On the Bow

BY BILL HORN

The body of flats fishing literature continues to grow with the upcoming of release of On the Bow by BTT’s Vice Chairman Bill Horn. The new book is a captivating, informative, and often humorous look at the fish— bonefish, tarpon and permit—and fishing for the “big three” as well as the people and places that make the flats special. And all of it is backed by an unwavering conservation ethic that makes the case for why anglers should to be committed to fishery and habitat protection. Early reviews hail the book: Stu Apte noted, “the writing is so informative, it puts you on the bow of the boat and you can almost feel every movement of the fish.” Mike Lawson added, “Whether you’re new at the game or a grizzled expert, this work contains all the stuff you’ll need to know when you take your turn on the bow—the good stuff!”

On the Bow by Bill Horn

Horn has fished the Keys for over 60 years, caught his first bonefish in 1974, took a few detours to be a fisheries professional as Assistant Secretary of the Interior for Fish & Wildlife under President Reagan and Chairman of the international Great Lakes Fishery Commission, and became a Keys resident 15 years ago. Horn also authored Seasons on the Flats, published in 2012. An excerpt from On The Bow from the “Places” section follows; published by Stackpole Books (Stackpole.com), an imprint of Globe Pequot, it will be available in July wherever books are sold. The book may be pre-ordered.

The Everglades is a vast, watery wild area, hiding behind Florida’s Gold Coast, degraded by water mismanagement.

Dr. Stephen Davis, Everglades Foundation

AN ANGLER’S EVERGLADES

The Everglades evokes a wide range of reactions. For some, Marjory Stoneman Douglas’s poetic River of Grass, flowing miles wide and inches deep from big Lake Okeechobee south down the Florida peninsula, comes to mind. Others see vast sawgrass prairies and mysterious dark waters under gray cypress strands. An urbanite driving from Miami to Naples grumps about a lot of nothing along I- 75/Alligator Alley or the Tamiami Trail while whizzing by at 80 mph. Many think of a big swamp filled only with alligators and mosquitoes behind the glitter and neon of Miami and Palm Beach. Nationally, the Glades is a potent symbol of our ability and resolve (very different things) to right environmental wrongs.

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Anglers come to and appreciate the Glades differently. Virtually all of Florida Bay is within the Park. In fact, the Park’s southern boundary, 20 miles south of Flamingo, is an aquatic line running parallel to and a bit north of the Keys and the Overseas Highway from Long Key to Key Largo. Florida Bay is an integral part of the Everglades being the receptacle of water that can flow all the way from the Kissimmee. The Bay is full of small mangrove cays getting more numerous as you push NE. Between the cays are huge flats many of which are drained dry by the tides—not good places to be stuck. Channels are few and far between and many are unmarked. To make matters worse, modern GPS machines can be very wrong about parts of the Bay. I’ve nervously steered my boat through winding narrow channels while the GPS insisted I should be 50 feet to the right trying to run on exposed seagrass! Matters are complicated by “pole or troll” zones where running an outboard is prohibited. And boaters now have to pass an on-line course about navigating the Bay to secure a boat permit to operate there. Too many clueless boaters have run over too many flats. Aerial photos of parts of the Bay show flats crisscrossed with propeller scars.

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Most of the “backcountry” flats fishing from Islamorada and Key Largo for tarpon, bonefish, snook, and redfish is conducted within the confines of the Bay and Park; these Park “visitors” never see an entrance station or a ranger. Much the same is true for the western edge of the Everglades. The 50-mile-long reach of wild black and red mangrove choked islands from Chokoloskee and Everglades City to sandy Cape Sable (the end of mainland Florida) are also part of the Park. These waters—where the Glades meet the Gulf of Mexico—are prime for snook, redfish, and tarpon, among others, and reached by long boat runs. I consider these two areas to be the “outside” zones of the Everglades saltwater fishery. And it offers a lot more than the glamour species. A chum bag and some bait make it easy to keep rods bent all day with a potpourri of species: snappers, jacks, ladyfish, seatrout, black drum, groupers, catfish, and sharks to name a few.

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Big tarpon are the main attraction of the “outside” fisheries. The Gulf portion features a series of rivers emptying from the Glades into the salt including the Chatham, Lostman’s, Broad, Harney, and Shark. Chatham is known for the location of Edgar Watson’s place. Reputedly a notorious killer, he was gunned down by his fearful neighbors in Chokoloskee in 1910. Peter Matthiessen told the story in his excellent novel Killing Mr. Watson, later incorporated into a larger superb book Shadow Country. A.W. Dimock was fishing for and catching tarpon from a canoe in Lostman’s, Broad, and Harney in the 1880s-all recorded, including unbelievable glass plate photographs, in his Book of Tarpon published in 1911. Tarpon fishing in the area can be so good that tournament anglers and guides will make the twohour boat run from Islamorada to reach these waters during the Gold Cup or the Hawley tournaments. The 60 miles from West Pass (the NW edge of Everglades Park) to East Cape is the last truly wild stretch of Florida coastline. Myriad cays and islands thickly overgrown with tall black mangroves and a mix of other tropical trees are utterly uninhabited.

Still mornings in Florida Bay frequently reveal rolling, sighing tarpon.

Florida Bay is a more famous and readily reachable tarpon locale. The big fish appear first in late January in the deeper (20 feet) waters off Cape Sable and its sandy wild beach. As it warms, the fish spread out to the southeast and can be found in famous basins and along bank edges with names whispered reverently by tarpon addicts: First National Bank, Palm Lakes, Sandy Key, and Oxfoot Bank, to name a few. If the weather cooperates and an angler can intercept a push of these early migrants, spectacular angling can be had. Tarpon will often roll in, literally, on an incoming tide busting mullet en route. Early season, happy, feeding poons are a great combination and well-placed flies quickly elicit foamy, gulping bites. Angler Paul Turcke and Capt. Ponzoa found such a combo near First National early in the 2015 season and boated 10 big tarpon in two days.

This “early season” lasts into April. However, conditions need to be right and the fish in the right mood, as always, to assure success. George Conniff and Capt. Bus hit it right one afternoon at Oxfoot. A number of tarpon had moved in and laid up. Despite murky water, they found enough fish for eight good shots and hooked seven—a spectacular batting average. Bus, Alex Good, and I returned the next day with the same weather almost identical tides and found more fish but couldn’t buy a bite. George figured we failed to provide a proper sacrifice to the tarpon.

Looking for laid up tarpon in murky Bay waters can create odd visual challenges. Fish are often hard to see and anglers and guides strain to pick up a bit of color, the shape of a tail, and discern which way a fish is facing. Throwing at the tail doesn’t earn bites. We spotted a bit of gray near the surface, poled closer to investigate, and the gray grew to sizeable proportions – a laid up monster. A well directed cast earned only a boil of water and a large, round tailed manatee undulated away to rest elsewhere.

BTT board member Rick Hirsch bows to the Silver King—failure to bow lets the tarpon fall and break the 12 to 20 pound class tippet. [From the Fish & Fishing section]

These experiences and others demonstrate that Bay tarpon too can be fickle, and taking advantage of the often short windows of opportunities is critical:

“March 25, Cape Sable, Scattered High Clouds, 80-85, Slick Calm in afternoon. Bus and I ended up off East Cape surrounded by wads of rolling tarpon. Unfortunately, they were in the roll and dive deep mode and showing zero interest in our offerings. I was ready to slit my wrists. Bus counseled patience thinking a pending tide change might get the poons to float up high and give us some good chances. An hour later the current slacked and sure enough the fish came up – just as the other boats departed and left us gloriously alone. Bus then located a pair of laid up fish at 2 o’clock facing to 12. I put a 1/0 Olive Mouse/Toad about 10 feet ahead, let it drift closer, and then a long sloooooow strip. A tarpon eased up, turned on the fly, and gulped it in. Set the hook, the 75-pounder launched immediately 40 feet off the bow and raced off. A knot in the fly line hit the rod guides and popped off the top two sections of the four-piece, 11-weight. Backed off the pressure, reeled in the tip sections, partially picked out the knot, and the tarpon surged off this time with only the tip section dangling on the line. Got it back, Bus finished untangling the knot, we reassembled the rod and got down to fighting the fish – a real cluster foxtrot. Renewed pressure got more jumps then we had her boatside, got a good look, and broke her off. We now looked around to see numbers of other laid up fish and a few surface cruisers. Taking turns on the pole (and my poling abilities in 15 feet of water are piss poor) we fed five more in short order, jumped two, and got two. When it shut down at 5 p.m., we made an incredibly beautiful hour plus run S to Marathon across mercury slick Florida Bay colored silver/orange by the setting sun.”

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Florida Bay and the remnant Everglades remain wild, mysterious, and intriguing. Big crocodiles eye passing canoes, manatees (so ugly they’re beautiful) surface unexpectedly, dolphins herd mullet in shallow bays, and great birds stalk the vast mudflats and roost among myriad mangrove cays. Dense jungles of black and red mangroves remain impenetrable. The fish are still there in numbers to make anglers smile and bring them back year after year to chase the silver tarpon or find the furtive snook. Sadness and anger seep in when you realize how spectacular it must have been not too long ago before the River of Grass was dammed, diked, and diverted, and the Bay pushed to the edge of death. You owe it to yourself to fish the Glades and the Bay. Develop your own appreciation of this special place and at the least, see it before it’s gone. With a little luck, that special angler’s appreciation might prompt you to join the ranks of those dedicated to restoring the Everglades system to some semblance of its prior greatness.