Tarpon Addicts Play Ground;

By Rod Luke

It was certainly an impressive body count. Their silver corpses hung on public display from crude wooden timbers, their killers posed gleefully by their silver sides for the hero snap-shot. These black and white photos - dating back to the early twentieth century - that adorn the walls of the quaint, island eateries, would without question, lead the innocent onlooker to conclude that the fertile waters surrounding this pristine island were teaming with the “Megalops Atlanticus”, the silver titan, better known as the tarpon. That conclusion would be an understatement to say the least. Boca Grande is without question, known for its deep traditions, rooted firmly in the sportsmen’s quest to do battle with this gladiator of the Gulf. Gazing at the photos of yesteryear, I couldn’t help but reflect how the sport of tarpon fishing has become a kinder, gentler sport; though the tarpon may take issue with said reflections. Today we take great care not to intentionally harm the fish during our game of “pull and be pulled”. Better rod and reel combos, the advent of the circle hook, coupled with the understanding that removing the behemoth from the water to rub against the gunnels can in fact, cause dire consequence to the fish, ending the chance of fighting him another day. During a tournament in which a large sum of money was at stake, I once witnessed a professional guide intentionally break off a potentially winning fish because a large hammerhead shark was attempting to subdivide the tarpon into bite size portions. This attitude of today’s sportsman is testament to his understanding of, and desire for, conservation. I’m glad to report this conservation effort has undoubtedly insured that future generations will be afforded their chance to do battle with his Royal Highness… the Silver King.

To associate sight-fishing for tarpon with an addiction like… name your poison, is not a stretch of the imagination. It’s cold, hard, ruthless reality folks. Tarpon fishing is powerfully addictive stuff! It’s ecstasy in its purest form, and not for the faint of heart, weak in bicep, in back, or in leg. This fish fights like you insulted his mother, and will make you pay dearly before you lay your mitts on him. Disrespect him by not bowing the rod in his “majesty’s” airborne presence, he will, with great pleasure in his eyes, return to sender your “bait-less” rig - express airmail - to smack you squarely between the eyes. I still have the welt, perfectly centered between my baby-blues to prove it. Before he’s through pummeling you, he‘ll tease you with a close encounter near the boat. This isn’t because he’s tired! Oh no! He’s just trying to get a better look at his competition. Once he gets a good eyeful of your tiring, pathetically dehydrated image, he’ll smile, as only a tarpon can do, peel off half a mile of line and make you start the retrieval process all over again. If you’re lucky enough to get him boat-side, your poor buddy, so eager to grab a tarpon by the mouth, is in for one wild ride! Tarpon crack tarpon handler’s ribs against boat gunnels like ole “Bodacious” used to crack bull-riders skulls against his horns. He’s a handful of explosive mischief and seems to take sadistic pleasure in wrecking his captors. But don’t fret, its not that he doesn’t like you, it’s just the tarpons way of saying… “Welcome to Boca Grande… baby”!

The fishery in and around Boca Grande and Charlotte Harbor is a virtual smorgasbord of game fish and non-game fish alike. The shallow water and near shore angler can pursue Snook, Red Fish, Speckled Trout, Jack Crevalle, Permit, Cobia, Tripletail and a host of other species. Off shore anglers can choose from an assortment of reef fish, including several species of Grouper, Red Snapper, Amber Jack, Yellowtail, or join in on the spring and fall migration of King Mackerel. However, once the smoldering heat of summer begins to bronze the hides of beachgoers, and the humidity level climbs high enough to drink the air around you, its tarpon time around Boca Grande. Tarpon addicts from all around the world flock to these emerald green waters for a go with the big boys. Some will leave town happy and others will leave town broken, battered, quite possibly even drooling, but they’ll be back next year, you can count on it. I’m certainly not immune to the tarpon addiction and often find myself daydreaming during the off season about the silver king’s return. There is just something about this silver Spartan of spunk that really flips my bale.

One of my favorite highlights of tarpon fishing these pristine waters is that I’m afforded the chance to introduce friends and family into the world of tarpon fishing for their first time. This season would be no different. Therefore, I booked my usual dozen annual tarpon trips with local fishing guide Captain Mark Bennett. Capt. Mark is a native Floridian and is highly skilled at sight fishing for tarpon on the waters of Boca Grande and Charlotte harbor. After inviting three of my buddies to join me, we chose a date that fit everyone’s schedule and confirmed the date with Capt. Mark. Upon the arrival of my long time friends, I casually advised them as to the addictive nature that is tarpon fishing. Apparently, they assumed I was making more to-do than was necessary and respectfully suggested I had something other than coffee in my cup that morning. Rather than suggest otherwise, I allowed them their sarcasm, knowing their opinions would change by the end of the day.

We began our adventure in the predawn, near little Gasparilla pass. Just as Captain Mark slid the trolling motor into the water, a pod of tarpon rolled off the starboard bow. Using calico crabs on free-lines, the good captain sailed a crab just in front of the showing fish. As he handed the St Croix rod to the first of my buddies, the rod slammed hard against the angler’s ribcage. The drag of the Penn 7500 screamed for mercy and in an instant the giant fish was airborne and launched the hook back in the direction of the unbowed rod. “Remember to dip your tip” responded Captain Mark - meaning the angler needed to bow the rod whenever the tarpon jumped – as he sent another crab on its way toward the rolling tarpon. Two more tarpon were launched before dawn began to paint the eastern sky in pastel shades of pink and orange, none of which, made it to the boat. (Trying to teach new tarpon hunters to bow the rod to these fish has to be a charter captain’s toughest chore). After leaving the pass, we made a quick stop near a channel marker to load up the bait-well with “Threadfin Herring” before investigating the beaches of Boca Grande. Small pods of hungry tarpon rolled on the waters surface as Captain Mark positioned the boat in front of the first pod. We presented the first threadfin, rigged several feet below a bright yellow cork, which gently splashed on the surface in front of the advancing pod. As the mass of tarpon rolled around the cork, it suddenly, and with unfathomable force was jerked under the glassy calm surface of the gin-clear water. “REEL DUDE, REEL!” screeched Captain Mark as the angler twisted the reel handle with such speed his hand was but a blur. The line yanked tight and the reel sounded off in agony as the 140 pound tarpon screamed toward the beach. An aerial display of acrobatics filled the skyline as the tarpon repeatedly tried to catch the angler off guard. Ole Dave, my buddy from Texas had learned his lesson well, as with each jump of the mighty tarpon he bowed the rod to the splendid presence of the silver king. Half way through the battle, Dave turned to me with a crazed look in his eyes and said, “Am I doing something wrong?” Laughter erupted as Captain Mark explained, “your doing fine. That’s just a tarpon doing what he does best, which is to test your intestinal fortitude”! The fight lasted nearly 30 minutes. After tossing the Captain about the gunnels for a few seconds, the beast finally conceded the fight and allowed Captain Mark to remove the hook and release him to fight another day. Before the mid-morning wind changed and began to blow from the west, we had a total of four additional tarpon airborne, two of which made it boat side.

With the seas beginning to swell, Captain Mark decided to run us just inside the mouth of Charlotte Harbor. What we found on our arrival was indescribable. Acres of tarpon were busting schools of bait on the waters surface. We quickly changed to the lighter St Croix rods, already rigged with D.O.A. Bait-Buster lures. As we approached the feeding tarpon, Captain Mark advised us all to hold our cast until he gave the word. Once he felt the timing was perfect, he removed the “hold” command with “Sick’em Boys” and all four of us cast into the mayhem that was erupting from below the surface. One by one, each of our rods bent and tarpon began leaping from the water in all directions. It was absolute chaos as four reels screamed, shattering the early morning calm, still within sight of Boca Grande. Sweat poured freely down our faces and into our eyes as these monsters of mayhem proceeded to kick our aging backsides. Bent rods, laughter, winded gasps for air, and unquenchable thirst filled up the next few hours as the onslaught continued until nearly noon. One by one, each of us was forced to sit in exhaustion as our bodies could no longer take the punishment inflicted by these powerful fish.

The trip was certainly exceptional, with 27 tarpon airborne and 15 tarpon making it to the boat for the hero photos. At the conclusion of the trip I was settling up with Captain Mark, when one of my buddies spoke up and asked if we could book another trip for the next day. Apparently, my sarcastic buddies had found themselves more hopelessly addicted to tarpon fishing than the back of my parched throat is to Maxwell House Master Blend. The “I told you so” was of course sweet, as three more tarpon addicts were forged on the waters of Boca Grande that day.

But that was then… this is now, and as I write this article – poolside of course – the Florida sun has started to darken my skin and bleach my hair. I can taste the humidity… and the tarpon are filtering into our gin clear waters. So I raise my coffee cup and propose a toast to the return of the tarpon. Welcome back old friend, “Welcome to Boca Grande”.