Tarpon Trip
Lee Wulff once intoned “You know, they say at first the fisherman wants to catch all the fish and never can catch enough. Later on, as he becomes more mature in the sport, he wants to catch the biggest fish instead of the most. And finally, when he's a seasoned angler, he wants to catch the tough fish. Those individual fish that are hardest to catch and most challenging." That quote was etched in my mind in college when I was just leaning my head over the edge into the universe of fly fishing. In those days I could have been found happily fishing the creeks and ditches of Tuscaloosa, Alabama with my 3 weight, dapping midges and BWO nymphs on the water just to see what kind of dace, topminnows and bream might be lurking about. I say without exaggeration that at that particular point, I was just as thrilled to be pursuing blackspotted topminnows that measured less than three inches as I was to be snook fishing in Tampa Bay. That was my age of discovery. The time when the world was yet young, green and full of life. The fishing was fun, trying to actually hook those tricolor shiners on size 20 Griffith’s gnats in moderate current was not always so easy for me. Wading and sliding down red clay embankments, slogging through thigh deep silt and decaying plant matter just to see if there was a species of bream around the corner that I hadn’t run into yet in my inexperience was a thrill. It was all so exciting! I coveted the prospect that everything I may encounter was new to me. And frankly, I miss that feeling.
Lee was right. In the budding youth of my fishing persona I could not catch enough fish to sooth my ardor. Every waking second was consumed with the pursuit of new knowledge, whether that took the form of untried fishing locations, novel techniques or learning about species I hadn’t even heard of to this point. At that time I would frequently type into the search bar “fly fishing for…” and wait to see what Google or YouTube would generate for me. I often would then type the letter ‘a’ to learn that fly fishing for alligator gar, arapaima, arowana and many other exotic species were things that other people had already attempted and successfully completed. Going through the whole alphabet over time eventually brought my imagination to places I couldn’t have dreamed of just a short while before. The world was expansive, immeasurably immense when it came to the possibilities of fly fishing. And so often I saw how people limited themselves typically because they were scared of leaving their comfort zones. I grew up and discovered my love of fly fishing while pursuing stocked rainbow trout in the mountains of north Georgia. From the Toccoa tailwater to the Appalachian freestones like Mountaintown creek, the seed of my passion was planted. As time went on I never fell out of love with those fish but I did come to appreciate that there was more out there, always more. This thought process became an enduring element of my personality as I always find myself wondering what could be around that next bend in the river or beyond that next isolated bay.
Though I did not love the trout of my youth any less, I came to learn that so many more opportunities were available to the intrepid angler. Taimen in Mongolia, wels catfish of Europe, even the common carp of the nearby neighborhood ponds! In time my bucket lists began to take shape. I kept two lists of fish I hoped to catch; a nearby ‘realistic’ compendium and an exotic, world-traveling spread. This, I ensured, would allow me to never be bored. The idea was that I could check off items from those lists but that, if I were lucky, I may never complete them. Ironic isn’t it? I codified my goals, ostensibly so that I could scratch them off and accomplish them, but secretly with the hope that I would never be done. This would serve as my motivation because even once I caught all of these amazing fish I was writing down in my journal, I would come to learn of more over time that would make completion a near impossibility. I’m sure a psychologist would have an easy time identifying my, uhmm, quirks, but they are how I push myself to keep moving forward. What’s the point of anything if you aren’t always striving for more? For some (lost) souls that may be the accumulation of wealth, power and all manner of other constructs. For me, it’s about seeing the world, experiencing new cultures and reveling in my pursuit of new species and unique experiences.
Tarpon, inevitably found their way onto my two lists. They were in a bit of a grey area though, were they a distant exotic I wouldn’t be able to pursue for years or were they a more attainable target requiring only a day’s drive to the coast? Year after year they found their way into the top of the list of species I would try to target if only I could be so lucky. Year after year, I didn’t catch any. Not always for lack of trying! Probably averaging out to about once a year I would have a shot with guides and friends anywhere from El Pescador lodge in Belize to the Sunshine Skyway of Tampa. Year after year I fell short. There was something about tarpon though, that always had me eagerly waiting to come back. It was my failure, sure, that drove me. But so too was it that tarpon represent so much in our sport. They are the “silver kings” after all, reigning supreme over most all other game fish. They are known for their stamina, their beauty, their fascinating history, their long migrations and not the least of which for their acrobatic fighting style. And to anglers even remotely in the know, they are a test of your skill and determination. Though I had caught many excellent fish before, the tarpon had thus far eluded me. And finally in an unnamed two acre lagoon in Florida, I broke my streak. I finally caught tarpon. Several. And it was amazing.
A few months later I found myself on the other side of the state chasing the famous migratory fish that anglers go weak in the knees for. I was sitting on the bow of the boat while we were cruising the beach when I saw the first rollers on this trip. They were tight to the beach, in less that five feet of emerald water cruising quickly and occasionally daisy-chaining right outside the surf. What a sight to see these behemoths, as long as the dinky kayak I used in college, just outside of casting range and moving our direction! The sun rose bright, high and hot cooking us on the plastic deck of our Hog Island while tarpon occasionally cruised by us. It was incredible to see these fish come by and sometimes we actually had shots at them. They’re infamous for their difficulty and they truly may cause palpitations when seen coming directly at you as your skiff rocks in the swells.
Fish came by us, mostly from the same direction and in schools of three to six. A few overgrown baitfish did come swimming the opposite direction, always singly, and always startling us as they surprised us coming from the ‘wrong’ direction. We moved a few fish between our boat and our compatriot’s but just to witness these fish in their migration was all that was really in store for us that weekend. A few of our long shots actually moved fish out of their lanes, some even coming so close as to boil on the fly before seeing the boat anchored shallowly in the powdery sand. If our luck has persisted and the ‘W’ word had stayed away, I would go so far as to nearly guarantee that between our boats we would have eventually hooked one of those magnificent beasts. But, the sun rose higher, the rollers grew and eventually we were pushed into the sheltered bays inshore. There we caught reds, seatrout, countless pinfish, small sharks and other briny creatures. Even though I have now caught a few, the tarpon I believe will always haunt me. They the elusive, they the indomitable, they the silver kings.
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