For months, I have been promising everyone I know that if I ever caught a permit on fly rod on the flats, I would quit fishing.
Although I haven't conquered that particular watermark, I did manage a lifetime achievement two weeks ago while fishing with captain Tom Pierce and his wife, Rita, in the lower Keys: a tarpon of more than 100 pounds on fly rod on the flats.
Plenty of anglers would consider that a better feat than the permit, but we can argue about that later. Right now, I am basking in glory and triumph. My self-esteem has skyrocketed to the point that I didn't really care if I got a bonefish on fly on my recent trip to Bimini -- but I got two!
I guess it is my turn to ride high after many previous humiliations at the fins of finicky fish.
From my sublime perch, I have this piece of advice for would-be tarpon anglers: head south.
''March, April, early May is normally when we get our larger fish in the lower Keys,'' Pierce said.
Indeed, the smallest fish the Pierces and I encountered was probably about 70 pounds. And we were in them all morning long.
After spotting -- but not catching -- frequently rolling tarpon off Demolition Key in the early morning, we headed north to Sembler Sound, where Pierce said he had seen plenty in the past couple of days. Unconcerned about the northwest wind, he noted water temperatures hovered in the ideal range of 78-80 degrees.
FIRST SIGHTINGS
Minutes after Pierce began poling the shallows, we spotted our first fish. Then another, and another. Without exception, they were laid up and happy, pointing their noses into the incoming tide and waiting lazily for the current to sweep baitfish or crustaceans within easy gulping range. Just because a fish is huge is no guarantee of its aggressiveness.
''These fish tend to sip the fly,'' Pierce advised. ``That means when he takes it, you have to strip it to set the hook.
``If you wait, he'll blow it back out.''
Pierce chose a ''grizzy shrimp'' fly pattern -- an orange head with an orange and yellow furry tail -- on a 12-weight rod with 20-pound tippet.
As I stood on the bow of his skiff, looking where he indicated by clock dial position, I began to have misgivings. Because of the almost-universal orientation of the fish, Pierce had to pole into the wind, keeping the sun at our backs. How was a mediocre fly-caster like myself supposed to throw a broomlike 12-weight against the freshening breeze with enough accuracy to get a tarpon to take?
But here we were; most anglers would crawl over broken glass for this opportunity, so I had to try my best.
Except for maybe two, my first 50 casts (not a typo) were off the mark. I either lined the fish or couldn't get the fly close enough so that they would deign to eat it. I was becoming frustrated, and my language reflected this.
Pierce, unruffled, had an idea: to switch from floating line to intermediate line. Although floating line is easier to pick up from the water and recast, intermediate sinking line is more effective for casting against the wind, which was growing stronger by the hour.
About 10 casts after switching, we found the right fish. It sat placidly on the bottom of the sound, like one of those drone bombs you still find off Lauderdale-by-the-Sea, but a lot bigger. I made a couple of false casts, then planted the grizzy shrimp on the surface only a couple of feet from its nose. Then I watched in amazement and shock as its gaping, coppery-silver bucket mouth languidly rose to the surface and inhaled the fly. When veteran fly anglers tell you that all you can see is the tarpon's maw, they are correct.
''He's got it!'' Pierce said.
WRONG TURNS
At that point, I did everything wrong. Instead of strip-striking to make sure the hook was set in the tarpon's jaw, I stood there and waited for the fish to move off, and clear the line from the deck and onto the reel. It had to be divine intervention when the foolish tarpon turned away without spitting the fly, thereby setting the hook itself.
It then made three or four spectacular, gill-rattling leaps about 25 yards from the boat -- still failing to throw the fly.
I recovered quickly from total stupefaction, bowed to the fish when it jumped and fought it low and sideways, or ''down and dirty,'' to try to tire it quickly. Pierce cranked up the outboard to close the distance.
Fortunately, it was a weekday, so there were no errant boats to cut us off. It took me about 20 minutes to bring the huge tarpon to boatside for Pierce to grab the leader and declare a legal release. He estimated the fish at seven feet long, between 110 and 115 pounds.
While Rita tried to photograph it from the stern of the boat, the leader snapped in Pierce's hands.
The fish swam away as if it were never winded.
''You did pretty well when you were fighting the fish, but you need to work on your casting,'' Pierce said.
Well, yes. Especially if I'm every going to catch that permit. But what a wonderful leg in the journey. I could take a couple more of these.
