"Texan Takes Tarpon"

by RichG (reprinted with permission)

He cut my line!  I didn't understand why Jose would simply reach up and cut my fishing line.  Attached to it was a 100-pound, thrashing, leaping Tarpon!

I'd traveled a thousand miles from Texas to have an opportunity to catch a silver-king and the guide said, "Have to go home now!  " and reached up and cut my line.  I was fuming.

It was the trip of a lifetime and I'd finally hooked one of the elusive beasts.    We'd been surrounded by pods of feeding fish for nearly an hour before we could coax one of them to bite.  He tapped, tapped, tapped on the little lure, then took it!  As I struck back, I could feel the 100 pounds of silver king shaking his head and heading for the open sea.

He leaped three different times. The first was right after he took the small black and red Coasthawk lure, jigged slowly off of the bottom. He took off  for the heavens when he felt the sting of the hook, and leaped cleanly out of the water.  Upon crashing down, he took off on a run that consumed nearly half of the line on my Ambassador 6500 reel!  I stopped him with great effort. The little Jon boat gave no support to legs or arms. Balancing in my standup fighting position, I had as much trouble with the boat movement as the fish!

Soon he was running back towards the boat as I wound the line on as fast as I could.  The second jump was more of an arch then a leap.  My nearly six foot long silver-sides flashed out of the water and, nearly as fast, back into the blue-green depths.

We were fishing off of Rio Parisimina River in Eastern Costa Rica.  Two fishermen; one young native guide; and a 25 h.p. Johnson outboard all ensconced on a 16 foot Jon boat!  Too great a load, I'd thought as we came out through the 4 to 5 foot breakers.  Jose, our Costa Rican guide, deftly guided us back and forth to the river-washed sea.  Once we reached the open ocean, he traveled about two miles South and very near the jungle-laden coast.

Misty Costa Rican peaks pointed over the top of the jungle.    The little native village disappeared quickly.   It consisted of only a few dozen small houses.  Jose said it had a general store and a bar. Not another human being was in sight, other than the drifting Jon boats of the other fishermen at our small camp.

Why Jose cut off my first Tarpon, I simply didn't know. I couldn’t get any explanation from him as we motored back up the river-mouth.  My attention turned to the pounding, five-foot high waves that pushed out of the surging torrent.  As the incoming tide crushed against the outgoing river flow, big swells turned into serious waves.

Jose slid back and forth through the worst of it. Three other boats, and their fishermen cargo accompanied him. Back at the lodge, I still couldn't get an explanation.  He simply said, "Had to go!"

Our modest cabins were comfortable. After showering, I lay down on the bunk and picked up a magazine article about the Rio Parisimina fishing camp.  It told the tale of two fishermen and their guide.   Sharks pulled all three under when they flipped their little craft in the river-run surf. It was the first such incident, and the owners made a rule. If a guide didn't come in by dusk and in the company of at least one other guide's boat ... the guide was fired.   Now, how they expected two wet fishermen and their guide to clamber on board an already fully loaded 16 foot Jon boat, I didn't know.

The sharks that gathered at the outlet of the river were indeed the topic of much discussion over Cervesa and baked fish dinners.  At least now I knew why Jose cut my line and "had to go "!

My first landed Tarpon saw the boat gunnel on the third day.  Every other fisherman at the camp had landed at least one and some two.  Mine was being elusive.  The second hook-up was cut off at dusk on the second day, and two others had leapt and thrown their hooks.  For my last day, I borrowed a much heavier rod. I still used my trusted Ambassador reel, and was able to put enough pressure on the fish to bring him to the boat.  After 45 minutes of leaping; diving and running, my prize was ready for it's portrait and release.  That picture hangs on my office wall today, and brings back nothing but kind memories of Costa Rican tarpon fishing!

Rich Gross
copyright 2001
www.rich99sue@yahoo.com