Dutch

French

German

Japanese

So I had lost something. Some fishes I will give another try next year. And the fly rod of my husband"s, and he was not shouting at me. However what I have found is something very special and invaluable.  In particular new friends, with whom I share my passion of flyfishing, with whom I laughed, and whom I hope to meet again one day.  Might it be on a vacation at some nice fish waters anywhere in the world, might it be at the next Erlebniswelt Fliegenfischen the unique flyfishing fair in Germany or any other flyfishing events.  In any case, it might be through the IWFF network. What else do we need? My finding: Flyfishing and women perfectly fit together.

My First Real Tarpon

Submitted by,
Judith O’Keefe

 

It was in June of 1995 when I walked into a fly shop in Sunriver, Oregon.  I was new to fly-fishing and had just had my first lesson a week earlier.  It was fun.   I loved standing in the water knowing there was fishing swimming out there and I might be lucky enough to connect with one, via fly, fly line and fishing rod. I knew about fishing for trout and other fresh water fish, but I hadn’t yet been introduced to the world of saltwater species.   As I walked across the shop, I noticed a television mounted behind the fly-tying desk with a video playing.  It caught my ear before it caught my eye.  Lots of whooping and hollering going on, not unusual for a fishing video, but this sounded serious.  Glancing up at the screen, I saw one big, beautiful silver streak dancing on the water.  I asked what it was, “A tarpon”. This was one powerful creature and it was obvious that if an angler had any hope of landing a fish such as this, he, or she, had better know what they were doing.  I was mesmerized.  Right then and there, I made a proclamation; I was going to catch a tarpon one day.  At that point, I’d had one day on the water, one casting lesson, getting the fly line out twenty feet was an accomplishment.  Somehow, this seemed like a possible goal.

 

In 2001, I went to Campeche, Mexico. Campeche is known for their baby tarpon. The waters just outside of town are, in fact, a tarpon nursery. It was great to get up and get out early, mist on the water, sun rising, and the fish were plentiful. No unusual amount of skill is required, a decent cast into an approaching school and you were sure to hook up. I landed my share of the little guys. Four to ten pounds and just as beautiful as that monster I saw on the video some years ago. However, it wasn’t until last November, during a family vacation, that I had the opportunity to fish for a larger specimen. These fish would also be considered baby tarpon, but they were not infants and an angler needed to, not only coax a fish to the fly, set the hook into those metal plated mouths, but also land this formidable opponent. Anyone who knows anything about tarpon fishing knows the whole process is challenging, and that the landing is easier said than done. Most often one stalks tarpon from a boat, but we had found some large ponds and channels that were, at one time, used for desalinization of ocean water. Long since deserted, the channels were now used by small schools of tarpon on a regular basis. The timing was right and the fish were in. As I cast off the bridge, I knew I had a chance. On my third cast, I felt the take and before I could get a good hook set, the fish was out of the water. One shake of the head and the fish was free. Oh, so disappointing. Were my reflexes slow? How could I have let it get away so easily? However, the fish gods were merciful that afternoon and I hooked another just a few casts later. This time I set that hook. I really set that hook. There were all the classic tarpon acrobatics one hopes for, leaps and jumps, a run and another jump. Careful to avoid all the usual mistakes as best I could, I reeled and it ran. Reeled a little more. Another run, another jump. Please don’t throw the hook. Working my way to the edge of the bridge, then down to the water, a minute or two later and at last the fish was landed. I felt exhilarated, satisfied, so honored to have danced with the king. At seventeen pounds, he wasn’t a big, or even what would be considered a mid-size tarpon, but he was a challenge, a beautiful challenge. Look out Florida, here I come!

 

My First Real Tarpon

Submitted by,
Judith O’Keefe

 

It was in June of 1995 when I walked into a fly shop in Sunriver, Oregon.  I was new to fly-fishing and had just had my first lesson a week earlier.  It was fun.   I loved standing in the water knowing there was fishing swimming out there and I might be lucky enough to connect with one, via fly, fly line and fishing rod. I knew about fishing for trout and other fresh water fish, but I hadn’t yet been introduced to the world of saltwater species.   As I walked across the shop, I noticed a television mounted behind the fly-tying desk with a video playing.  It caught my ear before it caught my eye.  Lots of whooping and hollering going on, not unusual for a fishing video, but this sounded serious.  Glancing up at the screen, I saw one big, beautiful silver streak dancing on the water.  I asked what it was, “A tarpon”. This was one powerful creature and it was obvious that if an angler had any hope of landing a fish such as this, he, or she, had better know what they were doing.  I was mesmerized.  Right then and there, I made a proclamation; I was going to catch a tarpon one day.  At that point, I’d had one day on the water, one casting lesson, getting the fly line out twenty feet was an accomplishment.  Somehow, this seemed like a possible goal.

 

In 2001, I went to Campeche, Mexico. Campeche is known for their baby tarpon. The waters just outside of town are, in fact, a tarpon nursery. It was great to get up and get out early, mist on the water, sun rising, and the fish were plentiful. No unusual amount of skill is required, a decent cast into an approaching school and you were sure to hook up. I landed my share of the little guys. Four to ten pounds and just as beautiful as that monster I saw on the video some years ago.

 

However, it wasn’t until last November, during a family vacation, that I had the opportunity to fish for a larger specimen. These fish would also be considered baby tarpon, but they were not infants and an angler needed to, not only coax a fish to the fly, set the hook into those metal plated mouths, but also land this formidable opponent. Anyone who knows anything about tarpon fishing knows the whole process is challenging, and that the landing is easier said than done. Most often one stalks tarpon from a boat, but we had found some large ponds and channels that were, at one time, used for desalinization of ocean water. Long since deserted, the channels were now used by small schools of tarpon on a regular basis. The timing was right and the fish were in. As I cast off the bridge, I knew I had a chance. On my third cast, I felt the take and before I could get a good hook set, the fish was out of the water. One shake of the head and the fish was free. Oh, so disappointing. Were my reflexes slow? How could I have let it get away so easily? However, the fish gods were merciful that afternoon and I hooked another just a few casts later. This time I set that hook. I really set that hook. There were all the classic tarpon acrobatics one hopes for, leaps and jumps, a run and another jump. Careful to avoid all the usual mistakes as best I could, I reeled and it ran. Reeled a little more. Another run, another jump. Please don’t throw the hook. Working my way to the edge of the bridge, then down to the water, a minute or two later and at last the fish was landed. I felt exhilarated, satisfied, so honored to have danced with the king. At seventeen pounds, he wasn’t a big, or even what would be considered a mid-size tarpon, but he was a challenge, a beautiful challenge.

 

Look out Florida, here I come!