The Creature From The Black Lagoon.

The coming of summer brings a change to my morning commute. Gone are the days of heading to school early in the morning and chasing salmonids on my days off. With high temperatures and a summer drought, trout are off the menu.  The long hot days of summer are spent hunting solitary common carp. Ever since my first slab of gold, I have become hopelessly addicted to the golden ghost, as do most who stalk them with a fly rod. After all, why target a fish that is measured in inches, when one could stalk and sight fish to a fish measured in pounds and fights like a bonefish? It is a game where my profession changes from teacher to student and even though school is out, class is still in session. This summer I am hoping to earn my PhD with some graduate-level carping by catching my nemesis: the ever elusive canal carp.

As I speed along to my destination, the sun’s rays are slowly creeping over the horizon, piercing through a vast blanket of fog. With an empty pull-off ahead, the world around is still asleep and the streets resemble a ghost town. Exiting the fish mobile, the morning’s battleground is displayed in all its glory. The coliseum of dark, placid water reflects the immediate surroundings, creating a mirage of green, hiding what lies beneath. My pot of gold at the end of the rainbow: Cyprinus carpio. A fitting name that creates visions of an ancient Roman gladiator that makes quick work of visiting fly fishermen. These carp are wild, ten to thirty-pound torpedoes that are battle hardened from a life spent evading predators. On a daily basis, they face fishermen of all skill levels that vary from bow hunters to an eighty year old woman who has been known to gives her catches to a local Chinese restaurant. After a year of trial and error, heartache and tears, it has been discovered that the only possible time to catch them on the fly is in the morning gloom of first light.

As in all fly fishing situations, this is easier said than done due to a variety of conditions I like to call carp blocks. These occur during three distinct time periods: before, during, and after hooking up. Before one even steps foot on the canal path, your fate can be predetermined by the resident canal junkie who is there for a morning stroll or to walk the dog. The moment the first person’s vibrations are felt trudging down the path, or a resident turtle or waterfowl flees, the carp scurry for safety not to be seen again until the next morning. Often while stalking fish, joggers, dogs, and even old Grandma have carp blocked me. If you are fleet of foot, and successfully maneuver into position where you can get off a perfect cast, you have reached the point in time where the most can go wrong.

 For one, you need to be fully focused on the task at hand to see through the deep water and locate the coffee mug mouth of a carp slurping your fly. While this process is played out, hundreds of marauding mosquitoes, seemingly immune to 100% deet, are boring their way into any exposed skin. In the thick of summer, especially after a hard rain, the mosquitoes have been known to force people back to their cars and send errant casts and curse words across the still waters.   The next thing that could go wrong is every child’s favorite: the sunfish. They are eager to pick off any and every viable food item that crosses their path. The most annoying of all carp blocks is when a hog johnson sized carp meanders over to your damsel only to have a three inch eating machine snatch it away at the last second. Once in a blue moon, one can successfully evade all carp blocks and become locked in mortal kombat with a creature from the black lagoon.

The path to the mountain top revealed, one of the final hurdles is the angler. One of the most fulfilling aspects of the sport is when one takes it upon himself to find out the answers to all the challenges fly fishing has to offer. Taking the time to solve the riddle, make the cast, hook and land the fish amongst flotsam and sunken debris is more than challenging. After I landed my first canal carp, I exited the water soaked through with a grin from ear to ear. As I walked down the canal path, the first beams of sun crept through the trees and onto the water. The first jogger of the morning ran down the path and gave me a look from head to toe. Little did she know, but I had just received my diploma. I had passed the test and broken down the proverbial wall, opening the door to more opportunities at achieving morning glory.

A Hard Day's Fishing.

I had planned one of our first stops during our stay in the islands to be at one of the most secluded and pristine bays I’ve found during my year here. To protect it’s location we’ve nicknamed it Shark City. It turns out that most of the fish you spot while wading this shallow bay or creeping along the shoreline turn out to be sharks between 1 and 8 feet in length.

Trunk full of money.

It is prime permit habitat. Blue runners and yellow-tail snappers are often found here, as well. Mark seemed to have his buck fever under control as we scoured the flat for signs of life, but Adam’s was on full display. Wire leaders and shark flies were launched at each of the dozens of small sharks that came slinking within casting range. A few hookups but no fish brought to hand later, and I spotted a giant shadow slowly sliding along the flat about 50 yards away. I yelled to Adam that there was a good 7 foot shark moving towards us and at the sound of those words, he began to trot towards the trajectory of the fish in hopes of heading it off with his 7wt.

I think about the time his first cast landed within a few feet of the fish’s nose he realized that he was ridiculously outgunned and wisely pulled his fly out of range, choosing to admire instead of harass a fish that could kick our asses.

Incoming.

Outgoing.

Choosing to work the drop-off near the reef instead of the flat, Adam produced a blue runner and an unidentified species of wrasse, which was gorgeous. I landed a small Caribbean reef shark a short time later.

Blue Runner

Mystery Wrasse

As the day wore on the angle of the sun began to produce a troublesome glare. We left the shallow section and chose to scramble along a boulder-strewn shoreline to fish some pocket water.

Between three of the house-sized rocks, Mark produced a blistering charge from a decent barracuda. The fish pulled up before claiming the fly and Mark ripped the Puglisi baitfish out of the strike zone on pure reflex. The fish was still searching for his lost prey when Mark deftly dropped this pattern on the cuda’s head and in an instant he was connected.

Finally.

Toothsome

We searched the shoreline in vain for some snook and then revisited the flat on our way to the car. It was an awesome day but only reinforced the fact that to be successful fly fishing around these island, you must pay your dues. Hours = Fish.

Tarpon Spotting.

With a tropical storm approaching the next day, Adam and I are getting in a late night tarpon session on the shoreline of the island. It is approaching 3 a.m. and the fishing has slowed to a crawl. Thanks to us, the tarpon are staying out of all the light sources making it very difficult for us to sight fish in the dead of the night. With the fish constantly on the move, blind casting while getting pounded by waves has left us frustrated and fishless. Each of us has jumped several fish, including a large one, probably the largest I have ever hooked. The silver king took me deep into my backing before throwing the hook. We know the fish are out there, now it is just a matter of spotting them. We find the answer with our headlamps. Bright LED lights with a fresh set of AAA batteries shine like a lighthouse beacon into the dark water. Starring back at us like a herd of deer caught in a pair of high beams are about a dozen tarpon. We jog back to the apartment to get my brother.

My brother is passed out, shirtless, and covered in a pool of his own sweet in the living room of his apartment. The bed, air mattress, and couches are taken by guests and he insists on letting them have the comfort while he sleeps on warm hard tile with all the creepy crawlies. Imagine his face when two LED lamps hover over him and wake him up in the middle of the night. Blinded, his pupils shrink like the T-Rex in Jurassic Park as he struggles to understand our excited voices. In his semi-consciousness, I am sure he can only make out a smattering of words: Poon spotter! Hundreds of them!!! Bent hooks! They are everywhere!! Adam and I are like two kids on Christmas morning that just got their first video game system. However, he is too exhausted from playing host to get up. We re-tie our leaders and put on the day's flies. Enrico Puglisi baitfish patterns tied on 1/0 to 3/0 hooks with holographic eyes. Purple is the color. You want a dark silhouette in the dead of the night, something the tarpon can see well. It accounts for the large majority of the several dozen tarpon that are jumped during our sojourn.

The tarpon turned out to be our easiest adversary of the entire trip. Every night we went out for tarpon we jumped one and on most nights landed at least one silver king. They were reliable, we knew where to look, we had the right flies, and the right leader recipes. Now we had our own portable tarpon spotters on our foreheads which opened up several hundred yards of real estate. When no tarpon were clearly visible all you had to do is turn on the head lamp & range find a few fish. When spotted, you had to quickly figure out the direction the tarpon was facing, how fast they were moving, and the distance from the end of your rod to the fish. Turning off the beam, you have to strip out the necessary line and place the cast slightly in front of and passed the fish. You want to strip the fly directly in front, across, and away from the tarpon. In the dead of the night, you have to get as close as possible without spooking the fish. With moving targets, this can be difficult but with a little practice it can become automatic.

That night, Adam and I opened up a whole new avenue of possibilities during our three week stay. A very fun avenue filled with screaming runs, ten foot leaps, bent hooks, shattered leaders, and a whole lot of silver kings.

A Shot in the Dark

A long day of traveling…and a few beers later..I was lying on the floor down for the count. Still semi-conscious I heard the words “There are a few pair of glowing eyes facing shore right down the street!”. In an instant I staggered to my feet. I was about to get my first ever shot at a tarpon. We grabbed our ten weights off the porch and made the short walk down the street.

Perched on a concrete wall we strained our eyes to see the dark silhouettes of tarpon in the crystal clear water. Before long Mark spotted four tarpon cruising right at us. I had to squint and let my eyes adjust before I seen them…It was go time.

My heart pounded as I stripped off line. I had to react quickly before they disappeared into the night. With no time to think I dumped a 20 foot cast. Stripped once and watched as one of the tarpon blitzed away from his three counterparts and porpoised out of the water as he took my fly. In this instant..or so I was told..Haha!..I lifted my rod tip up high..classic mistake. But with Matt’s words ringing out “SET!...SET!” I remembered the strip set and pointed my rod at the fleeing tarpon and let him have it about three times. After a few moments the shock wore off and I started laughing uncontrollably as the fish jumped and tore off towards the dark horizon. With Marks aid we landed the fish and the fly instantly fell out…never piercing past the barb of the hook.

Laughing Uncontrollably

The Audience Arriving

Fly Fell Out

My First

Later that night we continued our search for tarpon. With a fresh case of buck fever flowing through my veins I let my guard down…and fell in a hole. In the next few days...after many jumped fish I came to realize how lucky I was to hook and land the first tarpon I ever casted to. The stars had definitely aligned.

"First Blood"