"... battle with the great silver
king, just behind Barry's Bay."
The water around Palm Key lay like a sweet mermaid upon a sun bathed
beach.
As far as the eye could see a line of white pelicans skimmed a breath
above the flats with little care for our being.
Ever impatient for a tail sign of redfish or an off chance encounter
with a bonefish the sound of water droplets falling back
into Florida Bay reminded me that we were not blue water hunters.
Instead we were stalkers like a spotted jaguar in search
of pray among silent shadows. So I peeled off more line and let it lay
upon the deck as I pulled back on my fly rod.
Then as I tossed the tip of the rod forward that same line rolled out
toward a mud trail drifting over a crystal sand bed.
No sooner than the fly broke the surface before a long purple shadow
the fight began.
My fishing guide spent the next hour and half maneuvering his flats
boat, polling one way then back again as we danced
to the tune of a six foot silver king. It was as if diamond lazed fans
of water twisted about us in a turquoise tornado
who's fury set out to punish those who dared challenge this great king.
Once the huge tarpon had finished playing with us,
it simply released my fly. My guide rested against his push pole while
we contemplated the fish stories yet to be told
about an unimaginable battle with the great silver king.