|
|
FLORIDA
GULF COAST--Summer, 2003 Not many people would believe this fact, but, it's true; my first three fish caught in saltwater on the fly were (you guessed it) TARPON. I could hardly contain myself-I'd just gotten off the phone with Rick LeFiles, a guide based out of Yankeetown, Florida, who recommended instead of Reds, we go after Tarpon, his majesty, the Silver King. I had not even entertained the thought of it as I had only fished the saltwater with a fly once before with no success (an 8wt in high winds, a murky high tide, and tons of baitfish were conspiring to keep the Reds away from me). To back up, I was in Orlando visiting with my wife's family and had a relatively loose agenda. Too loose in fact since I was unable to contact any guides to set up a firm date to go out. Here it was on a Wednesday and I was trying to find someone available for Thursday or Friday! As luck would have it, Rick was available and we set up a full-day outing for Friday. During our conversation, he asked how good of a caster I was. Not wanting to give him any grandiose expectations, I said that I was a competent trout fly caster while my saltwater abilities left some to be desired. I assured him that I could double-haul which seemed to boost his confidence a bit. I later found out that a couple he'd had out the previous day were less than poor casters being their first time out. Confident that we'd get a shot at some fish and hopeful that the skies would hold out for us, we kept the date. I could barely sleep as 4:00 came more quickly than I could have wished. Luckily I had the forethought to lay out everything I needed for the day--my car already packed with gear and my clothes pret a porter. This was about as good as traffic got in Orlando! A quick shot across the turnpike, a half-mile up 75, another 30 on 44 and a right banged onto 19 for a short 11 up to Inglis to a left towards Yankeetown. I had the top up on the Roadster the entire way out, but there was no rain to speak of, only the spray from the road from a downpour during the night. A good omen, I thought, since the radar and forecast showed rain most of the day. Hopefully it had gotten it all out of its system. I arrived at Rick's house a half-an-hour early, but he was up, all set, and ready to go. I quickly gathered my things and got them into the boat, a gorgeous 18-foot Dolphin flats boat that Rick recently had customized. It was just breaking daylight as we headed out on the Withlacoochee towards the Gulf. Once able to wind it up over trolling speed, we were cruising through gorgeous cypress swamps while playing witness to the waking wildlife--ibis, storks, and osprey to name a few. We rounded an island revealing a large body of water approximately a mile long by three quarters of a mile wide, protected by islands and sand bars. This is where we were going to spend our day hunting the Silver Kings. Capt. Rick proceeded to give me the lay of the land so-to-speak, and pointed out a couple of important sand bars and islands that affect how the fish move. This would be important to us throughout the day in trying to anticipate their habits and increase our chances of hooking up with one. A once-around of the "bay" and a quick reading of the wind and we were able to determine where we'd start the drift. The good captain presented me with the 12 wt., and had me begin casting as he got a sense of what he'd be dealing with. Though I may not have impressed him with my casting, I think that I put his mind at ease at the fact I could throw more than 40 feet. Then again, slinging 12 wt. line into the wind is a wee bit easier than my "little" 8 wt. His confidence in my stroke and his casting tips had me throwing line over 60 feet and a rare cast towards 80 feet (emphasis on rare). As it turned out, I wouldn't even need that much. For somewhere between a half-an-hour and an hour, we fished a few different spots, battled stiff breezes and surface chop, and didn't see too much other than the local birdlife. Then slowly, Rick began seeing tarpon rolling at several spots within a couple hundred yards of us. Again, we went over what I was going to feel in a strike and how I was supposed to strike back--with my stripping hand while keeping the rod pointed at the water. A far different technique than my familiar trout sets, I wasn't sure how I would handle it. No sooner had that thought left my head did I see what Rick had been seeing--the roll of a BIG tarpon. "Oh my God," I exclaimed. All Rick could do was laugh. I feel he's been witness to many first-time tarpon sightings by his clients. I would venture to guess that they're all pretty much the same. A fish the size of a small shark breaking the surface in an act akin to a dolphin is enough to stun anybody who's never witnessed it. A combination of the wind and a slight current from the two rivers feeding into the Gulf were pushing us west out of the bay and towards deeper water. We were just about to head back in and start the drift over and I was about to wind it back up. I was stripping in the line and talking to Rick when WHOOMP--the line felt like it had been tied to the bumper of a pickup truck--BANG. FISH ON!!! For what seemed an eternity, I held the rod straight out, point aimed straight with the line, tip towards the water, my left hand FIRMLY held to my left hip. This leviathan tore through the surface about 50 feet out--my gasp must have been audible--for a split second the image managed to burn to memory. No sooner was this frame captured I felt the line slingshot back a bit and I saw a red fly seemingly float through the air as the fish splashed down through the surface. My heart either stopped, or hit 180 BPM, I couldn't tell. One thing for sure--he was off. "That one was over a 100 [lbs.]," the Capt. exclaimed. I pulled in the slack line and took a look at the tippet. A clean snap. Rick didn't seem to believe me, but after further examination, he agreed. "Generally, when the tippet breaks, it's due to them sucking the fly far-enough in that they bite it off, or it rubs against their gill plates when they jump. A clean snap is pretty rare. I guess you struck a little too hard, or held on too tight." He was right. I gave that fish no slack when he jumped--I had the line absolutely anchored at my hip. I would not make that mistake again. Another half-an-hour of casting the 12 and I was ready for a change of pace. Rick pulled out the 10 and got it rigged in no time. I took two false casts and was instantly relieved--this thing felt like a sports car in comparison! I was soon rewarded with another tremendous strike and this time managed to keep the line taught, but giving enough to let the fish go with it until I was on the reel. This sucker could move! The drag on the Tibor was set pretty high, but that fish took off with a shot and pulled off line like there was no tomorrow. With Rick instructing me on the importance of angles and being able to "turn" the fish (as much as you can turn a tarpon), I was able to bring it to the boat in about 10 minutes. I was stunned when I realized how big these fish really get. It's one thing to see it in a photo, but it's an entirely different perspective seeing them up-close and in person. What's more amazing is that this fish, which weighed somewhere between 40 and 50 pounds, would be considered small to medium for a tarpon. It's not until you get up over 100 pounds do you begin talking about them being "BIG." That's another reason I was so disappointed to lose the first one I hooked--it was "BIG." Once to the boat, Capt. LeFiles gaffed the fish through the lower lip and let it rest a bit. We traded off, me with the fish, and him with my camera, for a great shot. I quickly put the fish back in the water and Rick jumped back on the poling platform to start the trolling motors back up. I took the gaff out and cradled the tarpon while we started get water cruising over its gills. After a couple of minutes, I positioned myself to get one hand on its tail while stretching to keep my left hand on its lower jaw. There's no question when tarpon are ready for release--it started to nose its head down beyond my control. Try as I might, I could keep ahold of its tail either; with a mighty surge of power and a tremendous thrash of its tail, the fish was gone, and I was soaked. A couple of more inches closer and it would have slapped me in the face. "Well, I guess I deserved that," I said. The next couple of hours didn't prove too productive as we kept drifting out of the little "bay" we were in. Since the first tarpon, all I had to show for our efforts was a lady fish, which would have been hell on a 4 or 5 wt. rod, but wasn't much of anything on the 10. Rick started up the engines and trolled us back alongside the south-side island towards the mainland to get us near a sandbar he said would be holding fish. We hadn't been there 10 or 15 minutes and I felt another strong tug. This one was a little scary because my fly line was a bit of a mess, and for a brief moment, I though there would be a tremendous tangle that would have snapped the tippet as it went through the guides, but, between the fish pulling and me keeping the proper tension, it quickly resolved much to our relief. I had the fish on the reel, and now was the time to "relax." This one was a little smaller than the first one landed and gave a couple of nice jumps for us. I was really starting to get the hang of sensing the fish's movements and being able to counter them--wearing them down with "angles." Once to the boat, Rick again expertly gaffed the fish through the lower jaw and plucked out the fly out of its mouth. This one was 10-15 pounds lighter than the first so I was able to easily cradle it for a photo. This one didn't seem to need any reviving for as soon as his head went underwater, he fought to free himself from my grip, which he did relatively easily, and proceeded to speed away out of sight. "I think I like the smaller ones even better than the big ones," I stated. Rick agreed that the 25-50 pounders are a lot of fun where as the larger ones may only jump a couple of times then just bulldog you until succumbing to the pressure. Now early afternoon, the wind had shifted--coming from the east in the morning, now coming from the south. It was time to look at our strategy and reconsider alternatives to our original plan. Instead of drifting out of the bay, east to west, we decided to drift along the sandbar moving south to north. I was beginning to have a little difficulty with the 10wt as the wind picked up, so I reverted to the 12. As the boat continued its drift we noticed 3 dolphin that had made their way up into the shallows and were wrecking havoc with a huge school of mullet. As my eyes and thoughts followed them, Rick brought me to reality rather quickly. "Tarpon--going left to right--2:00." Well, I saw the surface ripple where it had rolled, but, the cast was into the wind, the line at my feet wasn't under control, and, well, I cast where I thought it would be, but, there was nothing. I composed myself and began casting with the wind between 9:00 and 11:00. On my second cast, WHAM! This one was VERY close--probably one 20 feet from the boat--and he jumped immediately and violently. Just as I started to strip line in, he lept again furiously before I felt the line go limp. I slowly started to strip it in when he lept again just 6 feet away. Time stood still for me for that brief moment and as I was processing the visual, I saw another tarpon, about 48-60 inches long, sail completely out of the water. As for the fish in front of me, he was definitely off. When I got the line in, we saw the tippet frayed and torn at the end. This one had definitely bitten off the fly. It was big enough that it had sucked in the fly beyond the 100lb. shock tippet and raked the 20 pound tippet against his teeth. It didn't stand a chance. Slightly disappointed, I sulked as Rick put a new leader on the 12. Once on, I resumed casting. We had taken the boat back to the beginning of our previous drift and were starting it all over again. Just about halfway down the sandbar, I heard the good Captain shout, "11:00--moving right to left--coming back by the boat." I was ready for this one. I quickly got my line to a length where I could pick it up with no problem--with two false casts, I'd tossed almost 40' of line out. I did my best to judge the tarpon's movement and led him about 10 feet and let the line loose. I shot out an additional 20 feet or so, probably about 5 feet more than I needed. I began to strip line like crazy until I figured the fly was only about 2 feet in front of its face. I saw the water swirl a little bit and BANG, he was on! I was really starting to get good at this, or so I wanted to believe. This one was hooked, and I planned to make sure things stayed that way. He lept only a couple of times in the beginning, but it was enough of a glimpse to let us know he was the largest one I kept hooked--somewhere between 70 and 75 pounds. Not as big as the very first one that I jumped, but, hey...this one was still on and I was bringing him in. This was moving on to being the longest fight of the day, only about 20 minutes, but after a full day of casting, I was glad this one wasn't going to go an hour. The fish seemed to wear down quickly, but each time we got him near the boat, zzzzZZZZZZ...he took out more line. After a couple of runs like that, Rick was finally able to get the gaff in him. "This would have been a good fish on the 10 wt," he stated. On the 10? Nah. It was plenty on the 12; I didn't need to work him any more. I was just as done as he was, but I wasn't the one with the gaff through my bottom lip. This guy was big enough that I didn't want to try and drag him out of the water for a photo, which Rick was more than happy to hear. I manned the camera this time and got a nice shot of the Captain with the last tarpon of the day. We circled around and ran the boat through the "honey-hole," but there was nothing. We definitely had a full day and I sure felt satisfied. We trolled out of the bay the opened up the big motor and let her run back towards the Withlacoochee and the homebase of Osprey Guides, aka, Rick's house. He took me through a more scenic route than the morning, prompting me to get the camera back out and capture a few more memories. Before too long, we were slow trolling up the river towards the dock and I could her Rick's yellow lab barking her greetings to our return. I couldn't believe what I was experiencing even whilst in the middle of it. I had a nice drive back to Orlando to reflect on it, then a LONG drive back to Pennsylvania to confirm it. I think I've found my love in saltwater fly fishing. Like many others before me have said, there's nothing quite like a brown trout sipping in a dry fly on a western stream. That for me is a symphony. What I had experienced with the tarpon was more of a heavy metal concert. A concert where I was the only one present...just me and the "usher." Thanks for a truly incredible experience, Rick. I'll be sure and call you when the tarpon start to run next year! |
