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Mari W. Henry Email Mari As a prior |
A Romantic Excursion How do you lure your boyfriend off to a romantic getaway? You take him to a place that has tarpon. No it is not a new winery, or an excluded private island--it is a fish Not just any old fish, mind you: tarpon are known as jumping, fighting fish; beautiful but taunting, fish spring loaded with the ability to jump in and out of boats, taking men the size of linebackers out with a single blow, leaving a wake of rubble in their paths. Most importantly, men rush to where the fish are.
After suggesting the lodge in Idaho listed among the “1000 Places to See before You Die”, the wilderness outposts in British Columbia and Orvis promoted and recommended fly- fishing trips in Montana, all were received with, “Sure, Sweetie, I will go wherever you want to go.”
Umm, something is not right. Yes, I am getting the right answer but it is like “Sure meatloaf is fine, or chicken, whatever you would like for dinner is fine with me.”
Wait! Hold the phone! Tarpon, is that elusive, whack- job fish that David is always talking about. So, where do they hang out? Let’s see, there is Florida- but I want an island; The Gulf, been there; the Caribbean, no that is diving; Belize! Central America, approximately 9,000 square miles with the second longest reef in the world. Yes, that is it! Exotic, adventuresome, a dreamy island, walks along the beach, candlelight, and, scrumptious dinners of unusual native delicacies. Just me and my guy. And of course, tarpon!
“Say Sweetie, how about we go hunt tarpon in Belize?”
“Tarpon? Belize! Now you’re talking! When do we leave?”
Just as I thought, putty in my hands, just the mere mention of tarpon and it is like anchovies to Caesar salad. The perfect combination, tarpon romance.
As we arrive at the resort, nestled on the beach, we are escorted to our private cabana, with a lovely ocean view and a bottle of champagne. Yes, this is what I am talking about! I have done it! Beautiful, romantic, and alone at last.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I have lined up Floyd the fishing guide to take us tomorrow morning to chase tarpon!” I said.
“Oh Gosh! That is great! David said. We had better get organized. Let’s see what kind of leader should we use on the fly rod? Forty- pound hard mono? No, no, too light, they are hard fighters.”
Fighters? Right! How tough can a fish be? Guys always like to exaggerate these things.
“No better use 20- pound test line spliced to a couple of feet of80- pound hard mono. Baby, those tarpon are known to jump right at ya”
“At ya? What are they trying to do head butt you?”
“Yep, that is about right. If they’re not jumping or fighting, they are running. They are out of their mind. “Which reminds me, we better put on a 120-pound shock tippet. “
“What does that do? Give them an electric shock to keep them under control?”
“Come on, Sweetie, quit kidding around. This is serious!” David said.
Whose kidding? He is delirious. Sweet Mary, it sounds like you need to have your hockey goalie pads and mask on to fish tarpon. Puh-leeze!
“Oh, and, flies! Let’s see, we have a Purple Cockroach, or we could use a Seaducer, or maybe a Deceiver.
Interesting! We have flies that range from disgusting to persuasive to misleading. Now, I ‘m no expert mind you, but it would seem to me that you might want to use something like a Silky Chartreuse Spinner- pretty, subtle, slow dancing and very alluring. Wait, erase that. Do I really want to hook Jack- the-Ripperfish?.
“Oh-man, Oh man! This is going to be awesome! You me and tarpon!” David exclaimed. Yippee, a real ménage a trois
“Hey! David. Wouldn’t you like to take the champagne down to the beach and watch the sunset?”
“Well sure-- as soon as I finish getting these rods all rigged up. We do not want to be late for Floyd.”
Oh for Floyd sake, now I’ve really done it!
“Hey, I know! How about I bring the gear down with us and we can sit on the beach and drink champagne while we rig up? How about that?”
He must have heard me mumble that Tarpon curse.
I know, I know, it is mandatory fishing ritual the night before. A ceremonial procedure of rod rigging, leader selection, line contemplation, bait debate, followed by repetitive practice casting.
Floyd arrives promptly at 6 am.
“David! Is that a boat? It is smaller than my bathtub. Surely we are not going to be piloting that drum across rough ocean waters?”
“It is a flats boat, Sweetie. We need to be able to sneak into those coves with low water so we can sight- fish.”
Yikes! I should have gotten one of those dandy seasick patches? Ah well, I am sure you grow out of that sort of thing after your fortieth birthday! Right?
Wait where are the life preservers? Surely he has walkie- talkies? First aid kit? Nope, I see none of those. Maybe he has them under the seat.
Ah what the heck. The tarpon will probably kill me before the fury of the ocean takes me under. Ohhh but he has lunch. At least I will get a last supper.
Forty- five minutes later, being on the wrong side of the boat, I am soaked from the boat pitching up and down the waves. Ka-baam, ka-baam!, Ears ringing, teeth chattering and well I did look cute with my short fishing shorts and fishing shirt tied at the waist. Look, Mom, no vomit!
“Look! Over there! Holy mackerel! A whole pod of tarpon! Hurry, Baby, grab your rod! Now stand right here and just drop it on their nose.”
We cast and cast again. Casting fools we are. Up they fly, out of the water, with just a slight twist of their tail. In front of the boat, on the side of the boat, circling the boat. tarpon mania! Teasing us, as if to say, Hey there big boy!
David is intent, serious, down right drooling. His desires apparent, as he casts and casts again, only to come up empty.
“Gosh, look how beautiful they are! Oh wait, I’ve got a bite. Jeeez, I can’t believe it! I lost her. I was too impatient to set the hook. I know, I will try this fly. It is tarpon proof, this should get her attention.”
I have lost him. David is obsessed with her. This is my romantic getaway after all and I am competing with a whack job fish! I know I will take my fishing shirt off and show off my new string bikini top… that should get his attention.
You- hoo, David! Look over here!
Oh it is no use. He is a goner and jeez, I paid $80 dollars for this yard of material.
Two hours later, surrounded by tarpon, David is pitifully pleading with the tarpon from the bow. But only one strike, and not even a measly peek at my string bikini.
That night at dinner, David, says; “Well, don’t worry, tomorrow we will get one. I am sure of it. I think what we have to do is give them what they are eating. We will just go get some live sardines and give them what they want.” For crying out loud!. Who made tarpon the Queen of Men?
For the love of fishing! How do these aquatic vertebrate create this obsession? Men are gripped, possessed, fixated, mesmerized by the very thought of having one. Returning again and again only to be further taunted and humiliated. Have they no pride? No shame?
Okay so they are very clever at flirting, jumping just high enough to give a little peek, not too much skin the first time. Can you say string bikini top? Look! Tthere is a string bikini bottom too?
And I suppose their sleek lines and glimmering fins are beautiful. Well, I have sleek lines and I glimmer. Well I did until I got soaked and my hair was matted to my head. Now the only thing glimmering is the crystals of salt stuck to my hair. But but…. I bought this new short tight sarong skirt. Wanna see?
Yes, tarpon seem to be elusive, a bit mysterious, and yes there is something to say for playing hard to get. They sure don’t say yes to the first cast. But I can be hard to figure out, puzzling and inexplicable. Okay, well maybe that isn’t the same thing.
I guess tarpon are playful and seem to have the art of teasing mastered: bouncing around in the water, nipping at your bait.. Come on, now! I am fun too, right? So maybe I shouldn’t have laughed so long when the tarpon snagged your bait and got away.
Skillful swimmers, tarpon, can’t deny that. Dancing along with the bait on their nose, driving men crazy with their nimbleness… Fine! Perhaps I was not real graceful trying to get back in the boat after a swim. But gosh darn it, shouldn’t they have a ladder or a rope pulley to hoist you back into the boat? One gets rug burns shimmying up the side.
“Baby, are you listening? What do you think about using live sardine bait? Don’t you think that will do the trick?”
“Oh. Yes, no doubt. Yeah! Let’s call Floyd and ask him to come earlier and we can serve those tarpon a tasty breakfast of sardine on a silver mono line before the sun comes up.”
“You’re a pretty fart smeller, Sweetie” David said.
Well, Miss Trixie tarpon, two can play at this game. Tomorrow, I am going to be a sly, slender, glimmer- fin swimming, two- chambered heart, oxygen gill- catching fisherwoman and you will be mine and then I can get on with my romantic holiday.
Day two: tarpon, 30; sardines, home team, zero, one pelican Day three: sunburn, stiff, “Come on give me your best shot” Day four: Not even a wretched nibble after 6 hours of casting. Day Five: For Pete’s sake! I just want one strike, one tarpon! Day six: In my next life, I want to be a tarpon Day seven: Arivadechi, ciao, bye bye, Adios, see ya, au revoir Belize. Stupid Belizean tarpon!
“David, how about we reroute through Florida on the way home? I hear that Islamadora is really the place to catch tarpon. The heck with Belize. I think we will have better luck there. We can just bunk up at the Motel 6. I am more interested in putting our money into a really top notch guide who knows where to go. I am through fooling around; I am going to get a tarpon!”
Godspeed & a Giggle
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