the tarpon trip - unexp....

[Ken Gargett]

The Tarpon Diaries

Day 1 – A Very Long Day.

All I wanted to do was catch a tarpon on fly. Just one. A big one would be nice but any size would do (and heresy it might be but if it came down to it, I’d even take one on lure – just not tell anyone that part of it). And so, a trip some three years in the making was under way. Sort of.

A bunch of mates and I had been making the trek from Australia to Cuba for a number of years, usually combining the annual Cigar Festival and bonefishing. In recent years, we'd branched out. We'd done trout in Chile (actually, right next to the volcano that exploded, though fortunately, that was after we had departed). The other guys had done peacock bass in the Amazon, though work commitments stuffed that one for me.

I’d was very keen to try for tarpon and after extensive research, reading, talking to fishermen, I reckoned I’d found the ideal place – the Rio Colorado Lodge in Costa Rica. Then on to Cuba (though again, work caused me to bail from that part of the trip). We'd been discussing it for a few years and even made a few aborted attempts to get it off the ground. Finally, half a dozen of us committed and I put things in motion. Flights booked (Brisbane to Sydney to Dallas to San Jose and the reverse), deposits paid. Then one by one, the mates fell by the wayside. Health, family, business, audits and something totally spurious and unacceptable.

Fortunately, on hearing of vacancies, a couple of other friends – Gary from Victoria and Rob from Maryland – immediately stuck up their hands. Though it was far from plain sailing for our newbies. 'Can't you organise my cigars?' 'Will you be able to send emails for me?' My favourite was the five emails about whether or not one should bring insect repellent and if so, what sort. Seriously? Grown men? The lodge is in a jungle – take a wild guess, though I suspect that they may have some there.

In order to ensure communication, I had my IT bloke set up my machine for incoming and outgoing emails. As a result, I now can't send or receive any and am looking forward to my return when I reckon there'll be about 1,800 emails waiting for me.

The big day has finally arrived. I’d spent hours packing and repacking previously, as the final flight into the Lodge was apparently on some rubber-band propelled piece of balsa wood and weight was critical. A mate had lent me his 15 weight rod – I’d been told that these fish snapped 12's with ease (though I packed my 12 and a 10 for good measure) – and I’d been practising with it in the local showgrounds. The results had been so bad I’d almost decided to forgo fly and just use the Lodge's conventional gear, but I mentioned it to a bloke at the local tackle shop. He took one look at the reel and realised that my idiot mate (who'd assured me he had no problems casting it) had put the fly-line on backwards with the shooting head at the rear, making it almost impossible to cast more than a few feet. The rod was a two-piece effort, ensuring maximum inconvenience for travelling. Time of writing, I have no idea if I’ll ever see it again.

I’d also spent hours on the phone to a certain airline, best known as the 'stumbling wombat' and surely compelling evidence that there is no God, to ensure that all of the seemingly endless flights were linked to minimise hassles and problems. I arrived all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the Brisbane wombat desk at sparrow-fart. All flights had been unlinked. The wombat has me going as far as Sydney. The poor woman spends ages trying to rectify this (as a mate said, 'why would they do that?' - who would know?). Eventually, we are good to go, though neither of us are quite sure whether she has my luggage going to San Jose in Costa Rica or San Jose in California. I look at the poor woman and wonder if she has heard anything about the promised upgrade (last flight with the wombat, they lost all my luggage). She dissolves in fits of laughter. Who can blame her?

So up to the lounge. Surely, now this will just be a quiet, uneventful day in planes and airports (and airport bars)?

You could not make this up. There, on the TV in the lounge - “Earthquake devastates Central America'. Was I Hitler in a past life?

Anyway, apparently, it was several countries away from Costa Rica and on the Pacific side, not the Atlantic, so the anticipated Tsunami may have some difficulty in wiping out the Lodge.

At this stage, I’m typing this on the flight down to Sydney. The wombat was only 30 minutes late leaving. Who knows what the next bit of fun will be?

It was turbulence. Some of the worst I’ve had Bris-Syd and nearly enough to allow me to enjoy those wombat-fried beans a second time. But we made it. There was the unfortunate moment when I stepped on a Para-Olympian getting out of the plane (a gold medal-winning Para-Olympian, as the hostess kindly reminded everyone), but in my defence, it was an accident and it is not as though he felt any pain. People are so quick to judge.

A quick change of terminals. And then the wombat was able to rectify things. As I do a heap of flying for work, I get pointy-end lounge allowances. And the one in Sydney is a joy. Settled in, a few glasses of Veuve and a beautifully cooked piece of Tassie salmon and all was well with the world. Then I noticed that over at the bar, they had a shelf of old and rare rums. Got chatting, as you do. Next thing, I have got the bar chap to line me up a rum tasting – a nip of each, some of which I had never hear of, or seen, before. A set from Reunion Island, of all places, was fabulous (name escapes me but I have notes on all) and the El Dorado's - 12 Years, 15 and 21. The 15 my pick. The bloke then asks if I ever do anything with champers. Do I what! So he cracks a 99 Dom. Happy again!

Then the world's longest commercial flight – so I am told and it certainly felt like it. Couple of flicks – 'Prometheus' which I thought okay, and 'Dark Knight Rises' which I thought a cracker. Finally to Dallas. Through all the procedures. And the first bloke I walk into is Gary. Things going well – just need to find Rob.

Now, as Team Leader, I am in complete control at all times. Except I missed the memo saying Rob had decided to go via Miami. But as the delightful woman in the American Airlines lounge was offering G&T's made from Hendricks, I didn't really care. We head down to board but another delay. So we decide to just set up camp at the 'Blue Mesa – Tequila and Taco Bar'. We ask the woman to 'surprise us but not too sweet' – we get Beerarita's! Whacko.

These things come in large goldfish bowl-sized glasses. They are about a gallon of a terrific lime/lemon margarita with an upturned beer in them, which you can remove and drink or allow it to meld in as you drink the 'beerarita'. Apparently not well known locally (or possibly anywhere) as strangers were coming up taking our pics; more sensible strangers were coming up ordering their own.

Finally land in San Jose. Chaos. Luggage due on carousel 3. Wait and wait and wait. As do a few others but after 50 minutes, crowd thinning. Bloody hell! Then I noticed one of my bags happily going around on carousel 2 – the flight from Panama?? Then the other bit pops out on carousel 4. Seriously? Then the fun starts. The crowd to get through security and its two x-ray machines is at least 80 deep. Gary and I do the polite bit and stand in line. Fools. No one else does, except a few 80-year-old American tourists. So it is on. Trollies forward! I am bigger than most Costa Ricans, and certainly meaner, so in no time, we have dodgem-carred our way to the front. And out. And there is our local driver/guide still waiting, even if we are 2 1/2 hours late.

45 minutes later, we arrive at the hotel. Reception asks for my passport and the horror strikes. My little black docs bag is missing. I rip apart every piece of luggage I have, fling it around the lobby, swear a lot (I am always so careful about those things – not losing things, not the swearing), kick the strewn mess, repack and rip it all apart again. A great deal of very bad language. Not there. And that utter clawing from hell starts tearing at my gut. There will be no 'Hail Mary' moment here, no last second, run-the-length-of-the-field intercept try to save the day. I’m screwed. I can only think that someone in the heaving crowd neatly lifted the bag. The realisation that there will be no fishing for me, sinks in. No way can I fly off into the middle of a jungle and then front up at an airport without a passport, especially going through the States. I will be spending the week desperately trying to sort this out – which will be fun as almost all of my money and cards were in the bag. If I can't, I’ll need new flights as mine done on points. Not sure how I’ll manage that. This is a nightmare. I’m tempted to see it as the worst thing that has ever happened to any human being in history, but the odd tsunami, earthquake, flood, fire, holocaust and so on, may just take precedence. Just. But it really is a nightmare.

Max, our driver, suggests going back to the airport to try 'lost and found'. Fat chance. Rob now joins us. He, Max and I head back but I hold out no hope. 45 minutes back, we go. Rob comes as he speaks Spanish, but Security will only let me return to the area – so three of us there and only I speak no Spanish, hence, I am the one that can go in? I’m trying to explain things to some uniformed woman, who speaks no English, at a desk next to the machines when, could it be, I happen to spot, yes it is, a small black docs case on the corner of her desk. From my reaction, she twigs, and she certainly doesn't need ID to confirm it is mine. What other idiot would be doing a victory dance in Customs (with patented pirouette) and singing Neil Young's 'Like a Hurricane' (don't ask me why but whenever I am seriously elated, I sing that song – always have). I can go fishing. And a world record tarpon would not make me as happy as I am now. I’m tipping people like I actually have money!

45 minutes back and Rob and I head for a cold beer. I am thinking that finally the luck on this trip has turned. Not quite. We arrive at the bar at 12.01am. It shuts at midnight and no, he will not serve us even one beer. Don't ask me why but mini-bars in Costa Rican hotel rooms are all locked shut. So no beer. But I’ll take that. The day could have been so much worse. I’m just glad it is over. This trip can't get any worse.

KBG

[AverageJoe83]

Wow, sounds rough, at least you got your docs back, good luck catching tha world record!

[Cohiba Stevie]

First nino and now you kenny?!

I can only hope your trip takes a turn for the better like ninos eventually did.

Keep the head up mate.

I hope all is well.

[CanuckSARTech]

I stopped reading after I saw "the tampon diaries". That's a lot of words for getting in touch with your femine side!

Cheers Ken. Regretting that I won't get to chat extensively with you in just over a week.

Enjoy the rest of your trip, senor.

[Colt45]

KG, you might not believe in any kind of divine entity, but you've got to believe karma's a *****!

[CaptainQuintero]

Enjoyable read Ken!!

Don't worry, you aren't missing anything from the Arsenal at the moment, it might be quite a good thing that you are out of contact the news, two 2-0 leads thrown away in one week!

[madandana]

Good Luck fishing. Maybe you'd better wear a life jacket.Make sure you post some photos.

[LGC]

Sounds like a typical fishing trip

[Rushman]

Nice read. Catch a big tampon Ken!

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I am here: http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=29.507272,-98.671690

[Freefallguy]

Hey Ross- Max, the driver, and I suggested Divine intervention and Ken in a fit of desperation more or less said "I'd go with anything at this point." On the return the hotel Ken, acknowledging there may have intervention, asked if it would be too much to ask for a fish... I'm saving that request, for me.

At lunch and discussing this post, Gary has dubbed Ken's expletive filled dance in the lobby "The F**k Macarena".

[Colt45]

Hey Ross- Max, the driver, and I suggested Divine intervention and Ken in a fit of desperation more or less said "I'd go with anything at this point." On the return the hotel Ken, acknowledging there may have intervention, asked if it would be too much to ask for a fish... I'm saving that request, for me.

Rob, just don't stand too close to Ken during a thunderstorm....

[brazoseagle]

Ken, this sounds Miserable!!! In regards to the "Beerita", it is a common yet novelty item around these parts. Most commonly referred to and ordered as "A Mexican Standoff", and those glasses you were talking about as a fishbowl are called Schooners or Big "O"'s, and were invented in the town where I attempted college. The bar there that invented the Big "O" beer back in the 30's still serves ice cold beer in them, full to the rim for $1 US Dollar!!!!! Got to love college towns!!

I hope your trip gets better and I hope you hook the big one. If your delay in Dallas on the return flight is going to be long, let me know.

[Ken Gargett]

just catching up on day two (yes, it is day four). ta re the Big O's good fun. i have a few hours in dallas but given the progress so far, be lucky to ever leave here.

[thecrowder]

Great read...hope the rest of your trip goes smoothly!