MEGALOPS ATLANTICUS, the tarpon, is among the most sought-after gamefish on the Florida flats for its strength, size, and remarkably acrobatic fighting style. One hook up, one jump will have visions of the “silver king” cartwheeling through your dreams for the rest of your angling life. With large, armor-plated scales and gills, a deeply forked tail, and a mouth like an upturned trap door, tarpon are prehistoric creatures.

Nearly unevolved from 100,000 years ago, they still swim with mystery and wonder. Only recently have scientists discovered that they are among the longest-living fish in the ocean. By measuring the carbon deposits on the otoliths (earbones) of tarpon, a process akin to carbon dating dinosaur fossils, experts now know that tarpon can live for 50 years or longer. It seems strange to imagine the possibility that Bill Curtis could catch a tarpon today that was born before he began guiding in 1958.

In addition to breathing through gills, tarpon also have evolved the amazing ability to breathe in poorly oxygenated waters by breaking the surface and gulping air; the ingested oxygen is passed along to a highly specialized swim bladder where it is dispersed throughout the fish’s blood stream. Scientists are unclear whether this unique breathing ability is an adaptation for juvenile survival (allowing the young to avoid predators in low saline back waters), or a means for adults to exploit the rich, brackish feeding grounds of many estuarine environments.

Even the where, when, and how of tarpon spawning are uncertain, though scientists do know that they engage in a primal, pre-spawn ritual where groups of fish swim in symmetrical, head-to-tail circles called “daisy chains.” Bill recounts how he once found himself in the middle of three, nonintersecting (externally tangent) daisy chains near Homosassa in the late 60s, and simply sat and watched the hypnotic motions of hundreds and hundreds of fish without making a cast. In all his years, he only has seen this occur once.

It is clear that Bill has enormous respect for the tarpon.

“To me, tarpon are the top of the game, the ultimate gamefish,” says Bill. “I read stories about people going after sailfish and tuna on the fly and so on, but when first-timers catch a party boat fish like that, they still don’t know what the hell they’re doing. You have to be pretty damn good and skilled to hook a tarpon, and landing one is even tougher. I know more than one good angler who has had a bad laundry moment after tangling with the silver king.”

Driving home from the Everglades on our final afternoon, we feel more than satisfied having fished and learned from Bill Curtis for three days. We feel honored. It is as if we had just played three rounds of golf at Augusta with Arnold Palmer. Bill Curtis has been more than gracious, more than patient, and, in return, our respect for his game has grown tenfold. It is matched only by our respect for the man, and the beautiful, fragile waters where he has worked for all these years.

Back at Bill’s modest house, watching him tie original tarpon patterns, we notice that the man and these places he has poured his blood and sweat into have become reflections of each other. Like wind and rain carving away at sandstone, time and overuse slowly have worn down Bill, the Everglades, Biscayne Bay, and the Keys.
In reality, some estimate that 90 percent of the reefs in the Keys have died in the time that Bill Curtis has lived here. The Everglades are depleted, burdened by water diversions, development, agriculture, drought, fires, and more.

“I only hope the Everglades come halfway back to what they were 50 years ago, before I die,” says Bill.

At least there is hope, and more than that, resilience. Resilience in the land and in the man, to keep fighting on, keep pressing forward, and keep running one step ahead of time. There also is a lesson, and now a legacy, which cannot be conveyed in passages from a book, in a movie, or on television. The lesson and the legacy are about grace and perseverance, about growing old with honor, and about battling the elements, the fish, for as long as you can.

At nearly eighty years of age, Captain Bill Curtis still is chasing 120-pound tarpon on Oyster Bay. When the time comes, how many of us will be able to make that claim?

Permit Failing

In Biscayne Bay it is smart to let the permit find you,
otherwise, you’re hunting witches or stars in the afternoon.
Captain swears brown rancid snapping shrimp milled
from a dirty livewell then pitched into the rising tide
will get a hungry, fender colored permit up on the flats,
but that’s no guarantee he’ll eat or even look at your fly.
Ninety-nine out of a hundred permit know the difference
between meat and potatoes, and the one that doesn’t,
he’s either stupid or you’re lucky to catch him at all.
Anyhow, feeding permit is like feeding pigeons,
just chum and wait, hardly work involved, no real talent,
like you went to church to pray then started begging.
Hang on, there’s a real decent permit, twenty-five pounds,
maybe better, coming to look at your fly. You might pray now.