UNLOCKING TAMPA BAY
with Bryan Burns
The email said head to Mobbly Bayou Wilderness Preserve, right behind Empower Adventures.
I’m meeting Tatiana Cox Lopez, who, together with her husband Mario Cruz, started Tampa Bay Kayak Anglers in 2017. I’ve been curious about them ever since I learned they were partners with my employer, Visit Tampa Bay. I love paddling on the water, whether in a canoe, kayak, or paddleboard. There’s something transformative about the waters of Tampa Bay. The chaos of the city fades the moment you push off the shore. It’s like entering another world. Add fishing into the mix, and you’ve got the makings of a perfect adventure. I’ve brought along a couple of co-workers: our Creative Director, Keir Magoulas, is here to photograph the experience, and our Social Media Coordinator, Nadia Colimon, is ready to capture content for our digital platforms.
Pulling in beneath a canopy of palm trees, a long steel cable catches my eye—stretching about 50 feet overhead across an adjacent pond. While I’m putting on sunscreen, I hear a sudden whirrrrrr. Looking up, a worker from Empower Adventures is grinning widely as he zip lines above me on what must be a test run. The view from up there must be incredible It’s quiet here—peaceful. Aside from the occasional hum of the zip line and the steady chirping of birds, the preserve is still. “No way,” I think, remembering how even standing on a one-story roof makes my knees wobble. I have a love-hate relationship with my fear of heights. On one hand, it keeps me safe. I don’t needlessly put myself in danger of falling. But it also prevents me from enjoying activities others find great pleasure in.
Tatiana and Mario arrive and greet us warmly. They’re passionate about kayak fishing and enthusiastic about showing us a fun experience they get to do every day. Mario starts unloading the kayaks and prepping the gear while Tatiana and I talk about what we’ll be getting into. She shares with me Tampa Bay Kayak Anglers’ origin story. What began as a small Facebook group for local kayak fishing enthusiasts rapidly grew during the pandemic. With people looking for creative outlets to escape their homes and enjoy nature a safe distance from others, kayaking, fishing, and the marriage of the two became more popular. As experts on both, Tatiana and Mario were flooded with questions: Where can we find the most fish? What kind of kayak is best for fishing? What kind of bait should I use for the local waters? The duo started offering their own private guided excursions for groups of up to five people, tailored to experience level. They provide everything: a knowledgeable guide, the kayak, life vests, fishing equipment, and bait. They also offer boating and fishing camps during the summer for children, teaching them how to rig a rod, tie knots, select baits, water safety, fishing techniques, and fish handling. As a non-profit organization, their mission is to expand access to kayak fishing and promote environmental stewardship.
Mario gets me fitted for my kayak and sends me out on the water. The kayak is a dream to maneuver. The foot pedals propel forward (or backwards if I pedal in reverse, which I end up needing more than I’d like to admit as I get my bearings). A steering lever by my right hip controls direction: push up to turn right, down to go left. It takes a minute to get used to the steering sensitivity, but after a bit of practice in the bay while the rest of the group launches, I quickly feel like a pro. The kayak has two storage compartments at the front and the rear, perfect for essentials like a dry sac, water bottle, and sunscreen, all secured with cargo netting. A paddle is clipped to the side in case the pedal system fails and I need to revert to old-school kayaking.
The setting is stunning. Mobbly Bayou stretches out before me, its wide, sunlit waters so shallow I can nearly see the bottom. To the right, a paddle trail winds through a maze of mangrove forests. As we venture deeper, the bayou narrows to a river-like path. It’s here where we stop to try our luck fishing. Tatiana explains that as the tide comes in, the fish move from the bay through a channel into the bayou. If we continued paddling, we’d reach Mobbly Bay, which flows into Old Tampa Bay—and for the truly ambitious, even farther into the larger Tampa Bay, under the Gandy Bridge, past South Tampa and MacDill Air Force Base, and eventually out to the Gulf.
We anchor over a sandbar about 10 feet from the deeper channel using a pole that’s tethered to the kayak and planted into the sand. Tatiana points to a tree across the channel and tells me to cast as close as I can without snagging it.
“That’s where the fish are going to be,” she says.
My first cast is short of the target. I reel in quickly and try again. The second lands right where I want it, the half-a-shrimp baited on my hook landing comfortably in the shadow of the tree. As I begin reeling slowly, I feel a strike. Then another. I try to set the hook but come up empty. What’s left on my hook is just a few scraps of shrimp. “Oh yeah, he got hammered,” Mario says. “Only took a couple seconds, right?”
Mario sets me up again, and I cast. Within ten seconds, something takes the bait and this time it’s hooked. I reel slowly. It’s no marlin, but there’s solid tension on the line. A couple feet away, my catch surfaces: a small redfish, easy to identify by the distinctive black spot near the tail. “It's a baby red, yay,” Tatiana exclaims. “To me, that’s the most beautiful fish. It’s a very Floridian fish. That is the fish you want.”
“I am the king of the fishermen,” I joke.
Mario grabs the fish, gently removes the hook from its mouth and holds it in his hands. Up close, its colors are striking—far more vibrant than expected. We snap a few photos before he quickly releases it back into the water. Tampa Bay Kayak Anglers promote conservation through practices like catch and release, using barbless hooks, and avoiding fishing in sensitive areas like spawning grounds.
“Do you want to be in the kayak? Do you want to be in the water,” Tatiana asks. “I just want to put you onto some fish.”
The sandbar where we’ve anchored is only ankle-deep. With the late-morning Florida sun blazing, Tatiana suggests it might feel more natural—and more refreshing—to fish while standing in the water. I take the bait (pun intended) and hop out. The water is cool but pleasant, and it always feels more adventurous to get your feet a little dirty. As I step onto the sea bed and settle in, a blue crab shuffles past just inches away. Neither of us seem concerned by the other.
We’re low on shrimp, so I switch to an artificial lure. Unlike bait fishing, this requires a steady reel and frequent recasting.
“When you reel it in, it mimics a real fish,” Tatiana explains. “You’ll see it swimming and dive. That’s where the fish go.”
Soon, the tip of my rod dips sharply. I’ve hooked another red, this one slightly bigger than the first. These waters are teeming with them. Whether using live bait or artificial, I’ve gotten a hit nearly every time I cast.
Tatiana snaps a couple of pics for TBKA’s social media, then gently returns the red to the water.
“Thank you,” she says with a smile “Off we put you.”
The fish floats for a moment, then springs back to life and darts away.
After a couple hours out on the water and a couple more fish caught—all reds--dark clouds gather on the horizon. That’s our cue to head back. As we pack up and say our goodbyes, I can’t help but feel deeply grateful for the experience. Between the peaceful paddling, the thrill of the catch, and the generosity of our hosts, it was the kind of adventure that reminds me why I love calling Tampa Bay home.