from Jaws and Jason X filled my head as I stood in pitch black water with nothing but dark mangroves behind me The snook continued to pop under the light but I had no takers. Then, on one of my back casts my fly hit a lamp above me. The loud “ding” could have been heard a mile away. The man who was not as far down as I thought came back towords me. More expletives that basically said “Way to go. You’re screwed now.” bounced around in my brain. I stood very still in the pitch black water he came to the end and looked in the water. I could see now that he was an older man. His peculiar face gave a strange look as he looked right at me. My heart again raced and my hands trembled– “Oh, hello there,” he said in a friendly voice. The control panel in my dead went haywire, ” S**t what do I say? Oh jeeze I’m so F***ed,” I said to myself. “Hello, how’s your night been?” I asked him. I gasped as released the words. ” Oh its been fine couple of small ones.” he said. “Well that’s great,” I said, “I haven’t caught anything.” My voice trembled I was so scared. “It’s pretty dark here. Do you want some light?” He flicked a switch and my surroundings became a little brighter. “Hey, thanks a lot,” I said and he walked off. I laughed with relief. I just dodged a major bullet. With the added light I could cast a little better. A few minutes later a dark shadow came up around my fly. WHAM! Snook on! He charged into the jungle of pillars but I pulled him out. He jumped and ran into the dark water. Finally, I pulled him onto the sand and cheered. My first snook on fly! Without my trusty camera man (brother) I managed some mediocre pictures and released him back into the his Jungle. A perfect night. I climbed onto the dock and thanked the old man who let me fish. I shook his hand and went home. That night I dreamed of one thing: Big snook in the Jungles of Bonita Beach. In the morning my mom asked if I had left our docks where she told me to stay, I said I used some “Tactical Manuevers”, she rolled her eyes.