A Silver Prince.

On New Year's Eve, Mark and I decided to fish a narrow channel that I haven't fished before. I have seen numerous species of fish travel through it in the past and was waiting until my bro came down to actually fish it.

We saw huge schools of baitfish massing near the mangroves and numerous tarpon cruising through them. We rigged up and waded in.

In such tight quarters, I was the spotter while Mark fished. I stood on some mangrove roots to get a higher vantage point from which to spot any gray slabs moving through the baitballs.

Slingshot casts required.

Consistently, tarpon cruised through. Mark had a bunch of looks, but no takes. The fish would go nose-to-nose with his fly while his leader was in his guides and he was standing in waist-deep water. This was truly close quarters fishing. I was looking forward to the inferno of leaps and thrashing that would signify a hookup at such close range. A 60lb fish would deal a swift ass-kicking and leave us shaking our heads in astonishment at their power.

With so much bait in the area, pelicans were diving all around. If you have ever seen a bird with a 6ft wingspan fold it's wings to it's body and dive, beak first, into a baitball, you wouldn't forget it. For all of the splashing of these birds, the tarpon seemed unfazed. They were clearly the clean-up crew for any maimed fish that the birds missed.

A school of baby tarpon, the first I have seen around the island, came into sight cruising towards us from the west. Mark flicked a cast in front of them and during the ever so slow retrieve, a pelican cannonballed into the water inches from his fly. I thought we were going to have one pissed-off bird in a second when it realized the fish it grabbed was made of marabou and rabbit strips and contained a sharp surprise. Thankfully, the bird missed.

On his next cast, only seconds after the bird took off, the school of baby tarpon came towards his tarpon toad as one. The fly pulsated in the water a few feet beyond the end of Mark's 10wt.

Mark told me once that baby tarpon are probably a hell of a lot of fun on the fly; all of the acrobatics without the grinding bulldog dead weight you've got to haul in afterward.

In a sudden acceleration, a baby tarpon inhaled the fly and Mark set the hook. Still, as you will see, as if a rainbow had taken his Adams. This time, however, it served him well.

Check out the video below which shows the miss by the pelican and the complete duel with the baby silver king, set to some tunes by Death Cab.

It was a gorgeous, perfect fish.

After that, we walked West towards a sandy flat and observed some 'cudas chilling under some half-sunken boats. We gave the tarpon channel a breather and explored for bonefish. After about an hour, we returned to the spot and began to fish again.

Reviving before release.

It was at this time that some very unexpected visitors stopped by and began watching us fish...

Tarpon Slime.

I am not exactly sure what woke me up first, the incessant bites from the many mosquitos in the room or the howling screeches of the resident roosters outside the window. All I remember is waking up in unfamiliar territory. Shirtless and blanketless on an air mattress in the spare room in my brother's apartment in the British Virgin Islands. Two days earlier I was waking up in the cold of Pennsylvania. The night before I battled my first Tarpon on two full days of no sleep. The lure of the tarpon ensured my senses were operating on all cylinders before I took a nosedive and crashed. Hard. Day two in the BVI and I slept in. Already nearing 9 o'clock, I just wasted nearly four hours of daylight & fishing. What a waste.

As the residents of the household converged in the living room, plans were formed for the days events. One of the many perks of my brother being a teacher on the island are the lavish gifts that his students bestowed upon him. Among them were bottles of wine, a dive knife, and the best one just happened to be the keys to a condo on a nearby island. We decided to head there and spend the night. My brother promised there would be some great nighttime tarpon fishing to be had. I was willing to sacrifice a day of fishing for an exotic beach and amazing scenery. Just as long as I got a chance to redeem myself from the night before.

The Sweet Rental. Suzuki Carry 1.3

Virgin Gorda Beach Front.

Playing Catch With a Coconut.

Jay-Z's Yacht.

After a day of ferries, hiking, lush beaches, and interuppting photo shoots, we finally embarked on the mission. Luckily the spot we visited had enough light to attract schools of small baitfish. Where there are baitfish, there are tarpon. From a distance greater than fifty yards we layed our eyes on a spotted eagle ray some five feet across slowly making its way through the water. After a minute of admiration the tarpon began lurking in and out of the light. I tied on a large purple tarpon toad and got into position.

Matt Trying Out for the Final Season of LOST.

The Baths.

Snorkeling in the Baths.

Tying a Tarpon Leader in the Dr. Seuss Condo.

Before arriving on the island I half jokingly told my brother that I was going to land the first tarpon I saw, on the first cast I made. I got schooled that first night. A decade plus of trout fishing has a way of hardwiring your casting arm to lift the rod at every take. Bad news bears when fishing in the salt. If you lift the rod, a tarpon will sometimes give you a few precious seconds of chaos before seemingly spitting out the hook. You need to strip set hard. Much harder than you think in order to plant that steel in their prehistoric hinged jaw. These thoughts ran through my mind as my shot at redemption slowly meandered his way straight at me. I decided to let him swim under the pier and have my toad waiting for him on the opposite side. I casted the toad out about fifteen feet and waited. The tarpon swam out from the darkness directly between my legs inspected the fly briefly before inhaling it.

Lone Shot of the Battle.

Tailing a Tarpon. DUMB.

This Didn't Work Out Too Well.

It was more sheer luck than skill, that I caught my first tarpon. The first mistake I made was not strip setting. As soon as that fly disappeared in the mouth I lifted the rod. For weeks leading up to the visit I would practice strip setting while daydreaming about catching a tarpon. I even think I did it a few spontaneous times in public in front of people. All that practice and I was about to blow another shot at the king. However, this time I partially realized my mistake and dropped the tip and clamped down on the line just as the tarpon erupted. The fish took off and lept out of the air before heading to my right peeling line off the rod. He jumped directly next to the big ship at the end of the dock clearing the rail. He easily could have ended up in that ship and I was worried the second time he went for it. Of course this was all during the first ten seconds of the battle. I realized that this fish wasn't going anywhere and dropped my gaze on my reel. It was a tangled shit show. My line was wrapped around the butt of the rod and almost knotted in the spool. Despite this, the tarpon was STILL taking out line. Crazy.

Man Sized.

"O" Face.

My brother and I worked together to get out of that mess and when everything was clear he went on a little run. I kept the rod tip at my waste working him down and dirty in the opposite direction he was heading using the butt of the rod to wear him out. I walked him down to the beach and after a few tense moments and leaps in the surf, I wrapped my hands around my first megalops atlanticus. The whole show ending in less than ten minutes. I struggled to find the right thumb placement in his mouth. It was a pretty unfamiliar feeling sticking my hand in his mouth, it might as well have been a steel clamp. I led him out into the surf pushing water over his gills. I hoisted him up onto my chest using both arms holding him tight for an epic grip and grin shot.

Yeah, I Was Happy.

That night back in the condo, I slipped out to the pool and recounted the nights events under a star filled sky. The situation I found myself in was pretty ridiculous but it was made even sweeter by the fact that I had just caught my first tarpon. I reached out of the pool and grabbed my soaking wet shirt. It was coated in a layer of tarpon slime that reeked of fish. The entire front of the shirt was destroyed. I spent a few minutes scrubbing it in the pool to no avail. I placed the shirt in a plastic bag that eventually became several plastic bags as the week progressed. The shirt still reeks of my tarpon. It is a reminder of one fine night in the BVI.

Buck Fever.

After a short tour of the island, I brought Mark and Lex back to my apartment for lunch. Mark crossed the street and stepped onto the stone wall to peer at the rubble-bottomed flat opposite our porch. Dotted with coral heads and channels between, I've seen tarpon rolling, permit tailing, baitballs getting mauled and sharks cruising at various hours of the day and night.

Eyeing the channels.

...and way over yonder...

Seeing the bluish water up close for the first time, albeit somewhat stirred up from the offshore storms pushing in a swell, Mark peered at me through his polarized glasses and a smirk spread across his face. He hopped down off the wall and unpacked his ten weight in record time.

On the porch table he assembled his leader with shaking fingers. Asking my advice about flies as if I know what I'm talking about, he settled on a needlefish imitation in an attempt to entice a stout 'cuda we may have spied between some coral heads.

Stacy made some sandwiches and mark took a momentary break to wolf his down. He forgot to chew and choked on a bite, coughing and sputtering a question about wire tippet as he regained his composure.

'Calm down, bro, you've got a week,' I said, shaking my head as he finished his sandwich in three gulps.

He picked up his gear, crossed the street, hopped the wall and was in the water before the meal reached his stomach.

As the week progressed, I noticed Mark occasionally possessed by a plague that all fishermen have succumbed to when an opportunity to cast to a big fish presents itself. The symptoms include, but are not limited to: blown casts, weak or premature sets, lined fish, tangled reels, line snarled around arms and legs, trips, falls, slips, stumbles and the occasional epithet hurled at a departing wake. It is all to be expected the first time you're fishing the salt and get a shot at some of the fish we had shots at this past week.

The only treatment, the only way to relieve the pressure, is to land something...

That evening, we headed to the local beach where I have landed three tarpon in the past few months. We casted off both jetties until darkness overtook us, and headed home without a strike.

Near dark at the Sugar Mill.

Inconsistent tarpon at the Sugar Mill.

After dinner, we drove to Cane Garden Bay for a chance at some tarpon who usually cruise around a lighted boat dock. We spotted their shapes before the car was in park. We rigged up and began fishing. About 20 minutes in, Mark let out a primal yelp as a nice tarpon cleared the water, heading directly at him. He lifted the rod high over his head and striped is as much line as possible, but it was too late. The fish had expertly ducked underneath the dock, rounded a post and shook the hook while somehow imbedding it in the barnacle-encrusted dock pillar. Mark's first tarpon encounter.

He's gone under the dock!

Humbled after getting his ass kicked by his first tarpon.

That 80lb tippet isn't going to snap any time soon.

As the night grew later, I tried to coach Mark toward a solid hookup. He painfully learned the value of waiting for the fish to turn before setting the hook with a violent strip set as he pulled fly after fly right out of the hinged jaws of three tarpon. The coup de grace came with the largest tarpon seen so far, gleaming in the dock lights as it rounded a corner and headed for us. Mark perfectly presented the fly and the giant ambled over for a closer look. After a breathless eternity of being nose to nose with the purple toad, the tarpon made up it's mind and gently sipped the fly. No sooner had the tarpon engulfed the fly did Mark yank it right out of it's mouth by lifting the rod as if a rainbow had taken his Adams.

I hung my arms limply and slumped in my stance as Mark stood up straight and took his first breath since seeing the great fish. I could literally see his heart pounding in his chest at the excitement.

After their red-eye flight and 48 hours of no sleep, buck fever was all that was keeping him going. A landed tarpon on his first saltwater day was not to be. However, lessons learned on the first night would reap rewards in days to come.

Patrolling the wall.

Always on the lookout.

Searching for tail.

The day draws to a close, and still he waits.

Vote! Fish of the Year.

Updated: 2009 Fish of the Year: BVI Tarpon

Help us settle a year end holiday dispute at This River is Wild. Which fish over the past year was the greatest? We each put in two entries for fish of the year and hopefully our small readership will help end the bickering between us (there really is none). So what makes the fish of the year? Is it the size of the fish, story and experience, or beauty? Here are the entries with an accompanying link to the post. Vote on the top right of the blog. Happy holidays!

Option 1: Adam's First Canal Carp

Weeks of toiling in the mosquito infested canal of Walnutport culminated in this massive golden bone. Story & more images here: Flawless Victory

Monster Golden Ghost of the Walnutport Canal.

Option 2: Savage River Brown Trout

A successful first trip to the Savage River in Western Maryland produced some gorgeous wild brown trout in a scenic setting. This was the prettiest. Story and images here: Savage

Beautiful Savage River Brown.

Option 3: Anegada Bonefish

As a birthday present for my brother, Stacy took Matt out to Anegada where wading the flats, he landed his first ever bonefish. Story and pictures here: Chasing Tail in Anegada.

Bro's First Bonefish.

Option 4: British Virgin Islands Tarpon.

Out with a friend, Matt tied into a 80 pound tarpon that schooled him in the surf while evading a curious shark. Story and images here: Megalops Atlanticus

The first Tarpon: Deliverance

Epic Tarpon Battle From the Rocks.

Option 5: Salmon River Brown

As the rain began to fall, Adam tested out a tri-cluster egg sucking leech. The brown exploded off the bottom as the fly hit the water. Story and images here: Salmon River Revenge

More epic brown trout: Shooting Stars

Salmon River Brown on the Tri-Cluster Leech.

Option 6: Lago X Carp

My best day ever Carp fishing culminated in this brute that was slowly stalked and picked off some weed beds. A blistering run and my fly line disappeared into the middle of the lake. Story and images here: CARP!

Goliath Lago-X Carp.

Although these fish may not be the largest fish we caught all year, they certainly were some of the more memorable. As the new year approaches, new water and challenges await us that are sure to produce more memories and even more epic moments.

Chasing Tail in Anegada

For my birthday, Stacy planned a trip to Anegada, a small coral atoll just north of, but still a part of the British Virgin Islands. Anyone you speak to down here says that Anegada is ground zero for bonefish. Jimmy Carter even dedicated an entire chapter to fishing the Anegada flats in his memoir, or so I've heard. So, while the rest of This River is Wild was freezing their asses off on Great Lake tributaries, Stacy and I were wading tropical flats in search of bonefish.

We picked up our sweet ride for the four days we'd be there and went to fill it up at the gas station. I asked the attendant if he knew anything about bonefishing around the island.

He perked up and said he knew a thing or two about bonefishing. It turns out that the owner of the gas station was none other than Garfield Faulkner, the one and only bonefishing guide on the island. He has guided the likes of Jimmy Buffet and others who have come to Anegada to try their luck on the flats.

A Wrangler can hold a 9wt and 10wt quite comfortably...

He told me the best option for wading was to head to the bridge and walk east. The farther east you go, the better. However, the farther east you go, the muckier the bottom becomes and soon, it becomes unwadable.

He left me with the words, in his thick accent "don judge Anegada by what you see out der, mon. Wait 'til you go wit a guide." Not exactly instilling a sense of confidence. He then gave me his card and invited me to check out his fleet of skiffs. I told him I just might give him a call if we didn't have any luck wading. We fist bumped and parted ways.

Anegada is the same size as Tortola (12 x 3 miles) but has only 1% of the population. About 200 people live here year-round. It's highest point is 28ft above sea level and we saw way more cattle and goats roaming the settlement than people. It is also home to the critically endangered Anegada Rock Iguana. We didn't see any.

What also seemed to be critically endangered were the bonefish. Dreams of flats sparkling with waving tails and dorsal fins evaporated when we arrived at the access, rigged up in a stiff wind and hit the flats. Knee-deep water with breaking white caps due to the wind is what greeted us. We walked for an hour and half and saw nothing alive save mangroves. The rough surface made spotting a tail impossible and the angle of the glare from the height of a wading person made looking off into the distance for a fish impossible, as well.

As far as the eye can see.

A wreck on the edge of the reef.

Prime habitat for bonefish prey.

We hopped back in the jeep and explored the island. The next morning, at 6am, we hit the flats on a falling tide. We hiked for a mile, eyes straining, shuffling our feet and making little wake, for two hours east. We saw absolutely nothing. I whispered to Stacy that bonefish were a myth. We were speaking in whispers because it seemed natural when compared to the way we were sneaking around the flats, tip-toeing like ninjas.

The only other fisherman, straining to find some prey.

Stace rounds a mangrove cluster, looking for movement.

Stalking.

Making a U-turn and heading west, we saw two rays and a shark. Then, an impossibly fast shadow zoomed out across the flats trailing a wake. Our first sighting, or so I told myself. It saw us way before we knew it was there.

We were now on high-alert. Five minutes later, I saw two big bonefish cruising perpendicular to me. I made one cast but they were moving too quickly. They scattered and fled as my line splashed to the water above them. Our first confirmed sighting and our first cast! Progress.

Half an hour after that, We saw a single fish slowly meandering through the turtle grass. One cast, perfect placement, and the fish bolted. We were getting frustrated but at least we were seeing fish.

A few minutes later, miraculously, two bonefish were swirling and actively feeding twenty five feet to my right. They had not spotted either of us. Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good. Trailing the fly behind me, I made one quick flick and landed the fly about 6ft away. Immediately, a tiny little grunt tried to eat my fly. It seems that bonefish have some attendant fish that devour any of the shrimp or crabs that try to scoot away as the bonefish muddles for a meal. One of the bonefish moved over, deliberately, then paused right above my fly. I pulled in the slack and felt the fish. I offered a slight tug and held on tight as the fish took off like a bullet in a half-circle around me towards deeper water. The reel screamed as the line lasered through the water, throwing spray 3ft into the air. Into my backing almost instantly, I tightened the drag and slowed the fish. I frantically reeled as it swam towards me, then it took off again. Into my backing for the 2nd time, the fish slowed and then seemed to play dead.

Coming to hand.

Success at long last.

Epoxy shrimp, not the most elegant of flies.

Active Camo

Silver Bullet.

Bonefish obviously have excellent eyesight.

After two blistering runs it was totally and utterly spent. I hauled the fish in and tailed it. I hoisted it for a pic, then placed it back into the water and walked it towards shore to take the hook out.

As I fought this fish, my knees were literally quivering. I was laughing out loud and hoping against hope that it wouldn't break me off. Hour upon hour upon hour upon hour of wading through flats in the burning sun since I've arrived here in August finally paid off with this solid hook up, quick fight and decent fish landed. I was more than pumped.

Bonefish are almost totally invisible on the flats. Especially to a wading angler, who can only see about 20ft in any direction and spends most time frightening anything within earshot of their sloshing towards deeper water before the angler even knows anything was there. Add to the inadequacies of the angler the almost perfect active camouflage that bonefish sport. Their body is covered in tiny mirrors that reflect whatever color the bottom is. They are the predator and you are Arnold.

Thousands of reflective surfaces...

mimic the bottom coloration...

and make them disappear.

Stacy had a great shot at another, larger fish almost as soon as I released mine. She took one cast and the fly was gobbled by the the bonefish's attendant grunt, which dragged the line across the bonefish, spooking it for good. Nothing after that.

The next morning, I jumped a good-sized tarpon off of a dock outside of our hotel. Later that day, I tied on a 7inch baitfish pattern to try for a big barracuda. We spotted a 4 footer in 8 inches of water. I jogged 200 yards to get in front of the fish and laid my fly 20ft to it's right. I began to strip the fly towards me with both hands when the fish accelerated and nailed the pattern. I strip set, and with one mighty shake of it's tooth-lined head, the nail knot on my 30lb pike leader exploded. The massive fish broke the surface trying to shake free of the hook in it's mouth and moved off only a few feet. I re-tied, anxious to see if it would still bite and I didn't have to leave it with a giant hook and 8 inches of wire dangling from it's jaw. The fish wasn't interested and swam off. I felt pretty bad about that.

Tarpon inspecting a floating leaf.

As fresh as dinner can get.

Four days on a deserted coral atoll, one bonefish, a jumped tarpon and a missed barracuda made for pretty much the coolest birthday present ever.