Do you prefer fishing for salmon or tarpon? This was a question posed to me not long ago, while I was chatting about a prospective trip. Normally, most questions that are posed to me about international fishing destinations can be fielded without too much hesitation, but in this instance, I found myself pausing for thought… that is a really hard question and one that requires much more contemplation than an off the cuff remark. My initial response would be tarpon, predominantly down to my obsession with saltwater fly fishing. But it’s not as easy as that. I grew up on salmon rivers, and they hold a mystique all of their own, much of which has nothing to do with facts and figures, but far more a deep-down ingrained love of a fish that I find incredibly frustrating in many ways. Let me elaborate.
For many of us in the UK, salmon was a species that one graduated to from trout fishing, normally as a result of wishing to hunt a far more powerful and larger quarry. Here was a chance to catch a fish that grew to double figures, would take flies and could be found here on our home shores. I remember to this day when my father announced to the family that our annual trip to Scotland this year would be in pursuit of salmon rather than the highland loch trout we had targeted to this point. I distinctly remember the slight feeling of panic welling from within, mostly ensuing from the knowledge that, at the age of 11, this was an entirely new skill set I did not possess, including the mastering of the double-handed rod. I had just about grasped the basics of fishing the lochs for trout with traditional wet flies (yes, I did use them!) and I was to forsake the beloved Invicta for something that was not only tied on a double or even treble hook, but considerably larger and in those days, more likely to do me more physical harm.
After several years of flogging rivers across Scotland in the middle of summer with no water and even less fish, the incredible happened. I finally connected with an Atlantic salmon. I will never forget watching this monster (to me anyway,) charge out of a small pool on a west coast spate river and hit my fly before taking off downstream. I had never before been connected to such a powerful fish and having no concept of drag systems on reels, we parted company as I cranked the drag in the hope of stopping it. It did, however expand my mind as a massive lightbulb went off in my head. This is why we flog the water for days, unknowing if we are covering fish or not. It is to attempt to recreate the attachment to a creature that spends the majority of its life at sea before returning to our rivers to spawn. It is for this chance encounter that endless casts are performed, conditions endured, and a certain amount of obsession is born.
Since then salmon fishing has grown to mean so much more to me. I spent seasons on the water in Norway guiding, attempting to help others feel that connection. When you spend months at a time on the water you become even more obsessed, desperately trying to learn as much as you can about these mysterious fish. Why do they take a fly? What triggers that aggressive response? How do water heights and temperatures affect behaviour? How do lies in pools you know so well change in water heights and what materials and patterns have evolved to help you finally connect to a fish. These are the questions that kept me awake at night through my teens and early twenties
It was only when I finally went to Iceland and fished its gin-clear waters that I actually had the opportunity to answer many of these questions. Finally, I could witness the reaction of salmon to flies over their heads. Their body language could clearly be seen as they eyeballed a hitched tube travelled over their heads. It also gave me hope as I realised that you could swing a fly over their heads 100 times and it might take on the 101 pass. Salmon fishing, I have come to realise has never been about catching fish. It’s about trying to understand their environment and attempting to “crack the code” of what makes them tick. Much of that is steeped in a history and tradition that goes back well over 100 years here in the UK and was very much part of my formative fly fishing years. It’s far more what I describe as ‘soul fishing’. It’s the combination of time on the water, the joy of casting and the relaxation the methodical covering of pool brings. Occasionally that tranquillity is broken by the connection of the live wire to a fish beneath.
Fishing for the silver king could not be in greater contrast. The essence of tarpon fishing is connecting to a brutal prehistoric monster through the combination of skill, a little luck, and watching the story as it unfolds in front of your eyes. It really could not be more different. Sight fishing for large fish in the salt that charge down prey and then go vertical as soon as you hook them is a thrill that few other species we hunt on the fly can give. Oh, and did I mention they are big? Some of them are REALLY big, pushing 200 lbs and six feet in length. Megalops atlanticus, also affectionately known as ‘Buttkickus fishus’ is a prehistoric giant herring that still has a lung and can breathe air. ‘Baby tarpon’ range from 5 – 60 lbs and inhabit backcountry mangrove areas where they survive by partly breathing air as they roll. They can safely chase all the baitfish that inhabit these nurseries in the sure-fire knowledge they are safe from ocean predators. As they come of age, they join the migration that moves up the Gulf of Mexico from Central America to the Floridian coastline. The silver king is distributed as far south as Venezuela, most of the Caribbean islands and also on the west coast of Africa where they reach titanic proportions. These migratory fish can reach well over 100 lbs and will make your knees shake!
Hunting the mangroves from a skiff with an 8 – 10# weight rod can be hugely enjoyable. Casts need to be accurate and drop the flies right in under the mangroves as you try to tempt these fish out of the safety of their root castles. Tarpon will follow flies for a while and sometimes need to be persuaded to eat with cunning stripping methods and pulsating flies. When they do commit, their massive bucket mouth just opens like a cavern as they engulf their prey whole. The next issue is trying to gain a purchase inside that mouth which is a little like a cross between concrete and sandpaper; the soft upper palate being the exception. A vicious strip strike is required to set the hook and as soon as that occurs, tarpon take to the air, whether they are five or 100 lbs, in a series of aerial gill rattling acrobatics that in nine times out of ten result in the hook being thrown. We talk about a number of tarpon ‘jumped’ during a day’s fishing – a little like the number of takes in a day of salmon fishing.
Hunting migratory fish is a different game entirely. Guide and fishermen work together as a team, spotting the black backs or rolls and calling them out, manoeuvring the skiff to allow an optimum shot at an angle of interception. After all, no predator likes to be attacked by its prey. Hooking up to one of these beasts is only half the battle and fights can often take an hour or more. With all tarpon, the key to fighting them is to be as brutal as your leader set up allows, constantly pulling them off balance and in shallow water even pulling their head down into the bottom. If they can roll then they can replenish their oxygen and prolong the battle. The sooner the fight can be finalised, the more energy the fish will have when returned to fight another day. Nothing will quite prepare you for the power and anger of a hooked tarpon. It is raw power connected to you on the end of the line and battles can leave you shaken to the core.
So silver tourist or silver king? It’s a tough one to call, but I think in the end the mystery of the silver tourist still holds a spell over me I can’t quite explain. I love the bluntness of tarpon fishing, the visual feast that occurs when watching one hit the fly and exploding in spray is hard to beat. The nearest comparison to draw in our modern lifestyle would be one akin to an action movie with thrills and spills, while the other is pulling a classic off the bookshelf. There is something truly magical about running water. I find it calms the soul in our busy modern lifestyle. There are few places that one can say that about. I can watch a river for hours, mindlessly soaking in the natural environment while reading the water and figuring out where a fish might lie. Salmon has a hold on my heart that few other species can come close to and I know many feel the same way.
