Each day began early as we were in the boats at daybreak and steaming for crystal clear flats, beautifully calm water, and savage interactions with seemingly endless pods of tarpon from 5lbs – 30lbs. Often we’d pull into a likely area, kill the motor and begin slowly poling along a mangrove shoreline or up the first 100 yards of a creek. I’d stand at the ready with an 8wt and floating line, looking for the telltale signs of fish by spotting subtle pushes of water on the surface. At times, they were easy to see, as tarpon would viciously attack baitfish on the surface. At other times, I’d simply hear a small slurp from a general direction and then lace a cast in the vicinity of the sound. Often, if fish were nearby and saw my fly, they would eat without a second thought. Sometimes, the fish were wary of our presence, particularly at times where the wind was still, and every sound seemed magnified in the calm conditions. In this case, it helped to reach out and present to the fish at maximum distance which sometimes demanded casts in excess of 80 feet. The first days of the trip emphasized an aspect that I’ve always loved about this fishery. These tarpon reward great casting. When I was off my game, I struggled. If I put the fly where it needed to be and my delivery was on time, the reward was imminent.
The joy of this fishery is enticing the eat. It becomes an addicting and all-consuming task to see these fish aggressively track and demolish your fly. As soon as I’d release a fish and watch it swim away, the burning desire for yet one more eat began to gnaw at me. At times, we would watch fish strike and miss the fly, a second one hook up, then jump a few times before coming loose, while a third would attack all on the same retrieve.
At one point, the guides became aware of fish milling around about a mile and a half offshore. These offshore flats offer huge areas of flat, calm water where rolling fish are visible from hundreds of yards away. The guides worked together with radios to call the other members of our crew so we could all take part in the fun. That day, our three boats spent about three hours tracking and hooking pods of fish moving in all directions around the boat. The fish had inundated a shallow eel grass flat. As they moved in small groups in dead calm conditions, we’d be careful with our casting and voices to keep still and quiet. A good cast at distance yielded several savage takes. These tarpon were especially fierce, with some that would leap clear of the water more than six feet. It’s easy to fall into the trap that because you’re targeting juveniles, that fishing is (or should be) easy. These resident tarpon are simply smaller versions of their bigger migratory brothers and sisters and can be every bit as challenging to entice into biting the fly. By far the biggest challenge is keeping them hooked! Their incredibly hard mouths and wild head-shaking nearly always result in lost fish. It was clear that to gauge success, it’s better to count your hooked, rather than your landed fish.