The Florida Keys Yoder Men’s Fishing Tournament, Day 1

This may be the only thing I have in common with John Madden: I hate flying. I don’t imagine I’ll ever get over the unnaturalness or soulish discomfort of the event. Although, it definitely helps to fly on a good airline (like Delta or American) and have a window seat on an exit row.

Interestingly, it was while I stared out my window seat on the flight from Moline to Fort Lauderdale (where my dad caught up on some lost sleep in the parking lot) that God caught me off-guard. Staring out that window 30,000+ feet above the surface of my known world, I caught a glimpse of another world. Much like the underwater world, of which we often forget, there is a world in the clouds that provides a heavenly imitation of our landscape. The clouds stretched across the sky like a snow covered plain, interrupted by ice-like chasms and towering mushrooms. All I could think of was how limited my perception was. I enjoyed the ground because it was familiar, but maybe, just maybe, the world of the clouds—unknown to generations before me—spoke of the dramatic reality of the heavens. A reality I used the world below to cover over. Maybe.

Okay, back to the fishing. The flights down to Fort Lauderdale were otherwise uneventful, and my dad was awaiting me in his truck when I arrived in Florida. After a quick stop at Burger King, we made it to Key Largo in time to fall asleep. The “tournament” would begin tomorrow.

We got out of the house around 8:00am on Monday and headed south to Big Pine Key. The palolo worm hatch had started on Saturday, and my brother wanted to experience it for the first time. Once out on the water, we started poling ocean-side for tarpon.

Big Pine was new territory for the three of us—that meant we were sure to be welcomed by some of the local guides who had stakes in the territory. It wasn’t much after Dave began poling on a corner spot that a guide and his friend cruised over to tell us we were interfering with their fishing. Ahhh, the pleasantries of the sport; they were determined to make us feel uncomfortable, so Dave wisely offered to switch spots with them. Disarmed they motored off and left us where we originally were.

Then it happened. The jinx was ended!!! I spotted, casted to, and “landed” a 100+ pound tarpon. (My brother and I both agreed upon the weight.) After a thirty minute fight, we got it next to the boat (leader in the rod) before the bent fly slipped out of its mouth. Four jumps and a whole barrel full of tired later, I was giving my brother high-fives.

Now it was my father’s turn. The tarpon were still running, but my dad couldn’t get the fly in front of the fish. His weak back casts, inability to double-haul, and slow stripping plagued him the whole trip. There is a huge difference between casting with a four weight rod to some rising trout and finessing an eleven weight to oncoming tarpon.

But as the Lord would have it, a small group of tarpon got it in their minds to ram our boat. Or at least, it appeared that way, and during their approach Dad was able to flip the fly in front of them, lazily twitch it, and evoke a hard take by a nice-sized tarpon. Unfortunately, (and I made the same mistake with a bonefish a few years back) Dad didn’t allow the fish to run. As quickly as it was hooked, the tarpon broke off, and left Pops with a rod in hand and a flyless line in the water.

From there we motored up to the next flat and waited for the worm hatch. This migration of worms occurs once a year, and my brother had heard tales about the eating frenzy that came with it. A few skiffs already stood anchored when we arrived. By 5:00pm there seemed to be as many boats in the water as circling tarpon. Not true. Once the worms appeared, scooting across the surface of the water at 5:45, the massive amounts of tarpon appeared too.

It amazed me to see fifty or more tarpon rolling and hitting the surface like it was an evening caddis hatch on the Colorado River—it just blew my mind. The even stranger thing was that barely anyone could hook them. In the hour we spent casting to those behemoths, only three were hooked: one by my brother and two by the boat next to us. None of them were landed. We think the reason was twofold: first, our flies were off (they swam too deep, were too large, and were off-colored) and second, you need to strip the flies like you would during striper fishing (tucking the rod under your arm and using both hands in a pedaling-like motion to strip in the line). Regardless, it was a sight to see, and we made sure to catch a few worms for “analysis. (Note the video below of the worms.)

And “Day One” is over: Peter 1, Dad 0. And the jinx is over: I caught and landed a tarpon!