Tarpon have been called silver kings. Kings of the flats some say.
They may be kings to some, but to me they are ghosts. Slipping in and out again like a wisp of wind. By the time I see them and have a shot, it is too late.
It is rainy and visibility is garbage. The Don Hawley tarpon tournament is currently underway all around us. We see no one tight to a fish all morning.
In the rain, every sign of nervous water causes tremors within my heart. Who knew something so alive could haunt me more than any phantom or spirit.
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