Islamorado, Fla.
“Come on, fish, give us a jump,” Rick Stanczyk, a top Florida Keys guide, said as we stared out over the gulf and hoped I’d hooked our target species.
Soon, 100 or more yards out, a five-foot fish rocketed 15 feet into the air. In the day’s first rays of sunshine the silvery fish shined like freshly polished chrome. A split second after splashing down it was airborne again with twists and a flip added to the second jump.
Only one fish looks and acts like that — a tarpon.
My fascination with tarpon began with 1960s episodes of The American Sportsman and outdoors magazines I watched and read of how famous anglers, such as Ted Williams, battled giant fish to 200 pounds that had more high-flying moves than an Olympic gymnast and more strength than a gold medal powerlifter.
In those old movies and magazines, the fish always seemed as beautiful as they were powerful, with rows of scales the size and sheen of freshly minted silver dollars. Even decades before I caught one, I believed they deserved the title of “the Silver King.”
Through all those years, I longed for the day when I could battle such a fish, surrounded by miles of blue, shallow water in the Florida Keys. I imagined myself waist deep in water, like I’d seen in so many photographs, cradling a 100-pounder for a photo, then watching it swim away.
My chance came last Monday when my nephew, Brian Elliott, hired Stanczyk. He’d come highly recommend by experts in the Keys. Raised at his family’s marina, Bud and Mary’s, even at only 34 he’s rated as the best of the best by some. I had to make reservations four months ago to get last Monday’s trip.
After weeks of rough weather, on Monday Stanczyk was pleased the morning was clear and fairly calm.
Action came quickly.
Five minutes into fishing, a stingray grabbed a chunk of cut mullet Brian was fishing. Those wing-like fins provide plenty of speed and power. I soon caught another, and we both got a yard-long shark or two.
All of those fish we brought to the boat. We had to take the boat to the tarpon that picked up my bait, bent the rod to the bottom eye and headed toward Mexico in a hurry.
With the reel still losing line, Stanczyk started the motor and headed toward the tarpon as fast as I could crank the reel. The fish gave another good leap as we closed the distance. Then the battle really began.
Tarpon fights are known to usually be fast and hectic. Some battle the angler with dozens of jumps. Big fish have been known to land in boats. I saw a video of one that completely vaulted over the boat. But such speed and acrobatics can wear out the fish fairly quickly.
Mid-morning on Monday, Brian hooked a tarpon that took a live mullet with a savage top-water strike. The high-flying fight lasted less than 15 minutes as the fish wore down from jump after jump. Stanczyk estimated it 60 pounds as he removed the hook and held the fish in the water for a few photos.
My fish missed the memo about jumping a lot and wearing down quickly.
We got the occasional surface roll from the tarpon, but mostly it just bull-dogged through the water. So many times I thought I was gaining line and had the fish within 20 yards of the boat only to have it blitz away like it was leaving the scene of a crime.
That tarpon’s crime, by the way, would have been assault and battery.
On Tuesday morning, my abdomen showed 18 plum-colored bruises from when the fish pulled hard and fast enough to hammer the butt of the rod into my belly. Days after the fight my shoulder felt as stiff as the Tin Man’s after a good rain.
I marveled at the tarpon’s strength as it pulled and held a deep bow in the rod as it towed the boat hundreds of yards.
Forty minutes into the fight, the fish was close enough Stanczyk grabbed the few feet of heavy leader just above the hook. The fish rose enough to shake a mouth the size of bucket above the surface a few yards from the boat. It snapped the line from the guide’s closed fist and headed away.
In the world of big-game fishing, a fish is considered caught once that leader is touched because it was close enough to have been gaffed or harpooned.
It’s also considered a catch for the protection of the angler and a boat’s crew. Trying to unhook something as strong as marlin, tuna or tarpon can get somebody seriously hurt, even killed.
Releases at the leader are also done for the protection of the fish. Worn too thin, some fish become easy prey for sharks, though Stanczyk said big sharks were rare where we were fishing.
Some fish will also fight to the death rather than give up. I’ve had sailfish suddenly go belly-up at the boat. My largest tuna, 100 pounds or so, died mid-run, 100 more yards from the rod. Friends have had the same happen with tarpon and marlin.
My longest fight before the tarpon was about 45 minutes on a black marlin estimated at 600 pounds. Stanczyk thought the tarpon around 90 pounds, and after 45 minutes it was still fighting strong.
With every run the fish made, I became more fearful it would just die on the line. Gradually, the boyhood dream of cradling a tarpon for a photo became overshadowed with the reality of the stress I was putting on the fish.
According to time stamps on Brian’s camera, the fight was right at an hour long when I had the tarpon close enough for Stanczyk to grab the leader for the fourth time. Once again the fish panicked, pulled the line from Stanczyk’s hand and powered off again.
I clamped a hand on the reel’s spool so the fish could take no more line. After all of that fight, the tarpon still had enough power that the 50-pound-test main line sounded like a pistol shot when it snapped.
Technically, I can say I’ve finally caught a tarpon. I can live without having a photo.