old florida's stilt fish houses
Families still fish and camp in the historic stilt fish houses off Lee County's coast
What’s the next best thing to a home located by the water? How about something that’s actually on the water?
When it comes to waterfront property, the charming, historic stilt fish camps still dotting Pine Island Sound and Charlotte Harbor would rank as some of the most enviable examples. Not much more than some cypress wood and pine planking, roughsawn timbers and the most basic of so- called amenities, these small shelters rise above the best fishing waters in the area. But what they may lack in luxuries they more than make up for in a long and storied history of fishing in Southwest Florida.
Back before World War II, these sites began as small icehouses and fish camps meant to give commercial fishermen a place from which to run their operations, including catching, storing and delivering their day’s bounty to the facilities of processors like the Punta Gorda Fish Company, the dominant fishery of the day. Some 80 years ago, the rustic waterfront cabins stretched from Charlotte Harbor south into San Carlos Bay.
Today, only 10 of those stilt fish camps remain in the area, and those properties are listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Many are located around Captiva Rocks, a shoal situated between Cayo Costa and Pine Island.
Just a fortunate few still get to share idyllic days surrounded by generations of family and friends right above a fishing hole that people travel the world to experience. After weathering sun- kissed days along with some of the Gulf Coast’s most harrowing hurricanes and relentless summer storms, these little camps have survived and still create great memories for families who love to reel in their catch.
“I really feel like we are blessed to have this place,” says Mac Martin. His grandfather bought one of the fish camps from the Punta Gorda Fish Company in 1958, the year after the fishery closed down. Martin’s family has been spending time on Pine Island Sound since he was a kid. “It’s really beautiful out there,” he says.
Martin makes his living selling real estate out in the landlocked Arcadia area. For him, there are very few places— and spaces— that are as beautiful as his little pillar of paradise, perched about 5 feet above the fish in Pine Island Sound ( depending on the tide).
“During the weekends, it can be a busier time on the water,” he says. “But on a weekday with good weather and all the sea life and birds, there’s nothing better.”
Martin’s grandfather and his fishing buddies chipped in and took over the camp, which he describes as “pretty small.” It’s devoid of air conditioning and many of the other purported comforts of the mainland. “If you love to fish, this is the real deal,” he says. “I feel truly blessed to be able to enjoy this.” He pays about $ 1,500 a year to the State of Florida’s Department of Environmental Protection for his submerged land lease, and he’s passionate about keeping the environment just the way his grandfather found it.
Martin and his nautical neighbors— current fishing cabin owners include members of some of this area’s most well- known families, such as mega– car dealer Sam Galloway— go beyond recycling, making sure that nothing ever goes over the railing that doesn’t belong in the water. “We’re all great stewards of the water and the way of life we enjoy out here,” says Martin.
During the 1980s, the State of Florida started burning the structures down, some of which had been abandoned because of a declining trend in the commercial- fishing business. Florida’s
“We’re all great stewards of the water and the way of life we enjoy out here.” — Fish camp owner Mac Martin
Department of Natural Resources had thought the structures could be a navigational hazard to boaters and their existence a detriment to the natural sea grasses of Pine Island Sound and the inlets of Charlotte Harbor. Some camp owners take exception to that concept, mainly because the water is so shallow near the stilt structures that a boater would run aground way before ever hitting a piece of wood.
The Martin family’s fish house has endured its share of hurdles to remain upright, including Hurricane Charley’s 2004 arrival. Because the number of remaining fish camp structures is dwindling, Martin’s decision to rebuild his house after Charley was a no- brainer.
“I had to keep the overall footprint the same, and I really didn’t feel the need to make too many improvements,” he says. “So we just rebuilt it as solid as we could.” He describes the space as one room, with some bunk beds along the side and a picnic table in the middle.
To a fisherman, this is the description of paradise.