Cliff Parsons Reports on 9/21/01:
The labor day week-end started out as it should with a small dinner partycomplete with good food and drink. In attendance that Friday night was Mark B. Hatter who happened to have Friday off. Being the angler that Mark is andknowing that tarpon season is coming to its fruition, he seized the opportunity and went to the worst keep secret tarpon fishing spot in central Florida. According to Mark the tide was right and there were fish on the move, going to wherever tarpon go in the cool months. The action did not pick up until the 8:30 hour, rather late, but it paid to wait. Mark had ample shots to keep the action interesting and was rewarded with jumping a small fish in the 60 pound class and landing a 110 pound fish. Mark said that he beat that fish in ten minutes with his new rplxi by Sage, a 12 banger.
Before dinner that was the report I received. Being of weak mind and sound body I asked the wife for the blessing for a Saturday poon trip with Mark. The reply came quickly. Sure. With the blessing firmly stored all that awaited me was the alarm clock set for 5 a.m. I thought the night would never end.
Sleep came hard even after a few bottles of cab and a night cap. The past season which once seemed like it would never come was now about to close. I laid in bed and thought about hammering poons April 15th in Boca Grand, about some big fish we took in Hommo, the 16 fish day with Charlie Madden, the God awful weather we had with John McCabe and Mitch in Boca G, things were so bad we could not even catch a break. Here I was on the cuspus of closing ceremonies trying to sleep to try to wake up.
Like clock work, the alarm went off. With Hatter and my skiff in tow we headed off to the worst keep secret tarpon spot in central Florida. Things looked bad from the start. There was a boat in "my spot", and this was all observed from the road. I could tell things were going from bad to worse as we approached the ramp. The first indication was the line of boats waiting to launch, the second was watching people park on the ramp, load the boat with gear, take the strap off, find the dock line, put the dock line on the cleat, tell the wife how to hold the line, put the plug in, store the rods etc. etc. Tendrils of time were wasting.
Eternity ended when we launched only to find eternity once again in waiting for the fish to show up. The other skiff turned out to be a buddy, no problems there. Hatter kept my spirits high by saying there were more fish here yesterday, you should have been here. I know fishing is slow when Mark and I state to sing. Together we bastardize what ever song comes to mind and le'me tellya it aint pretty much like the scum line was thickening on my hull as we waited.
Patience paid as I had a shot at a rat at 50 feet, a quick back cast, the fly was delivered on line and the right distance. Every time you cast you think you are "in the house" and you want to say "watch this". This was not the case with these fish on a mission to whereversville in 8 feet of dark water. The "tick" came with casual smile, setting hard, no need to toss the anchor for a rat, one who still has wet milk on its lips from sucking its mama's tit. When the big female launched all casualness ended, this was not the fish I threw at, the anchor was tossed, Mark and I shut up and the drag sung. Finally reel music to my ears. The fish was a book end to Marks Friday 110 pounder, I thought the fight would be cut short when it missed landing in the other skiff by inches. Several good jumps in the warm water brought the silver King to boat side quickly allowing for a fast release. After high five's and a shot a water it was back to business and to the tethered anchor. Mark took the bow position and quickly had two powerful eats complete with big boils causing separation of the surface scum. Some days you feel like you have rubber hooks and it is not to be. As slowly as it started, it ended, tarpon season is done. The departure from the ramp at 11:30 on labor day weekend is another story .