TIDE & TIME
THE FORGOTTEN SHRIMPERS OF FLORIDA BAY
Written by: J.T. “Cracker Jack” McCoy
I was just a barefoot boy when I first set foot on my Uncle Buck’s shrimp boat—a beat-up old thing namedMiss Evelyn, after a woman he loved once and cursed forever after. She creaked like a bad hip in the chop, leaked just enough to keep you humble, and hauled more pink gold outta Florida Bay than most folks see in a lifetime. That boat smelled of diesel, brine, and old stories— and so did the men who ran her.
Back in them days, shrimpin’ wasn’t just a job—it was the whole dang heartbeat of places like Chokoloskee and Everglades City. The docks were lined with trawlers, nets hanging like Spanish moss, radios crackling with weather warnings and good gossip. You’d see shrimpers elbow-deep in grease or gutting motors with hands calloused by years of salt and struggle.
They didn’t care for suits or bank accounts. They measured wealth in pounds of shrimp and the number of storms they’d outrun.
Uncle Buck was a legend, even if only in his own mind. Claimed he could smell shrimp running before the moon
even knew. Swore by the tides, hated GPS, and trusted only a busted wristwatch and a gut full of fried mullet. I once asked him what made a good shrimper. He said, “A strong back, a stupid sense of hope, and someone back home waitin’ on ya—though the first two are more reliable.”
Nights on the bay were somethin’ else. Quiet in a loud kind of way. The water slapped the hull like it was tryin’ to talk sense into us, while pelicans shadowed us like ghosts of sailors past. Sometimes, if the moon was right and the nets came up heavy, we’d fire up the skillet right on deck—fresh shrimp, butter, Old Bay, and a slice of bread so thick it’d sponge the sea right off your plate.
Everglades City was shrimp capital before the tourists figured out airboats were fun. It was wild and free—until regulations tightened, fuel got pricey, and big corporations moved in with flashier rigs and deeper pockets. The momand- pop boats couldn’t keep up. A few sold out. Most rusted where they docked.
Now, those boats sit like tombstones—fiberglass ghosts of a saltier time. The docks are quieter. The fish houses fewer.
With her nets wide like outstretched arms, this shrimp boat rolls into the dawn—still chasing the same tide and treasure as generations before her.
Even Miss Evelyn is gone—splintered apart by a hurricane that didn’t bother to ask permission.
But I remember. I remember the sound of nets being hauled at 3 a.m., the taste of Maudie’s shrimp gumbo after a three-day run, and the way the bay looked when the sun rose over the mangroves, painting everything in fire and gold.
I once heard someone call shrimping “a poor man’s gamble.” Maybe so. But it gave us purpose, rhythm, and a kind of freedom you don’t find in air-conditioned offices.
These days, when I take my skiff out, I still toss a cast net now and then. Not ’cause I need it—but to remember. To feel the rope bite my palm, to smell that muddy sweetness in the air, and to honor the folks who fed families on the backs of busted boats and bent spines.
Florida Bay’s still there. She’s quieter now, but she’s watchin’. And if you listen real close on a warm Southern night, you might just hear Uncle Buck cussin’ at the weather and praisin’ the shrimp in the same breath.
So here’s to the forgotten shrimpers—the ones who lived by the tides and died with salt in their veins. You may be gone, but your stories ride the current still. FCM
Told in the voice of J.T. “Cracker Jack”McCoy, this story blends fact, memory, and fictional characters to honor the spirit of Florida’s old shrimping culture.
“CRACKER JACK’S”
SHRIMPER GLOSSARY
PINK GOLD
What shrimpers call their prized
catch, especially Gulf pink shrimp.
SKIMMER
A type of small shrimp boat used in
shallow waters, perfect for Florida Bay.
TRAWL
The net system dragged behind
the boat to catch shrimp.
OTTER BOARD
Wooden or metal planks that
hold the trawl net open while it drags.
BYCATCH
Everything you didn’t want in the net,
like catfish, stingrays, and seaweed.
CULLING
The process of sorting shrimp from the
bycatch, usually done by hand.
RIGGED OUT
A boat fully equipped and ready to shrimp.
HEADS
The shrimp’s noggin. “Heading shrimp” means
removing the heads before sale or cooking.
THE RUN
A period when shrimp are thick in the water
and everyone’s scrambling to fill the hold.
HOLD
The iced-down storage area where
the shrimp are kept on the boat.
POGEY OIL
A fish-based oil used to attract shrimp and
other baitfish—smells like low tide and regret.
MAUDIE’S
SHRIMP GUMBO
INGREDIENTS
• 1 pound Florida pink shrimp, peeled and deveined
• ½ cup flour
• ½ cup vegetable oil (or bacon drippings if you’re bold)
• 1 medium onion, chopped
• 1 green bell pepper, chopped
• 2 celery stalks, chopped
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 can (14.5-oz) diced tomatoes
• 1 quart seafood stock (or chicken stock)
• 1 cup okra, sliced (fresh or frozen)
• 2 teaspoon Creole seasoning
• ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional but Maudie never skipped it)
• 2 bay leaves
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• Hot sauce for kick (Maudie swore by Crystal)
• ½ pound andouille sausage, sliced and browned (optional, but highly recommended)
• Cooked white rice for serving
• Chopped green onions and fresh parsley for garnish
PREPARATION
In a heavy pot or Dutch oven, heat oil over medium heat. Slowly stir in flour, whisking constantly. Cook until the roux turns a deep, nutty brown—like old saddle leather. Don’t stop stirring or it’ll burn! Toss in onion, bell pepper, and celery. Cook 5–7 minutes until soft. Add garlic and cook 1 more minute. Stir
in diced tomatoes, stock, okra, and sausage (if using). Add Creole seasoning, cayenne, bay leaves, salt, and pepper. Let it bubble on low for about 30 minutes. Add shrimp and simmer gently just until they curl and turn pink—about 5 minutes. Add more salt or hot sauce. Ladle over hot white rice. Top with chopped green onions, parsley, and a few more shakes of hot sauce if you dare.
