Three

Most Maine folks visit Florida to get away from winter’s snow and cold weather, so when I tell friends I’m heading for the Sunshine State during June’s 90-degree temperatures there are a lot of odd looks. Weatherwise, June is a brutal month to spend eight hours or more in the blazing sun, especially when you’re on the ocean with no cover, no breeze and the blinding hot reflection of heat off the water. But June is the very best month to fly fish the shallow beachside flats for tarpon, the Silver King of saltwater game fish, so summer heat becomes just another inconvenience when compared to the opportunity to do battle with what many sportsmen consider the greatest of all game fish.             Average size tarpon along Florida’s southwestern coastline near Captive, Sanibel and Boca Grande, weight 60- to 90-pounds, and when these chrome-sided torpedoes tip the scales at 100- to 120-pounds, fighting one to boat side is an experience to brag about. Anglers cast 12 weight, 9-foot rods with 3/0 flies while balancing in the bow of a dipping and bouncing 18 foot flats boat. A guide poles the boat parallel to shore in 4- to 10-foot depths while both angler and guide search for traveling tarpon using polarized sunglasses. It’s like hunting and fishing combined.        Although a solitary fish or a pair can be seen occasionally, most tarpon travel in pods of at least half a dozen, and I have seen as many as 50 in a group. Once spotted, the trick is to pole and position the boat close enough to a passing school so a fly can be presented. I’ve cast a dozen times into large pods of tarpon without a strike and have cast to a pair of cruising fish and hooked up on the first chance. It’s always a guessing game. Since tarpon have such hard inner mouths it’s imperative to set the hook solidly at once, then strike at least twice more to imbed the barb. And even then, three of every four tarpon hooked will never be landed.        Sometimes the hook will pull free just as the angler tries to set it, or it will be thrown on the first leap, before the sport can strike to set it deeper. Perhaps you pull too hard when the fish hits the fly and the leader breaks, or more heartbreaking is when a fly finally works loose on the sixth leap after a long run 30 minutes into the fight. Occasionally, a fish will leap and fall back on the line, and when there’s 200 yards of line and backing out, the leader parts like thread. Frequently fish are lost right beside the boat, after a long, hard fight, when a hundred pounds of muscle makes a last minute half leap and lunge with only the leader out of the rod tip and the drag set tight. In the last six years I’ve broken four top-quality rods fighting fish right at the boat. These numerous failures are what make the few victories so sweet, and what makes tarpon fishing such a passionate pursuit.        Day one of this year’s outing was less than auspicious due to Mother Nature. A southwest wind at 15 miles per hour with gusts to 20 made it impossible to fish along the beach. We spent the morning working coves, lagoons, and bayous on the opposite side of Palm Island. There were tarpon, but they only surfaced sporadically and with no set pattern. We never were in the right place to get a good cast. By evening the wind had dropped to 10 mph so we braved the beach, still got tossed about in the heavy incoming surf and never spotted a single tarpon.
Dawn of day two found us in the backcountry where the water was calmer and another guide had seen fish the day before. There were at least four other boats, but pods of tarpon were popping up all over so we all got a chance to single out a school and cast. I hooked a big fish from the first group I cast into, but two minutes and three jumps later it was gone. About twenty minutes later we got on another string of tarpon and I hooked up again. This silver bruiser was well over 100 pounds and leaped four times during our 10- to 12-minute tug of war, and then on the fifth jump it fell back across the leader and broke off.
We kept finding fish and casting, and while a couple of tarpon swung after the fly and another grabbed it and spit it out before I could set the hook, there were no more hook-ups for an hour. About 8 A.M. I cast a purple and black Enrico among a daisy chain on the surface and the third time was the charm. A huge tarpon sucked in my fly and immediately exploded skyward. About an hour later, after several long runs and five jumps, and a lot of grunting, sweating and straining on my part, my guide held the leader and grabbed the lower jaw of a 140-to 150-pound tarpon. He had all he could do to hoist the fish part way out of the water using both hands so I could snap a quick photo.
We cast to a couple more pods that morning with one looker but no takers. That evening I missed a fish on the strike and hooked another big tarpon that literally pulled the line from my fingers when it leapt as I set the hook, and of course threw the fly thanks to all the loose line.
By day three we were able to finally fish along the beach and the tarpon were eating when the fly was close. I missed a fish right off, then hooked one for three jumps before the fly pulled free. Soon after I hooked another fish of about 75 pounds and we battled for better than five minutes before it too pulled free. Then, just as the day before, three was the charm as I hooked what turned out to be about a 100-pound tarpon and finally fought it to the boat. This fish only leapt once, right at boat side near the end of the fight, but took out 200 yards of backing on three different runs.
As the day wore on I had a couple more lookers but no takers, then Saturday boat traffic took its toll by late morning and put the fish down for the day. All in all I hooked eight tarpon, played six and landed two, but if I’d only gotten that one huge fish my trip would have been great. June may not be prime time for most folks to vacation in Florida, but if you’re a fisherman and have a yen to hook the fightingest fish of the flats, June is truly tarpon time.