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Since I pulled a 9-inch brook trout from a tiny mountain stream on the opening day of trout season 51 years ago, fishing has been one of the all-consuming passions of my life.
Over those many years, I’ve caught most species of fish that inhabit the waters of Pennsylvania, and I’ve been fortunate to make a few far-flung fishing trips to Montana, Wyoming and Arkansas for trout, to northern Ontario for walleyes and northern pike, and to the Sierra Madres in Mexico for largemouth bass. But living here smack in the middle of landlocked Pennsylvania, I’ve done little saltwater fishing aside from a few charters for striped bass on the Chesapeake Bay, catching some snook on a trip to Tampa, and an offshore trip for marlin out of Virginia Beach, a day on which, unfortunately, the marlin were no-shows.
In spite of my lack of saltwater experience, I’ve always been fascinated by the incredible variety of fish and angling opportunities the ocean offers. That’s why a few weeks ago I eagerly accepted an invitation from my friend Shawn Bernecky of Newry to accompany him on a tarpon fishing trip to the Florida Keys. Shawn has traveled to the Keys each June to fly-fish for tarpon for the past 15 years, so I’ve heard plenty of stories of battles won and lost with those great silver fish of the flats. But as strange as it may sound to some of my fellow fly anglers, I was drawn to this adventure in the Keys not as much to catch a tarpon on the fly but more to capture one with my camera.
Outdoor photography is also a longtime all-consuming passion of mine. For as long as I can remember, I have marveled at the dramatic photos in books and magazines of a leaping tarpon erupting from the ocean, sending water flying in all directions. I often dreamed that one day I might be able to add such an image to my personal photographic portfolio. But rule number one in outdoor photography is “Be there,” so two weeks ago Shawn and I boarded a plane for Miami and the waters where tarpon live. After arriving in Key Largo and checking into our hotel, we drove south to Islamorada for some shopping and dinner.
Our guide, Capt. Duane Baker of Tavernier, picked us up early the next morning, and the air temperature was already in the high 80s as we launched the 17-foot flats boat and headed out to the flats to look for tarpon. Fly-fishing for tarpon on the flats is largely a sight-fishing game. Tarpon migrate north around the Keys to spawn during late spring and early summer, with some fish travelling as far north as the Carolinas. Most of these migratory fish average 5-to-7 feet long and weigh 60 to 120 pounds, although some larger tarpon will go 150 or more. Like most fish on a spawning run, migrant tarpon do not actively feed, which makes taking one on fly tackle all the more problematic.
Duane is an Orvis-endorsed guide, and the tackle he employs for tarpon is the new one-piece Helios 2 rods in 12-weight with Mirage reels. The leader was about 9 feet long with a 50-pound shock tippet attached to the 20-pound class tippet. The fly was surprisingly simple, a strip of red leather about 2 inches long trailed from a 1/0 saltwater hook and a body of closely trimmed green deer hair. This unpretentious 3-inch-long fly is intended to imitate a palolo worm, a strange oceanic worm that hatches in huge quantities for a few days each spring. Tarpon, along with snappers and other game fish, feed heavily on these worms when they are available, and apparently spawning-run tarpon remember them.
Once we arrived at the first fishing spot, Duane took his place on a three-foot elevated platform and held the boat in place with a long pole while Shawn took a casting position on the front of the boat. And then we waited and waited and waited. After what seemed like an hour, Duane said, “Two o’clock, 100 yards.” Approaching tarpon appear as quickly moving black streaks in the beautiful green water of flats and can easily been seen up to 200 yards away if the light and wave action are favorable.
I grabbed my camera, and when the group of fish was about 60 away, Shawn made a cast. A couple of fish looked at the fly but that was about all. Lookers but no takers continued to be the story for most of the rest of the day, as 33 more groups of tarpon came our way. Most groups were three to five fish, with a few singles and one bunch of at least 20 tarpon. At the end of the day, I compared the waiting and watching aspect of tarpon fishing with deer hunting. Shawn characterized it as “long stretches of immense boredom intermingled with brief moments of sheer panic.” On this first day, I had experienced the tedium; tomorrow I would get a dose of the panic.
Just before noon, two tarpon swam by the bow about 30 feet away. I was watching through my camera as Shawn slowly stripped the fly in front of the fish when I heard Duane yell, He ate it!” I saw Shawn’s left hand pull back sharply to set the hook, and the line tightened as the hook went home. The tarpon made three jumps before I could move in position for a shot. Just then I heard Shawn groan and saw a huge tangle of fly line stuck in the guides. I figured it was just a matter of time before the fish ripped some guides off the rod and broke the leader.
“Walt,” Duane shouted, “put away the camera and get up there and try to untangle the line.” With that he jumped down, started the motor and moved the boat toward the fish, creating slack in the line and buying us some precious time. Amazingly, I was able to make some progress unsnarling the bird’s nest of line, but finally the tarpon vaulted out of the water again and the fly pulled free. So much for my first taste of tarpon panic.
Shortly after lunch the next day, Shawn hooked-up again. This time the tarpon merely breached and headed for Miami. The 70-pound fish took the entire fly line and 150 yards of backing on its first run before Duane could start the boat and give chase. Fifteen minutes and a half mile later, Shawn had finally gained back the backing and half the fly line, only to have the tarpon jump and drag the fly line across some coral, giving it just enough leverage to pull free.
This was our final day of fishing, and I knew my chances of capturing an image of a leaping tarpon were growing ever slimmer as we headed into the last hour of the day. Then a fish came in at an odd angle, putting me in perfect position – if it would only eat the fly. It did and immediately jumped but then fell on the fly line and pulled the fly loose. My digital SLR camera is capable of shooting six frames per second, and I managed fire off five shots during the leap. One of them had caught the fish out of the water. Then I had to wait in suspense until I got home and downloaded the photos to find whether the shot was in focus. It was, and I now have a leaping tarpon in my photo portfolio.