Spring Fly Fishing in Key Largo: May 2007

The Iowa winter broke into spring, and with the change of season I found myself changing location (I headed to my summer job at Camp Wabanna) and hair length (I got the don't-need-to-see-scissors-until-August haircut). I also took my annual trip to see my older brother, Dave Yoder, in the Florida Keys. Though I claim it's a chance to catch up with close family, we both know I am visiting him in order to fly fish the flats right off the shore of his house.

The only problem--what is known as the "Yoder Curse"--was that the weather followed me. This time it was wind. In fact, Dave told me to start this blog with, "I've got three words to describe my trip to the Keys: wind, wind, and wind." Every day we battled thirty-mile-an-hour winds. He while poling the boat, and I while casting. The Sun was faithful. Each day she pierced through the salt water to the grass and coral covered shallows near Coral Reef, but the wind created a smoke-screen of waves for the approaching and retreating tarpon.


Time on the boat also reminded me of another element I forgot: I hate standing in one place for long periods of time. Three straight nine hour days balancing on a casting platform began to drive me crazy. (There is only so much of my future I can ponder before I go insane.) The “stir crazy” moments led to a couple of “tense conversations” (a nice way of saying arguments) between siblings. I guess brothers yelling at each other over bad casts and cranky attitudes is better than a sibling rivalry over who’s the best son/brother. (And I will openly admit I stink at casting large flyrods, and I am even worse with a spinning rod.)

On a lighter note, I was able to catch two tarpon on flies. The first one, a ten-pound baby was caught on the ocean side of the Keys, in a spot where Dave knew a few baby tarpon would be cruising around. It took me two casts to get the fly near the lead fish, and it ate the fly like a starving bass. Surprisingly, the tarpon didn’t attempt one jump, but it did give a good subsurface fight. (I’ve failed to mention that our chances to cast to tarpon were few and far between. For some reason, the fish were schooling off-shore near a reef, and we didn’t know that until the third day of fishing.)

The second tarpon, weighing between forty and fifty pounds, was taken late at night. Fed up with the lack of feeding snook, my brother started the boat up and headed for the loading ramp. As we motored by a bridge, he saw several tarpon rolling on shrimp. A construction light gave us the opportunity to see fish eating in the blackened water and make reasonably short casts. I made a cast about forty feet into the shrimp-filled current and within two strips a tarpon rolled on the fly. Before tiring out, the fish jump three times. Each one was a flashback to every Saturday morning fly fishing show I’ve watched. They are definitely creatures of beauty. Even the moon’s dim reflection couldn’t hide the tarpon’s silver-scaled dress.

So, the curse is gone. I’ve caught two tarpon. But I am still not satiated. I’ve yet to land the white ghost.