DUSTIN HUFF CONQUERS SCHIZOPHRENIC PERMIT

Posted on August 16, 2020 by Tarpon Slam

Combine a world-class flats guide, Dustin Huff, with a world-class flats fish, the permit, and an opportunity for chaotic adventure is high. Our early November fishing day began in Marathon located in the Florida Keys. My fishing journal note for the day is reflective of the excellent Keys fishery in 1996 when these events occurred:

Rich (Mealey) and I fished with Dustin out of Marathon. We had some excellent permit shots in the morning. I beaned a very nice fish. Gone. I made a great cast to a bonefish near Seven Mile Bridge and he was eaten by a shark. Next, we went Gulf side and I saw a single big bonefish. Dustin spun the boat and the fish tailed. I cast and drug the shrimp back. Hooked up and fought the fish hard. It was a 10- or 11-pound fish, had it to the boat, but the hook pulled out.

Those mishaps left Dustin undaunted as he ran the skiff towards what we affectionately referred to as Thousand Permit Bank, where on certain tides, rushing current collides with a skinny coral shelf 100 yards in length. As rising water strikes the bank, crabs and shrimp are swept over the edge with the foaming swishing white capped waves into the deeper down-current basin adjacent to the coral bench.

Permit feast on the bait as nature’s force creates an irresistible feeding opportunity for the fish gathered in the rippled water resulting from the force of tide meeting a coral impediment.

Dustin shutdown the outboard and poled us into position. Once the skiff paralleled the bank, Dustin instructed, “Both of you cast”. Rich and I were using spinning rods with 3500 class reels. We baited the rig with dollar sized blue crabs which permit love to eat. We cast to unseen fish trying to get our crabs as close to the edge of the bank as possible. Bing, bing. We both hooked up and the ever-smart permit tore off in opposite directions with drag burning runs. Dustin worked his skiff magic giving each of us instructions on who should back off the drag, put pressure on the fish, and a myriad of additional fish catching tips. Before long, the twin 18-pound permit were boated. Elated, we shared high fives.

A double on permit is rare and set a positive stage for our next shot. Little did we know that we were about to meet the “schizophrenic” permit.

Dustin’s father, IGFA Hall of Fame fishing guide Steve Huff, refers to permit as “dishonest fish”. His description is not out a lack of respect for the fish, but an apt assessment of how difficult permit can be to catch.

Steve Huff can guide help me catch even a dishonest fish!

Typically, if you have a shot a permit and do not make a great cast, it is over. They spook, scream off, or simply vanish by turning sideways or melting from sight as if they have become one with the sea. Even when the guide and angler do everything right, a permit will often swim right to the bait or fly, take a long look, and swim off as if giving the cold shoulder to an optimistic teenage boy. But on this fishing day in Marathon, we were about to meet a permit with a different attitude.

As the celebration of the permit double calmed, Dustin made a short run to the edge of a basin abutting a flat which was eagerly accepting the incoming tide. It was my turn on the bow. We scanned the edge of the basin towards the flooding partially exposed shallows, hoping to spot a hungry fish edging its way onto the flat.

Suddenly, Dustin said, “Rowe, single permit, 100 feet, 11 o’clock!“ “I got him,” I replied as the fish came into view. As often happens, Dustin was poling hard into a 20 mile wind with the sun at our backs to get me within casting range. The permit was swimming directly away from the skiff at a tantalizing pace, clearly aware of our presence. “Long cast, Rowe, get it beyond him and to his left,“ Dustin coached. As a former high school baseball coach, I compare making a long cast into the wind beyond a permit swimming away to a nine hole hitter having to get a base hit with the bases loaded in the bottom of the last inning with two outs, two strikes and the game tied. The likelihood of success is low. And, naturally, in keeping with the American work ethic, what did I do? Try hard! Trying hard with a rod and reel creates tense muscles and robs the rod of its ability to deliver a bait or fly to the proper spot.

The cast was short, but not short enough as the splash of crab on surface caused the fish to spook. But, instead of tearing off the flat into the protection of the deep adjacent basin, this fish vectored towards the interior of the flat and streaked away looking like a vibrating turkey platter in the water. We were shocked to see the permit settle down after a 100-foot swim-sprint and begin to feed. “Rowe, this fish must really want to be caught. Let me get you a little closer this time.” Same process, same result. Strike two. Again, the permit screamed off further into the heart of the flat and settled down to feed.

In case you are curious, making your guide pole into a 20 mile per hour wind over long distances, three times in a row, after a single fish, is not a nice thing for an angler to do. Nonetheless, Dustin poled on. As the distance shortened between the bow of the boat and the feeding permit, Dustin whispered, “Please, Rowe, make this happen.” When I thought I could handle the distance, I slowly raised the crab out of the clear water, loaded the rod into a good bend and made a mighty heave. The crab splashed down beyond the permit. Sensing a meal, it raced to the bait. The body of the hungry fish quivered as his tail tipped up inhaling the crab.

I sharply raised the rod tip and suddenly there was a metallic clank on the deck of the skiff followed by a slight splash in the water. “What the hell, Rowe! What happened,” “I don’t know,” I replied, as I looked towards my right hand and discovered that my spinning reel no longer had a bail.

Apparently, as I set the hook, the bail gave way, broke off, hit the deck, and fell in the water. Panic flooded my gut because the schizophrenic, now hooked permit, had noticed. He was tearing off in a life and death sprint for an unknown sanctuary.

As spin anglers know, if your reel has no bail, you have no way to reel line back on the spool. The permit was swimming free. “My bail broke off,“ I shouted, reporting the results of my equipment inspection. “What the f…..!!! Hand drag him, Rowe, while I figure something out.” I placed my index finger on the spool and lightly trapped the monofilament against the warming metal as the line burned off and the fish quickly disappeared. To this point, my fishing partner, Rich Mealey had been a silent observer of the chaos. His wise and quiet discretion wavered, as he commented with an impish grin in his voice, “Your old man would figure out a way to catch this fish!” No reply, as Dustin was deep in thought. Suddenly, he shouted over the still howling wind, “Rowe, do you have a spare reel in your equipment bag?” “Yep!”.

Dustin leapt down from the poling platform, opened the storage compartment lid, and grabbed the spare reel from my boat bag. He handed the reel to Ritchie as he staked off the boat. “Let him swim free, Rowe, no pressure!” Dustin ran up the narrow gunwale onto the bow as he removed his pliers from his belt. “Where is the fish?” “No, idea”. Dustin touched the line outside the rod tip and pulled back slightly. No tension. My eyes opened wide as he held the line in one hand using the other to cut the line, separating the rod and what was left of my reel from the running line. “Here, hold the line!” I grabbed the running line with both hands and cast my gaze towards the junction of line and water seeking confirmation of an unseen and uncertain connection to the fish. Dustin grabbed my rod, removed the broken reel, and quickly replaced it with the spare. He opened the bail, strung the rod, and handed the rod to Richie. “What now?”, I asked. “Blood knot,” he replied his hands flying as he joined the two lines. “Reel slowly, let’s see if we still have a fish.”, he instructed during the retreat towards the poling platform.

Dustin spun the boat so the line penetrating the water was positioned at 12 o’clock. He pushed us forward slowly as I cautiously reeled. Something did not feel right. I glanced toward the reel and saw that the spool of the replacement reel was full of fresh monofilament line and did not have enough capacity to store all the line I needed to gain to connect with the fish. I reported the calamitous discovery and Dustin calmly advised me to keep my index finger near the edge of the spool to guide the retrieved line to prevent it from spilling over the edge of the now full spool. As the skiff slid forward, we discovered that the free-swimming permit had traveled in a large half-moon arc which ended at the edge of a pile of mangrove brush which had been blown into the middle of the basin by a recent hurricane. “Dustin, the line is under the mangroves at 1 o’clock,” “You gotta be kidding me,” he shouted in exasperation.

Fortunately, we had experience dealing with hooked permit immediately swimming for the nearest obstacle to rub the line against anything sharp enough to part the line and free the fish. Cautiously, Dustin pushed us forward. Leaning forward over the edge of the bow, I extended the rod towards the surface to shorten the distance between the rod tip and the invisible underwater obstruction. Job one was to determine whether the fish swam between limbs, over limbs, or under limbs as it encountered the web of underwater mangroves. Mono is nearly impossible to see underwater. On this day, I guessed. I slowly lifted the rod tip and sensing no tension, slid the rod to the right and up. The line popped free. After conquering two more mangrove limbs, the line angle moved to the right towards the edge of the flat. “We’re free”, I happily reported.

Unfortunately, the distress signals which are released by either chemicals or vibrations from disturbed water when a fish is hooked had led to our next challenge. “Lemon shark! I have got to start the motor,” exclaimed Dustin. Once again, he vaulted off the poling platform to the deck and in an instant, the engine was roaring. “Brace yourself, Rowe, keep the fish under control”, Dustin instructed as he raced the boat directly at the hungry lemon shark. Just as it appeared the skiff was going to strike the lemon shark, the predator veered sharply away from the permit and the boat. “Where is the fish now,” Dustin sighed.

I saw the fish finning slowly away just 30 feet to the port side of the skiff. Dustin shut down the motor, got out the push pole and in three gentle pushes, the fish was at the side of the skiff. Dustin slowly reached into the water and tailed the exhausted permit.

We were quiet as Dustin unhooked the fish and held him firmly in the current, waiting for a telltale surge to prove the schizophrenic permit was ready to swim to freedom. As we watched the fish slowly swim away, Dustin reached his dripping hand for mine and as we shared a quiet moment of the pure joy. “Rowe, that was a miracle.”

The Florida Keys Bonefish Are In Peril

Posted on January 13, 2014 by Tarpon Slam

Bonefish
Ghost Of The Flats

Are the Florida Keys bonefish disappearing? In my last post, I promised some photographs and stories in support of my conclusion that the Florida Keys bonefish are in peril. From 1988 through 2011, I experienced an annual weeklong trip to the Florida Keys with good friends and great guides. Every fishing day, our guides carefully considered the many variables that determine the best possible fishing location for that day. Although our home base was in Marathon, our guides would actually launch their flats skiffs from Key Largo to Key West or anywhere in between based upon their conclusion as to what fishing venue offered the best possible chance for fishing success depending upon the sun, wind, tides, and weather. Over the 23 year history of our trip, we fished for bonefish throughout the entire length of the Keys. One of the largest bones we caught is pictured below.

A Duck Key 13 1/4 bonefish caught by Chuck Sheley
Guide Dustin Huff

Our connection with guides such as Steve Huff, Dustin Huff, Dale Perez, Nat Ragland, Jose Wejebe, Harry Spear, and Ray Fetcher always provided us with the best guides the Keys had to offer. Their knowledge, experience, eyesight, skill, and effort gave us what we refrer to as “plenty of shots” to catch bonefish, permit and the occasional tarpon. Our trip was typically in early November. We thought enough of these professionals to capture a few pictures.

Steve Huff and Jose Wejebe at Hall’s Bait and Tackle 1990

A Boot Key bonefish caught in June 1995
Guide Dustin Huff

Guide Dale Perez on the pole on Newport News Flat, Key Largo

Content Keys Bonefish With Guide Harry Spear

Nat Ragland holding a baby tarpon caught off Big Pine in 1989

Ray Fetcher Baitin’ Up For Bones

Not only were we blessed with great guides from a technical point of view, they were known to go above and beyond the call of duty!

Guide Dustin Huff Swims Seven Mile Bridge To Free Line With Permit On The Other End

Rowe falls in trying to hook a bonefish in Long Key Bight, I can hear my words as I fell in, ” I still have him!!!”

I can also hear Steve Huff’s quiet yet terse reply, ” No…..you don’t.”

Steve Huff lends a hand

By 1989, I began to record every fish that my buddies and I caught during our annual Keys trip. In 1991, Ralph Walls, Lee Mitchell, and I fished for four days in late November. Our guides were Steve Huff and Harry Spear. In four days, the three of us caught 30 bonefish and lost 8 more. My journal for November 14 tells the following tale which I quote verbatim:

November 14, 1991 Warmest day yet! I fish Harry alone and Lee and Ralph fish with Steve. It is apparent early on that Harry feels he has gone to the well one too many times. We fish Rodriguez and Tavernier Keys and have a few tough shots. I do catch a 5 pound bonefish before lunch. Harry seems tired and actually a little depressed but still is working hard. At the end of the day, I can tell Harry is grasping for straws. We start poling a flat we name Lee Mitchell Flat, due to Mitchie’s great ability to catch small bonefish. Well, I outdid him on his own flat. In 15 min. I caught two 3 pound, one 2 pound, and another 1 pound bonefish. Had one eat a half shrimp that had been bitten off. Had several more shots but didn’t catch any. Put in that day at Harry Harris State Park. For the four day fishing week, I caught 8 bonefish and four permit for a great week of fishing. I have written the last page while waiting for Huff, Lee and Ralph to arrive. My prediction – they had fabulous fishing. We will see. Well it was! Mitchell caught a nice bonefish in the morning as did Ralph. They were fishing outside of Big Pine after putting in at Bahai Honda State Park. Next move to Huff’s permit flat. Fished there but conditions were tougher. Ralph caught his first permit, a 20 pound fish. They next moved to the Content Keys. Right off the bat they saw some baby tarpon. On his first cast, Mitchie caught in 8 pound tarpon. No other tarpon caught. As they were gathering their wits, a school of bonefish came up a channel of deeper water and began tailing on the flat. After these fish blew, they looked around and were surrounded by bonefish. Huff didn’t know where to pole next. At least 1,000 bonefish 200 casts. Lee caught two bonefish and had three break off. Ralph didn’t catch any. Both of them were terribly frustrated but excited at the same time. We had the fishing of a lifetime. A total of 36 fish. We each caught 12. Ralph: 11 bonefish – 1 permit; Lee: 11 bonefish – 1 Tarpon; Steve: 8 bonefish – 4 permit.

A year later, our tournament had grown to six anglers who fished for four days. Our guides were Steve Huff, Harry Spear, and José Wejebe, the now deceased host of the television broadcast, The Spanish Fly. In four days, we caught 42 bonefish and lost 8.

From that point forward, there was a steady decline in the number of bonefish we caught with the exception of 2004. In 2004, six anglers in five days fishing with Steve Huff, Dustin Huff and Dale Perez caught 24 bonefish. By 2010, that number had been cut in half to 12 and in our last visit to the Keys six anglers in five days caught three bonefish.

Long Key Bight Bonefish (00050663@xC4F0B)

Steve Huff And I With A Long Key Bight Bone

Of course, some readers might reasonably wonder whether the anglers were not very good. Indeed, several of the participants changed as the years rolled on. However, I offer this up for your consideration. Below is a beautiful bonefish caught by good friend, Frank Catchpole who passed away several years ago. Frank was a mainstay in our group in the early years. The bonefish which he holds in the photograph was caught on Ted and Mary’s flat outside of Marathon, Florida.

Ted and Mary’s was a go to spot when bad weather descended on the Keys. When the wind was out of the North and there was very little sun or it was raining, our guides would often head to this dependable flat. Below is a journal note from a day spent in terrible weather on Ted and Mary’s with Capt. Steve Huff.

November 6, 2001. Great start! Frank and Chuck fished with Steve. Stayed at Marathon the whole day and water was a little muddy. Frank caught a 13 and 7/8 pound bonefish right off the bat. They caught 10 bones, Chuck 6 and Frank 4. They lost three. Chuck caught a 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, and 10 pound bonefish. Frank caught a 13,8,8, and 6 pound bonefish.

Frank Catchpole bonefish (00050658@xC4F0B)

Frank Catchpole With A Ted and Mary’s Beauty

I tell this story because I admit my fishing partners and I are amateur enthusiasts in every sense of the word. However, I can say with utmost confidence that not only are Steve and Dustin Huff unbelievably good fishing guides, they are equally good fisherman. In August 2011, I went by myself to the Keys to fly fish for permit. I was not successful in catching one but that’s a story for another day. The day before I arrived, Dustin Huff and Steve Huff, father and son, took turns poling every flat Oceanside of Marathon, Florida, including Ted and Mary’s, High School Flat, and around the corner to what is known as Boot Key. They spent the better part of six hours poking around looking for a single bonefish. They caught nothing. They saw nothing. If there was a bonefish around they would have caught it.

During our trip of 2011, 6 anglers fished for 5 days and we caught 3 bonefish. This was the last year for the trip. For over 20 years, at the end of each trip, I would ask Steve Huff whether he would be willing to take us fishing again the next year. The question was typically, “same place, same dates next year?” For 20 years the answer was “yes”.

I spent the last day of the 2011 trip fishing Key Largo where in years past squadrons of bonefish would stream down the edge of Key Largo. Or after a long run towards Miami, we would encounter one school after another kicking up mud as the bones feasted in Biscayne Bay. Or at the south end of a Key Largo trip, we would set up the skiff on the outside edge of the huge expanse of Newport News flat as hordes of feeding bonefish would stream off the flat on a falling tide pushing wakes that resembled a tight flock of migrating geese.

On this last date for our group in the Keys, good friend, Jim Milam and I fished all of those flats and many others in between.

A Young Jim Milam At Lake Erie

Huff poled his tail off. For the day, we saw one group of two cruising bonefish which were swimming directly at the boat. For me, having one cast in a day makes that cast very difficult. I am just not that good. Needless to say, my cast was terrible and the fish took off.

As we approached the dock at John Pennecamp State Park to take the skiff out of the water and say our goodbyes for the year, I asked Steve Huff the same question I had asked 20 previous years. “Same place, same dates next year?” His answer was, “I don’t think I want to do this again.”

A fishing guide takes the success of his anglers very personally. A catch of an angler on their skiff is their fish. Our guides always apologized when we had a rough day as if our ineptitude or a lack of fish was their fault. If they see no fish, they cannot exercise their laser like vision, poling power, coaching prowess or the infinite number of other skills which empower them in helping their anglers make vivid memories. When a flats guide shares the news of a days’ fishing with their fellow guides, the question is always – “how did you do?” When the answer is nothing too often, something has to change. In 2012, we went with Steve Huff to the Everglades to fish for snook because the Keys bonefish are most certainly in peril.

In my next post, I will offer my opinion on the cause of the peril to the bonefishing in the Keys.

Chuck Sheley On The Key To Catching Big Fish: Go Fishing – A Lot

Posted on October 8, 2013 by Tarpon Slam

Chuck Sheley is a fisherman. Not only does he fish, Chuck catches fish. Not only does he catch fish, Chuck catches big fish. Since November of 1996, Chuck and I have spent a week each year fishing together in Florida with great fishing friends. Originally, our trip centered in Marathon. We chased bonefish, permit and tarpon around the Florida Keys. We were blessed to have great fishing guides for each of those years. Steve Huff, Dustin Huff, and Dale Perez provided us with many shots at great fish, poled into the wind, took us out in good and bad weather, encouraged us, and offered their abundant expertise on the saltwater flats for our benefit.

Our annual trip moved to the Everglades last year. Although Chuck could call Florida his fishing capital, he is from Ohio and has fished all over the world. He is extremely humble about his angling accomplishments but has graciously given me permission to brag about him a little bit. I must admit that as I write, it is easy to live vicariously through his angling accomplishments.

Part of the fun of each year’s Florida trip was bantering with one another as we negotiated the small side bets on the biggest fish of each day and week. Inevitably, when folks stand side-by-side on a bonefish skiff, or bass boat, bragging rights and a few bets are at stake. Obviously, the rest of us on the trips were optimists because we made the same losing bet each year on the largest fish even though Chuck kept winning.

Chuck almost always releases his fish. If he cannot get a fish to the boat quickly enough to suit him, he frets about its health. If a fish is hooked deep, he is upset. If a shark tracks down a hooked bonefish or permit and eats it, he may not speak for hours. So in return, perhaps as Steve Huff has eloquently written in the article which I have republished below, the fishing Gods have on occasion blessed Chuck because of the positive and joyous attitude he brings to fishing.

Steve Huff Tribute To An Angler

Chuck has caught the largest bonefish on the boat of Capt. Dale Perez, who has fished in the Florida Keys for well over 30 years. Chuck was fishing with friend, Lee Mitchell at the end of the angling day on Nine Mile Bank which is located in Florida Bay. Florida Bay is such a shallow body of water that a depth of 6 feet is considered a canyon. The Bay is a series of basins which are separated by mud banks. These banks restrict the flow of water as the tide comes in and out. Nine Mile Bank is one of the first barriers to the flow of water at the westernmost point of the day. Historically, it has been a tremendous fishing area. However, finding fish can be difficult because the salinity, oxygen level, forage and temperature very greatly from basin the basin. On this day, however, fish were tailing and waking as they came on to the mud bank covered with lush turtle grass with the incoming tide. Chuck and Lee were watching a school of three very large bonefish. They were moving slowly towards the skiff and at the last possible moment Chuck cast his shrimp in front of the three fish school. A huge bone picked up the shrimp and took off. Chuck’s recollection of the fight is of course dimmed by the reality of this huge once-in-a-lifetime catch.

Captain Dale Perez Holding Possible World Record Bonefish Caught By Chuck Sheley Chuck’s Witness, Friend Lee Mitchell Also Pictured

There is much speculation that the bonefish may have weighed as much as 18 pounds and been a world record on 10 pound test. Take a close look at the photograph and you will see the extremely large girth of the fish and the fact that Dale’s hand does not fit around the tail of the fish.

Chuck has also caught the largest bonefish on the skiff of Capt. Dustin Huff. This fish was caught in just off Duck Key. Dustin weighed the fish at 13 1/4 pounds on IGFA approved scales.

Chuck Sheley Largest Bonefish Ever Caught On Skiff Of Guide Dustin Huff

Chuck has caught the largest snook which IGFA Hall of Fame Guide, Steve Huff has ever touched. Chuck was fishing in January of 2005 in the Everglades with Steve at the time of the catch. The snook weighed 32 pounds and was 44 inches in length.

Largest Snook Ever Caught On Steve Huff’s Skiff

On that same trip, Chuck caught a 14 1/2 pound snook on fly.

All of us who fish tell stories about the fish we have caught. Once in a while we have proof that the stories are true. I hope you enjoy the photographs and article which demonstrate much more eloquently than I can describe in my words the great skill, determination, and effort which Chuck has expended in pursuing his sport.

When I asked Chuck how he explained his success with big fish, he simply answered, “It pays to be lucky and fish a lot!”

So, fellow anglers, I encourage you to keep fishing… a lot. Who knows, the fishing gods may bless you with a little luck of your own!

Agitation Factor

Posted on September 19, 2013 by Tarpon Slam

Sunset Off Seven Mile Bridge

This post is a sequel to “Dustin Huff Swims Seven Mile Bridge”. That adventure occurred on the morning of June 18, 1995. As all anglers know, a great catch early in the day does not quench an anglers’ thirst for another shot at a great fish. So the miracle permit caught after Dustin went swimming did not cause us to head for the dock. After Dustin dried off and released the permit unharmed, we ate lunch.

Lunch on a flats skiff is more like an eating contest than a meal. Experience has taught me that sought after fish just love swimming right up to the boat when it is tied off to the push pole, the rods are racked, and the anglers are eating. It is as if the fish know we are not prepared. Our solution is wolfing down the sandwiches and hopping back on the bow of the boat locked and loaded with rod in hand ready for the next shot at a bonefish or permit.

As we ate, Dustin pointed to the water just off the edge of Boot Key as the land curved into a point marking the beginning of the channel ocean side of Seven Mile Bridge. “See that strip of white sand off the point?” Dustin pointed out a football field shaped area of brilliant white sand with lush turtle grass forming the sidelines. “Baby tarpon lay up on that bank on an incoming tide which is just starting now. I’m going to tie on shock leaders and we’ll see if we can jump a baby tarpon.” Dustin whipped out some 80 lb test line, tied the shock leaders on both our lines, and baited the hooks with fresh shrimp. He jumped up on the poling platform after dislodging the tied off push pole from the mucky bottom of the flat. The rods he rigged for the baby tarpon were the seven foot spinning rods we had been using earlier in the day for permit. Our reels were spooled with 10 lb. test Ande clear monofilament.

Tarpon Daisy Chain Off Seven Mile Bridge

Dustin spun the boat into the current and poled with the noontime sun directly overhead. Visibility was terrific. As we slowly moved towards the leading edge of the sandy bank, a couple of green missile shaped streaks were swimming slowly towards us. “Andy, cast as soon as you think you can reach the first fish. Drop the shrimp ten feet in front of the cruiser and let it sink.” Andy can really cast and did as instructed. The leading green shadow surged toward the sinking bait, opened its large maw and the shrimp simply disappeared. “Hit em, hit em, hit em!” Dustin screamed. Andy reeled down until he felt the weight of a hooked fish and did a terrific job setting the hook. We were in business. One problem. The tarpon was no baby and Andy was using 10 lb test line. The drag screamed as the fish made its first spirited run away from the skiff. Zzzzzzzzz. There is no better sound. Suddenly the water began to bulge in front of the huge tarpon as it launched into its first and only jump. Andy bowed to the fish and somehow the rig held. The fish was hooked!

Tarpon anglers can attest that each fight of a hooked tarpon is unique. Just as we humans have distinct personalities, so do tarpon. This fish acted as if it was a cranky middle child with a chip on its shoulder. After the first jump, this nasty tempered tarpon headed for the bottom and stayed there. The tarpon had an apparent first destination of the Gulf Stream which runs North off the Florida coast. The Gulf Stream was first reported by the Spanish explorer Ponce de Leon in 1513 when he discovered Florida. In the area where we were fishing, the stream is known as the Florida Current. The speed of the Gulf Stream varies. In areas where it happens be narrower it is faster than in wider areas. The speed is up to 2 meters per second. Interestingly, the Gulf Stream meanders. It is like a river which has no banks. It can be experienced as close to a quarter-mile from the Florida coast in spots. Our tarpon must have sensed this because the fish swim directly towards the fast current offshore.

Dustin fired up the boat as the tarpon began to tow the boat towards the ocean and into a depth of water where the push pole could not touch bottom. He also wanted to head off the fish before the bulldogging fish stripped Andy of the 300 yards of mono spooled on his Stradic 4000 reel. The fish cooperated and wheeled back towards shore.

For years I had heard my buddy, Mitchie tell stories of tarpon fights. “Never let the fish rest. Better to lose him early than late. Their rasp like mouth will eventually wear through even an 100 lb leader.” Unfortunately, Andy knew none of this as this was his first tarpon. After about twenty minutes, the fish began to tow the boat. The fish had settled down and was swimming, the tide was slack, the drag was not slipping and Andy could not gain on the fish. Still the skiff moved forward. Dustin coached, ” Reel down to the fish and then lift, reel down lift, reel down lift.” We edged close enough to see the fish in the water. “How big?”, I whispered as I stood on the stern next to Dustin who had jumped down from the poling platform when he fired up the engine. He had not begun to pole again as he hoped Andy could keep just enough pressure on the tarpon so the drag would not slip resulting in the tarpon’s effort in towing the boat wearing the fish out. “Well over 100 lbs., so much for baby tarpon.” Dustin responded.

Andy put very little pressure on the fish as he was inexperienced and I am sure could not imagine how much the 10 lb. mono would stretch if he tightened down the drag and pulled hard on the face of the giant. “We have no chance unless you put more pressure on the fish, Andy,” Dustin shouted. “Let me get the cooler up on the bow and you can sit down and use your hips to fight him.” After a few seconds, the cooler was on the bow and Andy settled down. He said nothing. We were two hours into the fight at that point. The fish swam and towed and Andy held on while we hoped for a miracle. With each passing minute, Andy’s shoulders slumped a little bit more as the fish fought on relentlessly. “The agitation factor is setting in,” whispered Dustin. For the tarpon, it was a life or death struggle. For Andy, it was a first time adventure with a very steep learning curve.

About a mile away from the hookup point, Andy’s fish was joined by another tarpon which began swimming beside the hooked fish. It was as if the confused or perhaps mildly amused tarpon had reached out for reinforcements. We had just concluded the fourth hour of the fight. During the first couple of hours I tried to offer the occasional light hearted remark to break the tension. “When am I going to get to fish, Andy?” No reply. “Great job, Andy!” No reply. “Hang in there, Andy!” No reply.

Slowly the fish pulled the skiff towards Marathon. Just as the shoreline begins to turn in towards Highway 1 and the High School flat, there is a small island about a quarter of a mile off the tip of Boot Key. The island contained a gorgeous home with sunrise views in the morning and sunset vistas in the evening. Just off shore were a couple of boats were moored. As we approached the island, we noticed several small children happily swimming. The tarpon swam straight towards the splashing children. We followed. When the fish was twenty feet from the kids and their cheerful spirited commotion, the tarpon spooked from the water vibrations and bolted in the opposite direction. The companion free swimming tarpon spooked a moment later and as it spun sideways in a mirror image move of the other fish, its tail hit the taut line and the hooked tarpon was free. Over! The struggle was over.

Andy was in a state of shock. As each hour passed, I had begun to think our chances of catching the giant improved. Dustin knew better. And now, Andy and I knew better.
Andy spun on the cooler and faced us. He was drenched in sweat and I sensed a hint of exhausted relief on his face. This struggle with a great strong fish was like life’s moments of uncertainty where we are trapped in the quick sand of the unknown unable to move forward. With resolution of the uncertainty, we can begin to live again. Once the giant tarpon was free, Andy could absorb the lessons of the fight preparing him to handle the next tarpon he encountered. An intense fish fight such as Andy’s also offers all of us a clear demonstration of how hard a wild creature will fight for life. With lessons learned, the next morning Dustin guided Andy to his first tarpon.

June 19, 1995 Andy Rowe’s First Tarpon

Although Andy appears elated in the photo, I am confident that the memories of fighting a 100 plus lb tarpon on a bonefish rod and 10 lb test line are more vivid than the fish caught.

Andy’s Tarpon Released

Dustin Huff Swims The Seven Mile Bridge

Posted on August 9, 2013 by Tarpon Slam

One of the Rowe family traditions was to let our children take a trip with a parent in celebration of their graduation from high school. Our son, Andy, had listened to me speak of fishing the Florida Keys for bonefish, permit and tarpon for many years. I am sure that all my children could sense their Father’s excited anticipation as the first Monday in November rolled around each year. I have been blessed to fish in Florida for a week each year since 1988 with a group of close friends and guides who became close friends as we shared caught fish, lost fish, stories, adventures, misadventures, and icy cold adult beverages.

Of course, I was thrilled when Andy decided that a trip to the Keys would be his graduation adventure. On our first morning, our guide, Dustin Huff, launched the bonefish skiff from the ramp of the Marathon Yacht Club. He raced to a bridge abutment on the old portion of the Seven Mile Bridge which runs from Knight’s Key (part of the city of Marathon, Florida) in the Middle Keys to Little Duck Key in the Lower Keys. Among the longest bridges in existence when it was built, it is one of the many bridges on US 1 in the Keys where the road is called the Overseas Highway.

There are two bridges in this location. The older bridge was constructed from 1909 to 1912 under the direction of Henry Flagler as part of the Florida East Coast Railways Key West Extension, also known as the Overseas Railroad. After the railroad sustained considerable damage due to the effects of the Labor Day Hurricane of 1935, the line was sold to the United States Federal Government, which subsequently refurbished Seven Mile Bridge for automobile use. Dismantled trackage was recycled, painted white, and used as guard rails.

The current road bridge was constructed from 1978 to 1982. The vast majority of the original bridge still exists, used as fishing piers and access to Pigeon Key but the original swing span over the Moser Channel has been removed. The old bridge is an idyllic place for walkers to exercise and gaze at the Atlantic Ocean on one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other. If you ever get a chance to walk Seven Mile Bridge at sunset take it. You will be awestruck.

We were blessed that morning with gorgeous weather. The sun was bright, the sky was a crushing blue, visibility on the flats was excellent. Dustin shut down the skiff near a bridge abutment on the old portion of the bridge. We were using 7 foot spinning rods and Shimano Stradic 4000 reels loaded with 10 pound test Ande monofilament. Dollar sized blue crabs were the bait. Dustin staked the boat off about 80 feet from the bridge abutment and instructed Andy and I to stand on the bow. Andy was to cast to the right and I to the left. We both loaded the rods and launched the crabs. As the baits landed we left the bails of our spinning reels open permitting the drift of the racing current to take the crabs towards opposite sides of the bridge abutment. Two permit were waiting. Each of us got strikes and set the hooks. Chaos erupted.

Andy’s fish went to the Gulf and my fish went to the Atlantic. Dustin screamed at me to back off my drag. “Rowe, you’ve caught permit before! Let’s get Andy’s fish and then we’ll see if yours is still on.” So here was Andy, taking his first cast at any saltwater fish and hooking up with the determined and wily permit. He fought the fish very well. Dustin, as always, gave great instructions. The permit made several bulldog like runs. After spending substantial energy, the fish began to circle the boat. Since the skiff was staked off, Andy began to walk along the gunnel, across the stern and back up the other gunnel to the bow. The fish continued to circle pulling as if it was a sidways frisbee straining into the current. Dustin was directing traffic from the poling platform. Each time Andy passed around the stern, he had to pass the tip of the spinning rod underneath Dustin’s legs and out the other side. On the third trip around, the taut monofilament brushed the screwhead which fixed the poling platform to the brace. “BING” It was over.

The disappointment settled on Andy’s face, but Dustin and I still had a permit out there somewhere free swimming in the Atlantic Ocean. Dustin got down off the platform, stored the push pole, and fired up the engine. I jumped up on the bow of the boat and tightened down my drag slightly, just enough to be able to slowly gather line as Dustin guided the bonefish skiff in the angle made by my line entering the water. We safely passed close to the old bridge abutment and slowly edgeed across the 300 to 400 yards between the old and new bridges. As we approached the new bridge, it became apparent that our permit, as most do when hooked, had swum at the nearest obstacle in the water. In this fight, our fish had somehow found its way through the H frame bridge abutment supporting the new portion of the Seven Mile Bridge deck. Unfortunately, the skiff would not fit through the uprights of the H.

Dustin slowed the skiff and seemed to be thinking. Silence hung over the boat. He said after a moment, “Rowe, you mind if I touch your rod?” The G. Loomis rod was brand-new. The reel was brand-new. I asked, “Why, what are you going to do?” Dustin’s question was directed to the notion that if a guide assists an angler in any way by touching the rod or reel while a fish is being fought, the fish could not qualify if it happened to be a world record. I wasn’t worried about that. Although a very lucky man, I am not that lucky. Dustin replied, “I’m going to tie your rod and reel to a life jacket, throw all of it overboard and drift it through the other side of the H.” I looked at the water. The tide was ripping from the Gulf to the Atlantic and the current was streaking right through the opening of the H. “Sure, why not?”

Overboard went my rod, reel and the life jacket. The splash left a sinking feeling in my gut. I was out of touch with the fish and my gear. Somehow, the odd misshapen raft drifted just as Dustin predicted under the uprights and out the other side. We picked the floating equipment off the surface of the water and unstrapped the life jacket. Relief shook my wet hands as I grasped the recovered rod and reel.

At this point, no one was certain we had a fish on the the hook. I had never gotten tight on the still unseen permit. But we had been able to follow the line from the old bridge to the new bridge and through the H frame. Unfortunately, as the fish swam through the H, the line had snagged somewhere below the waterline. It was impossible to see where.

“Rowe, can you handle the boat?” “Why, what are you going to do,” I asked. Dustin shouted,”I’m going to dive in, get the line in my hands and follow it down till I find where it is snagged! If I can free it, we’re gonna catch this fish!” I have never owned a boat but regardless of my inexperience, I said, “Of course I can handle the boat!”

I took the steering wheel and put my hand on the throttle as Dustin dove off the bow. By now, the tide was absolutely ripping through the bridge abutment. Nonetheless, Dustin found the line in the water, followed it hand over hand and then suddenly extended his arms towards the bottom and dove out of sight. Moments later he came up with the line in hand. He let go as the ocean bound current swept the line away from more trouble. He quickly swam to the skiff, gripped the bow edge rail with both hands and literally launched himself on board.

Andy had been holding my rod and reel as I was controlling the boat and Dustin swam. Andy handed me the rod and reel. Once again I tightened the drag. This time there were no obstructions and soon I could feel the pulsing shake of the no doubt utterly confused permit at the end of the line. As the fish felt the pressure, he streaked off suddenly recalling the original hookset some thirty minutes earlier. Five uneventful minutes later, we had a 20 pound permit.

Miracle Seven Mile Bridge Permit

I suppose there may be other guides who would jump overboard to provide his angler with an opportunity of having a fish story to tell for the rest of his life. If so I hope you are fortunate enough to fish with such a guide. I have enjoyed such a privilege. Thanks, Dustin!

Front Yard Fishing

Bluegills to Bonefish

Tag Archives: Dustin Huff