Targeting tarpon
Paul Smith pursues a mighty saltwater predator in Florida
Salmon fishing is just around the corner. I’m getting excited. I’m still in Florida and doing lots of fishing, but there’s nothing in the world quite like standing in a wild and cold free flowing Newfoundland and Labrador river and casting flies to the king of freshwater game fish, our very own Atlantic salmon. Well, I suppose it’s not just our very own. Other Canadian provinces and many countries are also host to the much anticipated yearly migration of Atlantics from the salt. The Blue Charms are tied, reels oiled, rods checked, and lines cleaned.
Atlantic salmon are without dispute the hardest-fighting and most aerodynamically exciting fish that swim up freshwater rivers. That is pretty much the consensus in the angling world. But in the inshore saltwater world there is another king, that’s the mighty tarpon. Tarpon migrate just like salmon, although not up freshwater northern rivers. There are also other similarities. Tarpon can jump six feet or more in the air when stabbed by an angler’s steel. If you have never witnessed this, check out a Youtube video and have a look. It is amazing. Salty fly anglers have named tarpon the silver king. They shine brilliant chrome in the tropical sun as they somersault, and you must bow your rod to stay connected, just like when tangling with our own Atlantic king.
Big fish
Tarpon grow in excess of 200-lbs, and you need a 12-wt fly rod and a stout 25-lb leader. You can get pulled right off the boat deck if you are careless upon hook-up. The migration of tarpon along the gulf coast of Florida coincides with our annual St. Pete family holiday in the sun. You know I have to give it a go or two. Last week I spent a day on a flats skiff with Craig Lahr, www.skinnywatercharters.com. I had a couple of decent shots at big tarpon, with a 100-lb big boy giving my fly a short chase, but no cigar. I’ll blame the wind, anglers always having some excuse.
I may have discovered a crown prince, for my world at least. I’ve often heard how jacks, jack crevalle in particular are tough-fighting, relentless fish to subdue with light tackle. A few years ago I maneouvred my kayak close to a school of them in the Boca Grande area. They were smallish for a typically large ferocious predatory swimming critter.
The jacks were obviously in the thick of an outright attack of some sort, a feeding frenzy you might say. Small caplin-like fish were flying in the air, trying to escape the furious onslaught. Lives were on the line, nature in the raw. I made the final few strokes on my paddle towards the mayhem and set the cruise control, with the two- bladded paddle resting across my thighs. I picked up my 9-wt fly rod and double hauled a shot to the middle of the commotion. I stripped my little mullet pattern just a stroke or two when a jack attacked, thinking my offering a tiny bait in distress. The line went tight and I had myself what was probably my toughest fight ever with a fish under five pounds, pound for pound very impressive.
I kind of forgot all about that jack incident, that’s until last week while searching for tarpon along the beach near Clearwater. Craig spotted a school of fish from the tower. He wasn’t sure what they were, but used his remote control trolling motor to get us over for a closer look. At about 100 feet I could see just a big dark circle amidst a sea of green. At 50 feet I could distinguish individual fish swimming in circles. They looked pretty big, but not big enough for tarpon. Tarpon do school around in circles sometimes, and they call it daisy chaining. I’ve seen it — very exciting. Anyway, Craig was close enough now to see that they were jacks. “Get ready for the cast”, he says. My heart was pounding.
At 40 feet I sent my Purple Tarpon Toad into flight, landing it on the edge of the school. I guess it is no surprise that saltwater predators have keen vision. Instantly three or four fish broke from the circle and attacked my fly, no matter that it was meant for tarpon. A jack struck solid and I set the hook hard by jerking the line with my left hand. My rod was pointed right toward the fish and the surface water exploded.
I was in for a brutal battle. The fly line disappeared through my rod guides and I was into my backing in seconds. I inadvertently let the braid-backing run over my finger and felt it instantly cutting. Mr. Crevalle circled the boat, so tanging around the motor was possible. I ran around the boat deck, for and aft to avoid catastrophe and keep taut, holding my fish securely. Craig said it was a big one and I really wanted to get him in for a photo. I flipped my rod from side to side to keep strain against zigzagging blistering runs in all directions.
After about 15 minutes the fish seemed
to be tiring. I cranked back on the stout rod, bending it to the cork, until I could feel graphite vibrating from strain, or the jack’s high-pitched propulsion. I’m not really sure, but finally I subdued my adversary enough that Craig could grab him by the tail and pull him out of the ocean for a quick photo opportunity.
What a beautiful fish, shimmering colours, and such a powerful body of pure muscle. I am smitten. I bow to my prince, although jacks do not waste energy showing off in the air. It is all business, no antics, and full afterburner propulsion. I will do this again.
It was my intention to talk about salmon. No lie, but I get so caught up in a fishing story. I have my fly-tying gear with me in Florida. I’ll tie some salmon bombers tonight and try to get refocused for June. There’s so much fishing, and so little time.