The redfish these folks caught were all like this one.

The following story is true. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Allow me to set the story, please.

Tom called me to book a fishing trip, on a Thursday. He was bringing his adult son, Joe. They wanted to fly fish. Normal enough.

Harry, friends of Tom and Joe, called me a week later, also to book a fishing trip. He wanted to fly fish as well, with Tom and Joe, on Friday, in the no motor zone of the Banana River Lagoon.

When Wednesday came around, Tom told me over the telephone, “We want to go where the fishing has been best.” That was in the no motor zone. Since we were going there on Friday anyway, that’s where I brought them on Thursday.

If you’ve ever tried wading in the Banana River Lagoon you may know how soft and sticky the bottom is in many places. It’s wadable, but not easy- for some people. For other people wading there is out of the question.

Tom is in his 70’s, carrying a few extra pounds. He did try wading. He fell down. Quite understandably he refused to try wading any more.

It was too windy to fly fish effectively from the canoe with me poling. It was too hard to control the boat that way. Tom was not able to see the fish, an absolute necessity for the fast response needed to get a bite. So I did what I usually do in these types of situations. I got out of the canoe and walked it around, standing right by my angler, telling them when and where to cast and how to work the fly.

We missed quite a few shots but I finally was able to talk Tom through a proper presentation to a big redfish. The fish took the crab imitation.

Tom knew what to do once the fish was on. It turned out to be the biggest redfish he’d ever caught, and he lives in prime redfish territory.

After we released the fish Tom said to me, “Now please help get one for Joe.” Yes sir, that’s what I’m here to do. “Will you be OK here in the canoe?” I asked him. He assured me he’d be fine.

Joe had paddled a kayak. He had no more problem wading than I. So we went wading after another red, leaving Tom behind in the canoe.

After a few minutes I spotted a pair of fish, and pointed them out to Joe. He could see one of them and made a beautiful cast. The fish took the fake crab and off it went, so vigorously that we had to chase it.

I wanted to get back to the canoe. My cameras were there, and we wanted to photograph the fish. We were backing toward it, since the fish had gone the other way. We heard a splash and a yell, and turn to look. I see the bottom of my canoe pointing skyward, and no trace of Tom. Shit!

I tell Joe to play the fish, I’ll be back. And I hustle over to help Tom, to assess the damage. Tom is fine physically. He’s only in knee deep water but he’s sputtering and swearing. He can’t get up. I tell him to relax and stay there. It’s a warm day and we have a fish on. The wind is blowing all my belongings away. There’s quite a trail of flotsam.

I retrieve the cameras first, then track down everything else. I pile it all on the kayak, since the canoe is full of water. By this time Joe’s fish is ready. I take out a camera, then leader the fish. Joe holds it, and we get some nice photos. It is the biggest redfish he’s ever caught, too. We release it and off it goes.

Except for the canoe tipping over we’re having quite the afternoon.

We put the rod and the camera on the kayak. We help Tom to his feet. We empty the canoe, and reload the gear. Things are wet. My fly rod is broken.

That night I have time to look through things. My cameras are both fine, thank you! My wallet is soaked. My phone has drowned. The waterproof bag containing my first aid supplies turns out to be not so waterproof. Everything inside is wet. Some of it needs to be discarded, the rest needs to be dried.

It was an expensive day between the rod and the phone.

The next morning finds Tom in my canoe again. Joe has ridden with Harry. That’s fine. I have a plan, to walk Tom around, to not leave him unattended.

I walk Tom around. He gurgles up a few nice trout. Then we get to the redfish spot.

There are clouds and it’s hard to see. But there’s no wind and the fish are tailing everywhere.

Tom gets two bites. He misses one, then straightens the hook on the next. Let it run when you first hook it!

Harry gets a fine red, his best ever on fly. We are getting lots of shots. Everyone is excited.

Tom, still in the canoe, gets a cramp in his leg. He wants to get out of the canoe. The bottom is muck, but we try, unsuccessfully. He asks if he can stand up. I tell him he knows the answer to that better than I. He tries.

He can’t.

When he comes crashing back down, at least it’s in the canoe. At least the boat doesn’t flip. At least he doesn’t get hurt. But the impact is more than the seat can take, and it gives out.

Now we have a broken seat. There’s no way to fix it out there. Tom is very upset, mostly with himself. I feel bad for him. We still have the seat to deal with, though.

I realize it’s not a big problem. He can get in the other canoe and Joe, considerably younger and in much better physical condition, can deal with the broken seat. So Harry and I exchange passengers. The rest of the day goes smoothly. More fish are caught. Nothing untoward happens.

When I get home the seat is repaired.

Or I thought it was repaired. When I next used the canoe we discovered that it wasn’t fixed at all.

The next day the original drilled holes, and the enlarged ones that Tom made, were filled with J-B Weld. It cured overnight. The following day new holes were drilled and everything put back together. Hopefully, that will be the end of the story.

If not, this story will have an addendum. As it is now, life is great and I still love my work.

Tom, it’s all OK. I really enjoyed the days we fished together. When you next come down we’ll use the skiff!

John Kumiski
http://www.spottedtail.com

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2012. All rights are reserved.