Sometimes you’re looking for tarpon, and you might see one roll, or a free jumper, and everyone takes their battle stations, you loosen up a fly rod, your guide starts poling and you see big wakes and tails everywhere. Big, broad flat tails waving in the sunshine, and it’s then you remember fishing rule seventeen: sometimes you just have to fish for what’s there. Here’s Mike Smith with the result of the proper application of rule seventeen.
Probably one of the better ones we caught today, a brutal weather day but the snook seemed to like it.
You could take a radical gamble on the perfect day in January, live clean, go to church on Sunday, say your prayers at night and make a last minute donation to the charity of your choice. You could go to sleep with your fingers crossed the night before, dreaming of calm winds and migrating tarpon and, if you’ve settled all your Karmic Debts, you might be rewarded with a day like this one, January 12, 2009.
Giants, lots of them, hundreds, blackwater sleepers in a vast backcountry lake, they were glowing like green neon lights in clumps of three or seven, many were obviously over a hundred and fifty pounds. The small ones were forty.
No worries though, they wouldn’t eat anything, after five hours of casting flies I finally relented and let Wayne throw out a Dead Ladyfish Chunk. They wouldn’t eat that either.
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