This mornings' tarpon quest came to a screeching halt from 5 a.m to 7 a.m. as a huge ferocious squall line of gale force winds, thunder and lightning raked coastal Miami. At 7:15, another band of blackness marched northward, the wind picked up to around 30 knots, but the sky lightened to a ubiquitous gray blanket. I left the dock, edged up the ICW and turned into one of my "protected" spots- as if anything is ever really protected.
I found the tarpon making quick rolls into and across the wind-riffled surface. But it was the kind of "one here, one there" rolling that spells no soap and that's just what happened- nary a strike on bait or lures. The wind would stop at times and I'd sweat into the humid atmosphere and all over myself. Then the wind picked up and I donned a jacket in the cold stiff breeze under a sky with a sun that was merely a suggestion.
No consolations of "it was good just to get out" worked-nor will they ever. I ended the day by noon just plain wet and tired. A hot shower and an ice-cold Diet Coke did the trick as I continue to wrap up a story on Captain Ralph Allen and the fabulous Punta Gorda fishing. That super trip cancels today and then I'll dream of distant shores.