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Breeding tropical fish in Myakka City
Dana Sanchez
Patrick Snowden runs a tropical fish farm by himself on 26 acres. He took over Sarah's Fish Farm when his wife died in 2000, a tragedy from which he is still struggling to recover.
Attracted to the ethics of American Indian culture, Snowden tries to walk softly and leave no tracks. That's sometimes hard to do when tropical cichlids constantly escape from their pens or ponds and turn up where they're not supposed to be. This occasionally results in interesting crossbreeding of species.
Alligators, otters, crawfish and cats are drawn to Snowden's farm because of plentiful free food.
He raises 50 varieties of South American cichlids or fish, selling them to domestic and international markets, pet shops and hobbyists.
The cichlids come in dazzling colors from sparkly silver to blue polka dots. The plainer ones are not brown. They're chocolate.
Snowden moved to Florida from California in 1988, where he left behind a failed marriage and a drug habit. Raised north of Palm Springs in Morongo Valley, he was born into fish farming. His family sold bass and bluegill in the desert, charging the public by the pound for fish.
At six feet, one inch, Snowden is the shortest of four siblings. His frame is lean and lanky, his eyes the shape of diamonds and almost as bright. He wears a head band and laugh lines dominate his face.
The fish farm of his youth provided an added legacy that still impacts him today. The family ranch had an Indian burial ground, where Snowden remembers picking up pottery shards and arrowheads as a boy.
He attended college in San Diego, where he studied archaeology and anthropology. He has traveled the world and can speak Spanish, Russian, French and Arabic. Comparative religion has been an ongoing interest.
During three years of active duty in the U.S. Navy, Snowden worked as a radioman, spending most of his days locked in a secure room with fluorescent lighting and recirculated air. It made him appreciate the outdoors. He was in the Army Reserve for an additional four years and worked as a printer in San Diego for 10 years.
Following a divorce in the mid-1980s, Snowden taught himself to fashion arrowheads out of quartz and obsidian. The hobby proved therapeutic and allowed him to feel connected with the earth.
"It straightened my mind out," he said. "You have to communicate with stones in order to work with them. Not all of them wanted to be arrowheads."
Snowden met his late wife, Sarah, in 1991 when he applied for a job on her farm. She couldn't afford to pay him, but offered him room and board. Together, they developed a fish farm on a shoe string, building a 5,000-square-foot covered area for 120 concrete holding vats. They also built a home and artists' studio on the Myakka farm. After eight years, they married.
Theirs was a unique relationship, said Ray Bebout, Snowden's father and Myakka City resident.
Snowden and his wife pursued a common interest in Native American art while running the fish farm. He made American Indian jewelry, and still has the necklace he was making for his wife when she died. His dream of spending more time on art evaporated when Sarah died suddenly of an aneurysm.
"That was one of those relationships that you only find once in a lifetime," Bebout said. "It was so brief. It was there and then it was gone."
An expensive hobby
Left to run the fish farm alone, Snowden devotes most of his waking hours to what he calls an expensive hobby.
He often starts work at 4 or 5 a.m., slogging until 10 p.m. or midnight. The work requires him to be an expert in many fields.
"You have to be a scientist, ichthyologist and chemist for diagnosing and treating parasites and fungus," he said. "You have to be a mason, roofer, small engine mechanic, know it all, do it all, fix it all."
Though he has no children, Snowden oversees plenty of breeding on his farm. Friends give him fish, which, left to their own devices, multiply. He has no idea how many fish he has in the 48 ponds dotting the property, but estimates it to be in the hundreds of thousands.
Sometimes, the fish crossbreed, resulting in oddball new species. But usually, they're infertile, he said.
There is money to be made raising tropical fish, he said, but in the past four years since his wife died, Snowden has struggled to keep the business alive.
He's been hit with two freezes and two floods, losing 95 percent of his crop in one freeze alone. During the floods, carnivorous cichlids overflowed into the tamer ones' ponds, wreaking havoc and eating the babies.
Turtles, alligators, tadpoles and crawfish are drawn to the banquet the fish farm offers, but Snowden has found a way to live in harmony with them. He welcomes the gators, which eat the turtles, and he sells the tadpoles and crawfish.
"A couple of otters can put him out of business in about a month," Bebout said. "He doesn't like to harm any kind of animal even though the animals are the bane of his existence."
Another hobby
Snowden tries to attend Native American ceremonies, where he sings with a rattle and drum. He donates willow trees grown on his farm for the construction of sweat lodges.
Beca Morning Dove, who practices medicine wheel, a Native American community gathering, describes Snowden as "a real man," gentle, quiet and giving.
"He walks the path and is very connected with the Earth Mother and all the animals on his farm," she said. "He's all about peace and wholeness on this planet."
Snowden has managed to stay grounded, despite the challenges facing people dependent on modern conveniences like fax machines and cell phones, she said. Morning Dove found it difficult getting to know Snowden because of the hours he works. To know him is to love him, she said.
"Patrick understands the Red Path," Morning Dove said. "He does it for a living but it's also the way he lives his life. I'm proud of him for that."
When Snowden gets home late at night, the last thing wants to do is eat fish.
Steak is his favorite food.
Though the tropical fish business can be cut-throat, Snowden said he has been helped and likes to help others in return.
"Whatever your view of deity is, I've been blessed," he said. "I was blessed knowing my lady and I'm still blessed to be here."
Bebout has one wish for his son: That he finds another wife.
"It's got to be someone who knows what's going on in the tropical fish business and can handle that type of commitment," Bebout said. | 
