Mention that you’re escaping the frigid grip of Old Man Winter to spend a few days in Florida on the warm sand of a sandy beach, well-manicured golf course, or visiting the multitude of amusement and theme parks, and heavily bundled-up friends express feelings from envy to jealous longing.

Announce that you’re leaving Maine’s lovely climate for a Florida excursion during June, and these same acquaintances look at you as if you’re nuttier than a fruitcake. Having made these summer sojourns into Florida’s torrid temperatures for nearly two decades, I’m used to the quizzical looks and concerned questions regarding my sanity.

My answer is short and simple: tarpon. June is prime time for the tarpon migration along the Gulf coast, and when they are there, I have to be there as well. No fresh or salt water game fish stirs this fly caster’s soul and sporting spirit like the silver King of salt water, not even my beloved quarry, the Atlantic salmon, and that says it all. Tarpon angling combines elements of hunting and fishing into one sport. They leap again and again, make long, line- burning runs, and fight down and dirty right to the boatside – if the fly stays put in their rock-hard mouth that long.

The first tarpon I ever hooked was about 20 years ago on the flats off Islamorada in the Florida Keys. My adrenaline-fueled cast landed too far left of a pod of six huge gray shapes we had watched approach from more than 200 yards. With no time to recast, I began a stripping retrieve, moving the long-tailed fly in short spurts. Suddenly, one of the gray torpedoes broke from the group and followed my fly. Then 40 feet from the boat a silver flash appeared as the sun reflected off the tarpon’s side as it struck at the fly and a tremendous jolt flowed along the line and rod to my arm.

Too mesmerized to set the hook, I watched in awe as the 100-pound-plus fish leaped clear of the water when it felt the sharp point. Eye to eye with me at the bow of the boat, the fish stood on its tail and shook its head. I could hear its huge gill plates rattle like maracas, and suddenly the fly and line came sailing back to land in a pile beside the boat. For five seconds that seemed like a minute, the tarpon seemed to look right at me, daring me to do something – anything. Then deeming me an inexperienced, unworthy opponent, the great fish was gone. I stumbled back to a seat on weak knees and shaky legs and sat heavily in stunned silence. From that point forward, it was I who was hooked!

Hot hunting

It was clear and 94 degrees. Due to the current tides, we were fishing from noon until dark today, and it was now 1 p.m., nearing the hottest part of the day. Sweat ran in rivulets through my beard. A sweltering sun beat down on my neck and shoulders, then reflected back off the ocean with a blinding glare and more intense heat. I stood in the front of an 18-foot flats boat, trying to maintain my balance and re-educate my sea legs, all the while scanning the surrounding water for any sign of a moving tarpon. June after June my Maine body and blood try to acclimate to the Florida heat, and my mind pleads for common sense and shade, but my heart stays strong for the quest of tarpon.

Austin Lowder, an experienced captain and guide devoted to taking the silver King on a fly rod, has spent the last hour slowly moving the boat along the beach near Captiva Pass. Seemingly oblivious to the oppressive heat, fully in balance on the wallowing boat, he scans the sea for any moving shadows, odd motion on the water surface, or perhaps the flash of a porpoising tarpon.

He sees signs that only the most experienced guides pick out. Austin knows the tides, moon phases, channels, depths, wind directions, water temperatures, and all the other variables that affect ocean fishing, but most of all he knows tarpon. Like a physician studies the ever-changing world of medicine, Lowder spends day after day, year after year learning about and understanding tarpon. Perhaps that’s why his sports have hooked more than 363 fish in 75 days this season, and it’s damn sure why I’m in the front of his boat. Experience is everything in locating and catching tarpon on a fly.

My first indication that action was at hand was a sudden shift of the boat and Austin’s sandals clapping the deck as he jumped from the poling tower and hurried past me along the gunnel to the trolling motor in the bow. As he lowered the battery-powered motor and quietly but speedily headed toward the beach, he told me to get ready as he spotted a good-sized bunch of tarpon. I already had 30 yards of line coiled at my feet, ready to cast, so I moved up behind him and watched where he indicated. Sure enough, a string of 25 to 30 fish were heading into the tide about 75 yards away, with one or another showing every few seconds.

Daisy chain chance

By the time we were within 50 yards the group had formed a daisy chain, a mating formation where the tarpon swim in a circle and stay in one spot. It’s a scenario every fly caster hopes for, and Austin carefully moved the boat within 15 yards of the happy tarpon, circling clockwise and showing themselves on the surface regularly. “Put the fly right on the left outside edge of the circle,” he directed. I made two false casts, letting out the right distance of line and judging location so as not to cast over the fish and spook them. No matter how good a fly caster you are, tarpon have a way of exciting even the most steadfast angler, making you rush, fumble, miscalculate, and make foolish mistakes. I was actually shaking with anticipation.

Everything was a blur. The line laid out, rolled the fly over perfectly, and placed it within 2 feet of the outside fish in the chain. I stripped in line once, moving the fly only a few inches, and a fish rushed over, engulfed the ball of feathers, and tried to haul me out of the boat. Clearing the excess fly line from the deck at your feet happens in a heartbeat as the big fish surges off on a run, and makes a stupendous leap within 50 yards. Step on the line, have it loop around a rod, reel, or a finger, or have a knot occur and catch going through a guide, and the leader pops instantly. Your silver prize is long gone. Before I could take a second breath the fly line was cleared, the tarpon was on the reel and 100 yards and two jumps away before I could say “I’ve got him.” It was 2:17 p.m.

Several more long runs, three more explosive leaps, and 30 minutes later, I was a wash of sweat, my arms and legs ached and wasn’t sure just who had who. It was a big fish, Austin’s experienced eye estimated 115 to 120 pounds, and it fought like a welterweight, begrudging me every inch of line I gained. Finally, just about 45 minutes from hookup, after a final boatside lunge clear of the ocean, and three nerve-jangling passes under the boat, Austin got one hand on the leader and a gloved hand in the lower jaw of the bucket-sized mouth. We removed the hook, took photos, and made sure the fish was revived and healthy before releasing it to fight again.

Triple-play tarpon

During the fight, which had kept us busily moving up and down the beach, we had spotted at least three more groups of tarpon. After a short break and half bottle of Gatorade, we headed off to locate another silver King. Over the next hour we found lots of fish, and got several good casts, the first five of which had fish flash at the fly or grab the fly and let go, and one even was hooked for about five seconds.

About 5:30 I hooked another tarpon. This one was about 90 pounds and gave a great fight with four full-flying acrobatic jumps. Austin ran the boat expertly and coached me when the fish really got obstinate about coming close to the boat. When the feisty fish made a thrashing twist near the bow, I tried to stop it and turned too far sideways. With a crack like a rifle shot, the rod broke just above the handle. I held on gamely, playing the fish with the reel and 2 feet of rod while Austin scrambled to grab the leader. Somehow we landed that fish, too. Only twice before had I caught two tarpon in one day.

Slowly drifting with the tide, Austin spotted another line of tarpon at about 7:30. My first two casts were ignored, but my third was grabbed. I set the hook and about a 60-pound fish leapt high from the water, shook like a hula dancer, and threw the fly. My heart sank as my chance at a tripleheader vanished. Austin started the motor and headed for the dock at South Seas Resort where I was staying.

Ten minutes into the trip, Austin suddenly stopped the boat, ran to the trolling motor, and yelled for me to get a rod ready. Sure enough, less than 100 yards away was a long string of tarpon. Suffice it to say that I finally caught three tarpon in one day, one on my first and last casts of the day, and enjoyed a lot of action in between. This last fish was between 90 and 100 pounds, and was landed with a beautiful red sunset on the horizon. This was day two of a three-day outing.

On day one I got another 90- pound fish at about 6 p.m. and broke my brand new four-piece rod on its first outing. In all we broke three rods in three days on nine tarpon. An unexpected change in wind direction haunted us on day three and I had only one strike and no hookups. Regardless of the weather, I can’t wait until next June! In the meantime, the only way to duplicate the thrill is to stand by the highway and cast at and hook passing trucks. From this sportsman’s viewpoint, the silver King is the best reason to vacation in the Sunshine State, but be advised that the thrill and challenge of tarpon fishing is addicting.

Lowder guides tarpon anglers from April through mid-July, and under his guidance even novice anglers stand an excellent chance of hooking a silver King. It’s a life-changing experience. Contact Lowder at 941-697-9966 or check out his Web site at www.seaandstream.com to get more information.

Since Captiva Island and nearby Boca Grande are surrounded with phenomenal tarpon fishing, staying at South Seas Resort works out perfectly. While I’m fishing my family has a choice of enjoying 21/2 miles of private beach, golf, tennis, parasailing, wind surfing, shelling, a marina with boat and wave runner rentals, and much more. There are several guides on staff for any style of fishing or salt water quarry. Those seeking more information may contact South Seas at 1-800-227-8482 or at www.south-seas-resort.com.

Outdoor feature writer Bill Graves can be reached via e-mail at bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com