Home Waters: My Tarpon   

In the 17th century, the King of England granted a large tract of land to my ancestors, the Eyre family, on the Chesapeake Bay side of the Eastern Shore -- five flat miles from the port of Oyster, Virginia to the east. I vacationed there as a child and I now visit regularly, fishing the Chesapeake Bay or the Atlantic (known called "seaside") as often as I can. Two days in August for the last ten years, Stant and I have tried our best to make me the first angler to take an Eastern Shore tarpon on a fly. 

After several annual trips with my fly rod at the ready, and with tarpon rolling and giving me the eye, Stant convinced me -- a died-in-the-wool fly-fishing purist -- to try bait. We had just spent two tides flinging flies at rolling tarpon and could not get even a wink at our flies. Stant's clients three days earlier had hooked two using fresh spot. I relented. 

As we approached "Tarpon Alley" several tarpon were rolling consistently. We were excited, 100% certain of hook ups. Charlie asked, "You want to go first?" I said, "No, you go first - you are supposed to show me how to play a big fish."

He donned his fighting belt and cast. It was a good cast, like many others after it. The tarpon kept rolling, without giving the bait so much as a nod.

After Charlie quit, I cast another two hours. I learned a lot about bait casting and how to play big, heavy quarry: I hooked into three huge cow-nosed rays. At the end of the tide, sweat rolling off, marsh green-head flies buzzing around me, I resolved to give up on my home water tarpon dream. Lefty Kreh said later, 'Don't spend your life trying to catch one of those tarpon, you will probably be disappointed.' I acquiesced. 

The Eastern Shore tarpon are believed to be in their northernmost habitat. When he called me in August 2003, Stant explained that the ocean was much colder than normal and more tarpon than usual were appearing inshore, cruising shallow waters, coming out of the deep channels.

The tarpon hit my fly very close to the boat, as I was lifting line out of the water. I was totally surprised. As I tried to get control, set the hook, Charlie scrambled to clear line. "Help Charlie! What do I do?" "Set! And set again!" Me, "Help!" Charlie gave the line a third hook-setting yank. "He's on good now." 

The silver king's next move was to run at the boat as fast as he could. I reeled like crazy, trying to take up the slack. Then he turned and ran, stopped, leapt three feet off the water, and came crashing down about a quarter of a mile distant -- miraculously not breaking my 20-pound tippet. I've never felt such power in a fish. I was helpless, but determined to hang on and think about how to bow. 

After three more jumps and several outbound runs, I regained enough line and let my mind relax. 'After ten years, I've hooked a tarpon and there is no camera.' I said to Charlie as I continued to try to turn the fish. "I know, I know," he says, and points out that I am the fourth person and the first woman to catch a tarpon on a fly in these waters. "The action's all been in the last two weeks," he adds. 

I'm still scared to death my fish will get off. The fish jumps again and I don't think I bowed but its still on. Charlie, continuing to coach, reminded me that we didn't bring cameras because we were superstitious, afraid they would preclude a catch. The fish took another long diving run, almost spooling me. I wanted to land this fish. 

I finally got the silver king within 20 feet of the boat, close enough for Charlie to get his hand on the leader. Then it was over. The fish turned and made a short run and jumped again, this time coming down on the line and breaking my 20-pound tippet. I almost cried. Charlie comforted, "That's Okay. You had him good and I had my hand on the leader. He counts. You did it!"

Mumble grumble from me. Charlie, "You released a 55-pound tarpon! It's been ten years of trying, ain't it?" 

But there was no authenticating photograph. My fishing buddies might doubt me. My relatives, none of whom fish, will certainly be skeptical. Moreover, there isn't an angling periodical that will print my tale without a picture. 

I reeled up the empty line and sat down. I drank water and began to calm down, rehashing with Charlie. I said if that was 55 pounds of fish I didn't ever want anything bigger. I complained again about it getting off and he consoled and rationalized again. I began to feel better, fulfilled and a little proud. I realized that I had worked very hard for more than 100 hours to hook into a specific, magnificent quarry and I had done it. Even though I hadn't landed the fish, I had played it and brought it almost to submission. Next time, I'll need to boat it, but for now, I've done something I never thought I could do. My family, as predicted, did not believe me, but I'll bet my ancestors would be proud.

--Ann McIntosh--