The captain spotted the hit first and sprang up to set the hook. I was right on his tail taking the rod as he quickly shuffled to reel the other three in. Holding on for dear life as the drag screamed I realized my plan to hand the rod to my 6-year-old son was not going to work. For the first couple of minutes, all I could do was keep a firm grip on the rod and let the fish do whatever it wanted. The butt of the handle was buried into my lower abdomen just right of center with my right hand high on the rod. Not truly knowing what I had on the other end, it wasn’t difficult to figure out it was big, really big.

Captain Jason instructed me to move to the front of the boat as he turned off the autopilot on the trolling motor that was keeping us anchored in place. My son was on my hip as we edged closer to the front and I had actually made a few revolutions on the reel, which was encouraging. From an elevated perch, I heard, “We’re going to try and catch up with him so reel, reel, reel”. Knowing from years of various fishing experiences I knew that if we wanted to land this behemoth, tension must be kept on the line at all times. With the outboard growling, I had no choice but to go all in cranking counter-clockwise with all the speed I could muster while the fish continued to be non-compliant.

This moment was hard fought, and I am not talking about the fish. Being an avid hunter and lover of outdoor adventures, I simply complied when the family wished to go on Spring break this year to Southern Florida. Considering myself an optimist, I opted to focus on the unique opportunities this trip could present rather than my general dislike for sunburns and sand in places it shouldn’t be. Truthfully, I think my wife was able to anchor this trip when she convinced me that we should continue our voyage to hit all the National Parks by checking the Everglades off our list. This would be number two out of 63, clearly we have set our sights very high.

Knowing that the beach was why we were really going, my wife did put in the clause that the one thing she wanted to do was take an airboat ride through the “glades”. Finding an airboat guide out of the infinite number available was fairly easy so I quickly met my one obligation. Next on the list was using my son as the fall guy to ensure I got to do some saltwater fishing. Convincing him that he wanted to go was surprisingly easy. He stuck to his guns about going every time I asked, until about 15 minutes after we pushed off anyway. By that time it was too late to bail, we were going fishing.

If you’ve ever tried finding a charter boat captain in a seaside community, it can be a little overwhelming. Using the ever-powerful internet I turned up countless guides. Narrowing things down to the closest marina to our condo, I reached out to three different captains. Two were full up and one had a midweek afternoon opening. Booked. Now it was just time to survive the winter and dust off my pink flamingo swim trunks. After a two-hour drive to the nearest airport that would honor our vouchers from a covid related canceled trip to Disney, we pulled into economy parking.

Well, we at least tried too. It was then that the usual travel-related inconveniences started to pop up. The parking lot was full and we were redirected to the employee lot. I immediately realized what this meant with regard to how many people would be attempting to invade my personal space once entering the ticketing/terminal area. The airline we were flying with doesn’t assign seats and by the time our numbers came up, there were no seats together.

Meaning my 6-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter had to brave commercial plane travel on their own. I wished them the best and grabbed the closest available seat which was not within the eyesight of either child. Arriving at the destination airport we found the rental car counter. There was practically no line for nine of the 10 rental car companies. The one that happened to have the line was the one I had booked with. Did I mention the line was out the door and people had already been waiting 2 ½ hours and still weren’t even close to the counter? It was time for an audible. I sent my wife to a nearby counter to confirm they had cars, which they did, jumped out of line and within 10 minutes was in a car and on our way. Needless to say, I got ahold of customer service at my original car company and got a full refund before even reaching the condo.

Now that the travel hassles were behind us, a little relaxation and tourism was on the menu. That is until I text the captain on Tuesday to make sure we were all set for Wednesday afternoon. He was waiting for the latest weather report but it looked like 20-30 mph winds would keep us from going out to the shipwrecks. What this meant was the YETI cooler I had checked as baggage and planned to take ample fish fillets home in would likely remain empty on the return trip.

He called later that afternoon and confirmed that we could not go out to chase the “eater” fish. What he did propose was to remain near shore and attempt our luck at tarpon. The fishing would likely be slow and there certainly wouldn’t be any guarantees of a catch but it was the best, and only, offer on the table. Inquiring to my son on whether he still wanted to go or not, he insisted that he still wanted to go even if we wouldn’t hammer a bunch of fish. Who was I to tell him no? I let Captain Jason know we were in it to win it.

At this point, all I had to do was figure out what exactly a tarpon was. I had a pretty good idea they were silvery, large-scaled fish that was too bony to eat. My suspicions were confirmed but much to my delight they grew much larger than I realized and were prized for their sporting qualities as a tremendous fighter. Armed with that knowledge I was still pretty excited for the trip. Besides, who knows if or when I’ll ever get another chance at a tarpon?

Might as well live in the now and not on unknown future events that may never come to fruition. Cole and I were originally set for an afternoon outing but due to the wind and waves, the captain’s morning client canceled. Wanting to give us the best possible shot at a hook up he asked if we would be able to fish the early shift. I was concerned about having to wake my son up at 4 AM and trying to convince a tired and grouchy kid that he was having a great time.

However, when I found out it would be an 8 AM start I obliged the request. It was in my own best interest and truthfully, an 8 AM start wouldn’t be bad at all. Having a little foresight, the marina was only about a mile or two down the road, and before we knew it, we were on the dock looking for the “only black and grey boat in the fleet”. Quickly identifying Captain Jason’s boat, which I later found out was named by his son, I introduced myself and Cole. Without hesitation, we were off. Taking all the sights in, the “Caution Manatee Area” sign, high-rise condos, quad engine boats, a draw bridge, epic sunrise, it just felt good. It felt as though we were idling away from reality and problems. The next four or so hours were just mine and my sons. We had one thing to do, fish.

Crossing under the drawbridge, the engine noise ramped up and the sea was now our thoroughfare. I wrapped my arms around Cole to reassure him to enjoy the ride and offer a little warmth in the early morning breeze. Neither of us were sure what to expect as we exited the inlet into the wide open. Swinging to the left we hugged the shoreline of the neighboring state park. It was an island setting with an urban skyline. After a fun but short drive, we arrived at a predetermined spot. Technology would be enlisted at this point to stack whatever odds we may have that morning in our favor. Utilizing his extensive knowledge of the local waters he expected the tarpon near shore in 6’-8’ of water. Dropping the trolling motor, which could be controlled by his phone and GPS, we began moving parallel to the shore. He stared intently at the fish finder until he was confident tarpon were in our midst. Rather than dropping anchor, our position was maintained automatically by the trolling motor. Once we had become stationary, Captain continued to watch the digital display.

He once again confirmed they were between us and the shore he grabbed a pole. The gear for this trip was fairly simple and familiar, albeit on steroids. A rod, open face reel, and a single hook would be our tools for the day. Opening the cooler a large chunk of cut-up fish was extracted, placed on the hook, and tossed out. This process was repeated from each corner of the boat. Ironically as he was cutting up a channel catfish with a pair of scissors I noted that this is almost exactly the same tactic I would have employed to have caught that catfish in the first place. The only difference is I would have had a weight of some sort attached just up from the hook. I asked him about why he didn’t add a sinker and he quickly replied that when a tarpon hits, it hits hard.

The weight would have a tendency to smack the fish and alert him of foul play leading to the bait getting spit out before the hook could be set. Now we wait. For the first 30 minutes or so everything was different and exciting. After the newness wore off and no fish were biting my son began to lose interest. Fortunately, one of the other nearby boats from the marina got a hookup and brought his excitement level back up. The fish ultimately got off and we went back to watching rod tips. With the lack of action, motion sickness began to overcome my son. While he never turned green he laid down and I began to converse with the captain.

Over the course of the discussion he jumped up and attempted to set the hook. It happened quickly but just as fast he conceded a missed opportunity and recast. Watching the rod a short time later we could both see something tugging at it which he assumed was a small shark. A strike from a silver king would leave no doubt as to what was on the other end. Eventually, we moved a short distance to the South and closely watched for a grey oval or orange disturbance to appear on the fish finder. After marking several fish we cast and again went back to talking. We moved several times looking for that one hungry fish.

Probably three hours into the morning I was tending to Cole when I heard Jason call out. By the time I was able to get sight of him his face was lit up with excitement, “Did you see that?” The strike had been furious and as expected. As force was applied to drive the barb into the bony mouth of our intended quarry, the fish erupted from the ocean and antagonistically spit the chunk of catfish back towards the boat. We knew we were in the right spot and by swapping the miscellaneous cut bait for a channel cat smorgasbord our hopes had once again been raised.

As quickly as hopes elevated they began to wash away. The first boat in our marina trio pulled anchor and headed back. Not much later, the second. The morning would be afternoon soon and my agreed-upon time would be over. Sometimes things just come together and out of nowhere, Jason said he would stay out for a while more since he no longer had an afternoon client. Thinking it was an extremely nice gesture, but doubting a few more minutes would equate to a fish, I said I appreciated it and turned my focus back to the tight lines. If I had time I would have realized the tarpon bite occurs without warning, but without warning the tarpon smashed a piece of catfish.

Returning to the beginning of the story, beads of sweat formed as I furiously cranked the open-face reel. Slowly motoring toward open water I maintained constant tension on the rod just hoping for a glimpse of the beast on the other end. Eventually getting to within 50 yards or so of the fish it was time to wear it down. Here is where strength and finesse come together. The fish couldn’t be muscled in but would not be coaxed to the boat with subtlety. As my arms began to numb, I was already past the point of aching, I began to shorten the distance between man and fish. That is until the silver one decided to show us he had plenty left in the tank and erupted from the water.

That moment, now etched in my mind, is why this fish has become so popular in the sporting community. I may never again observe the level of strength and beauty exhibited in that fleeting moment, or so I thought. The drag once again began to scream and I lost most of the ground I had made. This time the fish was angry. I could feel the fish flailing its head violently from side to side as it tried its best to ditch the hook. The rod waved back and forth mimicking the fish trashing.

Again from the sea, the fish went airborne, and again. What a show we were getting. Any sickness my son was experiencing had now left him and his jaw was suspended in a dropped position while he pointed as if I was going to miss what he was seeing. The assault on the captain’s fishing gear began to subside and we could see the fish’s scaly form just under the water off to the right of the boat. It was massive. Estimated at 100 lbs we had hooked a stud. Thinking this would be the chance I had really been waiting for I had my son step up into the peak of the bow. I couldn’t simply hand him the rod as the fish outweighed him twofold. Much to my arm’s dismay I held the rod out as far as I could and let him slide in and man the reel. He had underestimated the amount of effort I had expelled up to this point when he realized he couldn’t turn the handle. Urging him to try a little harder he was able to get a few revolutions in.

I raised the rod tip a bit and slowly lowered it allowing him to reel in what little slack I could generate. The boat had gotten inside the tarpons comfort zone and he began to peel off the line once more then exploded into his best jump yet! Cole was elated, jubilant, mesmerized, shocked, and many other adjectives all at once. Finally wrestling the fish boat side, I asked Captain Jason what the next steps were? He explained that technically it was considered landed if you could reach down and touch the leader. My assumption is that at that distance the fish could easily be reached with a gaff and brought aboard. Since we had no intentions of eating this behemoth, I had no desire to kill it. Therefore, as Cole and I manned the rod Captain Jason reached down, and like that, he swam off to create another anglers dream. The Captain turned with a giant grin and met my palm with his. The salutary high five sealed the morning’s outing. Smiles rained on our faces.

We cruised by the beach and paused briefly to wave at the girls victoriously as they basked in the sun. Breathing in the slow roll back to the marina, Cole appeared to have truly enjoyed what may or may not turn into his only but quite memorable tarpon. Being able to provide this made the entire trip priceless.