Sunday Favorites: R.I.P. Snead Island Crab House

Growing up on Snead Island, my childhood was filled with aquatic adventures. During the summer, when we were out of school, my friend and I checked the tides to see if the conditions were right for launching the kayak and paddling around the island. My dad built a homemade dolly for easy transport to the water. 

Humback Bridge connecting Snead Island to the mainland.

Humback Bridge connecting Snead Island to the mainland.

Snead Island Crab House

There was really no discussion needed on those days, as the destination was usually the same – Snead Island Crab House. After paddling all that way, we’d eagerly stock up on candy bars and soda, the perfect treats to recharge our energy before the journey back. We’d giggle over the merchandise - hats that read, “we’ve had crabs for 20 years and still got ‘em!" It was always a challenge to get there and back before the 3 p.m. thunderstorms rolled in, but the journey was always worth the risk. 

The Snead Island Crab House wasn’t just a place for snacks, it was a hub of camaraderie and insider information only shared among a select few of trusted locals. This wasn’t idle gossip, no siree,  this was the sacred exchange of fishing intelligence, when and where the fish were biting. And not just any fish mind you – it was the elusive snook we were after. Known as the king of the inshore gamefish, snook offered an unparalleled challenge. Hooking one wasn’t just a feat, it was a battle that tested the technique of even the most skilled angler. 

On fishing days when I joined my mom on  her open fisherman boat, we’d stop in at the Crab House for a dual purpose, the first being to stock up on bait, my mom always received the largest and livelist shrimp, and to gather the latest scoop on the fishing scene. It was the kind of place where community and tradition intertwined, fueling both our fishing expeditions and our connection to each other. 

Snead Island Crab House after Hurricane Milton.

A couple of weeks ago, while idling by the Crab House during a boat trip, I was deeply saddened to see that the docks and baitwells were nearly destroyed by Hurricanes Helene and Milton. It brought back memories of the days that seemed straight out of the Ottis Redding song, “Sittin’ On the Dock of the Bay,” where for a brief moment, the weight of the world would lift from the shoulders of those engaged in conversation at the Snead Island Crab House.  Politics and stress gave way to that familiar topic everyone knew and loved: fishing. 

Located on the western side of the Snead Island Cutoff, north of the Humpback Bridge, The weather-beaten structures of the The Crab House seemed almost out of place sandwiched between the high-end sail and power boats of the Bradenton Yacht Club and the mega trollers produced by Marlow Marine. However, the dilapidated structures were a welcome sight of a long Old Florida tradition. 

A fish market operated at the site since at least 1930, according to “Sneads Island, Then and Now: The Early History of the Settlers of Sneads Island,” a self-published book by Kathryn Vassel Kermode. Over the years, the business changed hands several times before Clyde McInnis bought it in the 1970s.  His grandson, Tyler Trudeau, who inherited the property after McInnis passed away, said it was a crab processing plant when his grandfather took it over. 

In a 1993 interview with the Manatee County Historical Society, Lloyce Davis describes the operations of several of these fish houses, including the The Snead Island Crab House. Residents, including children, often participated in the operations of the fish houses, which were central to the local economy.

Davis recounted using large pots to boil crabs, seasoned with salt and local pepper plants. It was a tradition that connected the communal spirit and the local flavors of the area. For me, places like The Crab House are more than just businesses—they were community hubs. They brought people together, allowing locals to connect and create a close-knit community. Oral histories show just how much these places were relied on and respected, shaping Snead Island’s identity and helping preserve its heritage even as the world around it evolved.

As I recollect those summer days and the sense of community experienced at The Crab House, I can’t help but hope it gets rebuilt. There’s nothing quite like it in our community anymore, and I believe it’s an important part of preserving the spirit of Snead Island. The connections made, the knowledge shared, and the traditions preserved are too valuable to let fade away.