Steve Baker RIP- A Eulogy

Bake with a Mosquito Lagoon redfish.

Bonnie Baker called me on Sunday to tell me Steve Baker passed away last week. He was home, attended by Bonnie and a woman from Hospice, and according to Bonnie, he “went with a smile on his face.” We should all be so lucky. He’d been ill for a while, so while I wasn’t surprised, it still makes me sad.

Many years ago (mid-1980s), the Backcountry Flyfishing Association had their first meeting at the Lake Monroe Inn in Sanford. I was sitting at a table with a group of guys I didn’t know. When they called my ticket number for the raffle, I looked over the goods and picked a box of superbly tied bonefish flies, a baker’s dozen of them. One of the guys at the table had tied those flies and was (apparently) impressed by my excellent taste. That guy was Steve Baker. We were friends from that point on.

Steve with Capt. Joe Shute, near Morehead City.

Steve took me under his wing and mentored me in inshore fishing in Florida. Early on we went on a trip to the Keys. We fly fished for tarpon with Tommy Busciglio. I jumped one, and Steve fought one for almost an hour before the hook pulled. Afterwards we smoked and drank and laughed in Tommy’s living room. We dined that evening with Lee and Susan Baker, and Nat Ragland. Steve moved in those kinds of circles, introduced me to those kinds of people.

Steve with Capt. Gary Dubiel, near Oriental.

Steve had owned a string of flats skiffs. I hadn’t ever poled a boat, so when we fished together in his boat, he did all the poling. One day he stopped in a place we never fished. “What’s up? I asked. “Poling 101,” he said. “Get up there.”

I got on the tower and he handed me the pole. I proceeded to pole down that flat like I’d been doing it all my life. “You’re a lying son-of-a-bitch,” he said to me. “Why are you saying that?” I wanted to know. “You told me you never poled a boat before,” he said. “I never have- this is the first time.” “Then why do you know how to do it?” he asked. I said, “It’s exactly like paddling in the stern of a canoe.” I had lots of canoe time in. The skill was 100 percent transferrable. I took my turns poling whenever we fished from then on.

Steve tied beautiful tarpon flies, too, Keys-style streamers. He shared his techniques with me. Mine were never as pretty as his, though.

We had adventures and misadventures all over the southern half of the peninsula, fishing for all kinds of fish, laughing most of the time. Eventually he and Bonnie moved back to Pinehurst. We saw much less of each other, staying in touch by telephone and occasional fishing trips.

Steve and Capt. Tuck Scott, near Beaufort.

I called one day, asking him to meet me in Morehead City and fish with me down the coast. I was working on a book and wanted a reliable rod man so I could handle the camera. When we got to Beaufort we had a misadventure with a young woman, detailed in this story…

Steve eventually developed neuropathy in his legs. He couldn’t fish any more. He gave me all his fly-tying inventory and a pile of rods and reels, one more generous act in a lifetime filled with them.

In the marsh near Morehead City…

Like the rest of us, Baker had his flaws. I enjoyed most of the time we spent together. We had some great times! I cannot properly express my appreciation for all he taught me. I really loved the guy, and will definitely miss him.

Rest in peace, Steve.

John Kumiski