Each summer I await the third week of June with the enthusiasm and impatience of a kid anticipating Christmas.

My annual excursion to Florida to revel in three days of fly casting for saltwater’s “Silver King” takes place at that time and while non-anglers might question a Sunshine State vacation during the summer, it’s prime time for the tarpon migration and eager fishermen. As per the last four years, Captain Austin Lowder, a real tarpon guru, would be my guide while fishing the shallow flats along the beaches of Captiva, Sanibel, and Boca Grande.

Each day and every year of sight fishing for tarpon brings forth a new and exciting adventure, and since only one of every four fish hooked on a fly are ever fought to boatside, it’s forever a challenge. Having broken four top-quality rods in six years during tugs of war with this volatile game fish, last month I charged into battle with all new armament. Brian Keith, head honcho of Powell Rod Company, somehow managed to beat production deadlines and get a prototype of the new Tiboron XL fly rod into my hands. This 9-foot, 12-weight wonder rod is constructed from a new compound called Maxumfiber which allows a good caster to be superior, and has backbone enough to tame the toughest tarpon.

My new direct-drive Tibor Gulfstream reel was the perfect combination of beauty and the beast. Its dark green color and fine lines were appealing to the eye, its weight and size balanced perfectly with the new Powell rod, and its sturdy drag and large arbor spool should prove a match for any size Silver King. A new 12-weight REO Tarpon Taper floating fly line and 250 yards of 30-pound Micron backing filled the reel spool, and I was ready for business. Little did I know how tough a test this new outfit and its angler would have to endure during this year’s tarpon trip.

Wind and waves

Average size tarpon along Florida’s southwestern coastline weigh 60 to 90 pounds, and when one of these chrome-sided torpedoes of muscle and mouth tips the scales at 100 to 120 pounds, finally hooking and fighting one to boatside is an experience to brag about, especially using a fly rod. Anglers cast 12-weight, 9-foot rods with 3/0 flies while balancing in the bow of a bouncing, dipping 18-foot flats boat. Using a long push pole, and sometimes an electric motor, the guide moves the boat parallel to shore in 4- to 10-foot depths while both angler and guide scan the surrounding sea using polarized sunglasses, hoping for a glimpse of traveling tarpon. It’s like hunting and fishing combined.

Although solitary fish or even a pair can be seen occasionally, most tarpon travel in pods of at least half a dozen, and I have seen as many as 50 in a school. Once sighted, the trick is to pole and position the boat close enough to a passing school so a fly can be presented. The response is always a surprise. I’ve cast a dozen times into a large pod of fish without a strike and on the very first chance at a pair of cruising tarpon gotten an immediate hookup. Since the tarpon have such hard inner mouths, it’s imperative to set the hook solidly at once, then strike at least twice more as soon as possible to imbed the barb. And even when a sport does everything right, three of every four tarpon hooked will never be landed.

Sometimes the hook will pull free just as the angler tries to set it, or the fly will be thrown on the first, almost instantaneous leap, before there’s even a chance to strike and set the hook. Perhaps in all the excitement of a take, you pull too hard when the fish eats the fly and the leader parts, or even more heartbreaking is when the fly finally works loose on the sixth acrobatic leap after a 100-yard run 30 minutes into the frenzied fight. Occasionally a fish will fall back on the leader after a high somersaulting jump, and with 200 yards of line and backing out, the leader snaps like a thread.

Frequently tarpon are lost right beside the boat, where the down and dirty fighting takes place after a long tug of war. When 100 pounds of muscle and might makes a last-minute half-leap and lunge with only the leader out of the rod tip and the drag set tight, something is going to give. Rods splinter like a matchstick, leaders part like a whip crack and flies pull free, whistling back past the angler’s head. These numerous defeats are what make the few victories so sweet and memorable, and what makes tarpon fishing such a passionate pursuit.

Day one of last month’s tarpon trip was pretty much a false start as Mother Nature shared her nasty side. A steady 15- to 20-mph southwest offshore wind with gusts to 25 blew the ocean to white caps making it impossible to fish along the beach. From daybreak to 10 a.m., we worked coves, lagoons, backwaters and bayous on the opposite site of Palm Island. There were tarpon, like us trying to avoid the nasty offshore swells, but they were laid up resting, and only surfacing occasionally with no set pattern, making it almost impossible to be in the right spot to make a snap cast.

Bountiful bayou

Dawn of day two found us floating in a backcountry bayou where the water was calmer and another guide had spotted and hooked tarpon the day before. If there’s a better way to watch a sunrise than from the casting platform of a flats boat with tarpon porpoising nearby, I’ve yet to find it. At least four other boats were spread out around the huge cove, but dozens of strings of tarpons were popping up regularly so everyone got a chance to single out a school and cast.

One boat had jumped a fish, but lost it on that first leap and a second angler using bait was moving away from the other boats as he played his tarpon, all before we located a group of fish. On my first cast of the morning and of the trip, a large tarpon engulfed my fly, spiking my adrenaline level in a heartbeat, but two minutes and three spectacular jumps later the fly pulled free and the silver rocket was gone. Roughly 20 minutes later, we got on another daisy chain of fish and I hooked up again. This mirror-scaled bruiser was well more than 100 pounds and made four skyrocketing, head-shaking jumps during our 10- to 12-minute battle, and then on the fifth leap, the fish fell back across the leader, easily breaking it and my optimism.

On most outings, it’s unlikely to hook two tarpon all day, let alone in one hour, and when both are lost it’s tough on morale, but Austin finds fish when other guides can’t, so I kept my spirits up and stayed alert. We kept finding bunches of tarpon and getting casts but they were finicky. While a couple of tarpon swung at the fly, turning away at the last second, and another grabbed it but spit the hook before I could strike, there were no more hook-ups over the next hour. About 8 a.m., I laid a purple and black Enrico fly at the edge of a daisy chain of about 20 tarpons splashing on the surface and that old adage of “Third Time’s the Charm,” came true.

There was a flash of silver and a tremendous tarpon sucked in the fly and immediately exploded skyward shaking its head, rattling its gill plates and throwing water everywhere. After that one quick look Austin told me to hang on tight. It was a trophy. About an hour later, after several long runs, five jumps and a lot of straining and sweating on my part, the fish was near the boat. This is the most volatile time of the battle and we could clearly see the tarpon was enormous, making 100-pound relatives look puny. Over the next 15 minutes with aching hands and arms like jelly, I played give and take with the brute until finally, Austin secured the leader, and then the lower jaw of the 140- to 150-pound tarpon.

He had all he could do to hoist the beautiful brute part-way clear of the water using both hands so I could snap a quick photo. When it was my turn to lift and pose, it became apparent that this was surely a 150-pound fish and the largest tarpon I’d ever caught.

Third-day triple

By the morning of day three we were able to finally fish along the beach and there were not only few boats and plenty of tarpon, but when a fly was close enough, the fish were eating. I missed hooking one fish right off, then hooked another fair-sized tarpon for three leaps before the fly pulled free. Several casts and four strings of fish later, another tarpon of about 75 pounds grabbed my yellow and white Enrico and we tussled for about five minutes. This smaller, feisty fish spent more time in the air than in the ocean during our hook-up and then it finally worked the fly loose and disappeared with a flick of the tail.

About a half-hour later, just as the sun was getting a good grip on the horizon, just like the day before, three was the charm as I got a hook into what turned out a to be a 100-pound silver bullet. During our very unusual and arduous melee, this wily fighter leaped only once, right beside the boat near the end of our confrontation, but on three occasions ran out my line and more than 200 yards of backing. Rather than head for deeper water, my scaled nemesis preferred the beach, making us work in two- to three-foot depths and always in fear the leader might catch on a shell or other submerged obstacle and break.

After releasing my fish to fight again, Austin and I reviewed the unusual battle, and once again discussed our long fight with the 150-pounder. If I’d had a lesser rod than the new Powell Tiboron XL it’s likely a couple of the short-line antics would have broken the rod. Without the large-arbor Tibor Gulfstream and its smooth, sturdy drag and fast retrieval of line, the greyhound runs of the last tarpon would surely have stripped me of line. As my dad always preached: a fisherman is only as good as his equipment.

As my last day wore on I did have two more fish swing after my fly, but they refused to eat, then Saturday boat traffic began to take its toll by late morning and put the tarpon down deep for the day. All in all I hooked eight tarpon, played six, and landed two – each on the third strike of a series. Even if I’d only gotten that one huge fish my trip would have been fantastic. June may not be prime time for most folks to vacation in Florida, but if you’re a fisherman and have a yen to hook the feistiest fish of the flats, June truly is Tarpon Time.

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