Ramon, ni)’ guide, pulled up at a littlernshack on the shore, a hand-drawnrnsign announcing “Naval Station.” Hernshowed one of the sleepy naval attendantsrna document permitting him to gornout and fish, and we were off. I noticedrnan anrusiiig “giui emplacement,” sandbagsrnabout 18 inches high and no gun.rnNo doubt to stop an invasion by sea.rnJust as the Rio Colorado meets thernCaribbean, the surf is often quite rough,rnespecially with an incoming tide and/or arnwest-flowing wind. Once we were beyondrnthe breakers the first morning, thernwater was calm, and there were lots ofrnsmall boats about. During late summerrnand earlv fall, the tarpon stack up just outsidernthe mouth of the river. They are notrnalways there like fenced-in cattle, butrnmost of the time they are in the vicinity.rnGuides from other fishing camps arernloath to radio anyone else about wherernthe fish are, for soon 20 or 30 boats will bernworking the same area.rnWe soon cut the motor and were “jigging”rnwith a two-ounce Coast Hawk, arnlure made in zdkins, Texas. This is notrnwhat one normally thinks of as a jig; therernis no skirt, no single-weighted head.rnRather, the Coast Hawk is a three-inchrnlong piece of painted metal, an eye paintedrnon either side, and two treble hooks.rnAfter an hour or so of constantiy raisingrnthe rod, tlien letting the lure settle, I lostrnconfidence, and we began to troll big Rapalasrna quarter-mile offshore. Bingo! Arnbig silver king launched himself out ofrnthe water 50 vards back, and the work began.rnI had never brought a tarpon to gaffrnThe preceding April, when the water hadrnwarmed enough for tarpon in the Everglades,rn1 hooked one while trolling arnsmall mangrove river, the treetops coveringrnit completely. In that shadow)’ sanctuary,rnwhen a five-foot tarpon came explodingrninto this small space, I knew Irnwas in love. It did not matter that herneventually wrapped the line aroimd arnmangrove root and was gone. 1 knew Irnwould pursue.rnVVIiat I had not anticipated was whatrnvould happen when the fish remainedrnhooked, or what having a chair to fight itrnin would have meant. At least my guidernhad brought an ancient belt for the rodrnbutt. Standing on the moving deck of thernbow while pumping the rod, 1 invented arnnew dance form. After an hour of this, arnlarge wooden fishing boat waited nearby,rnthe men elling back and forth to Ramon.rnI kept thinking, “I can’t cut the linernnow . . . mustn’t lose face with this audience.”rnFinalh, after an hour and 1 S minutes,rnwe brought the fish to gaff Onernhundred and tvventy-five pounds.rnFor anyone looking at the photographrnof this tarpon, obviously in no conditionrnto be released in good Flip Fallot fashion,rnhere’s the stor’. The fellows in the otherrnboat had asked Ramon if dieir familiesrncould have the tarpon to eat. Ramon radioedrnsonreone and got permission. Norntarpon fisherman I knew ate tarponrn(which is good for the tarpon, unlike therntuna, which is too delicious for its ownrngood), but riiis fish would be made intorn”tarpon balls” for the folks in the ‘illagernof Barra Colorado.rnWorn-out from my deck ballet, Irnskipped lunch and enjoyed a siesta. Asrnbad luck would have it, I hooked anotherrnone after lunch. Since he was only 70rnpounds, I managed to whip him in shorterrntime. I caught two more the next darn(one on a Coast Flawk), and after ftiat decidedrnI was going to major in a smallerrnspecies. We tried for big snook, wadingrnin the surf; I had no luck. The sharks thatrnfeed in the surf here put an edgernon ftie experience, however.rnFven though it is against thernlaw, some of Hie locals net snook.rnThere are just a few narrow outletsrnto the sea, and a few nativesrnstring nets across whole oudets.rnThcv cannot miss. But this isrnkilling the goose that lays therngolden egg, because visiting fishermenrnbring in far more moneyrnfor ftie economw The locals arernonly paid $1.10 per pound forrnsnook, which are sent to San Jose.rnA sports fisherman may catchrnone, and he spends an average otrn$3 50 a day. Using restraint reqiurcsrnthe long view, of course,rnand that is sometimes difficult forrna local who gets between two andrnthree dollars for a whole stalk ofrnbananas.rnIn one sense, the sea beyondrnBarra Colorado looks like the searnor gulf off Florida or Louisiana.rnBut when one goes upriver intornthe jimgle, he is hit by the greatrndifference between the temperaternand the tropical zones; by the feeundit)’,rnthe teeming, overflowingrnlite, of the tropics. I cannot imaginernfliis ever not being a mysteriousrnplace, and sometimes a danger(;rnns j^lace. I once lived in fliernbush in Nicaragua where largernsnakes woidd wander across the ardrnwhile hawks dive-bombed them, and occasionallyrnwe would find jaguar tracksrnalong the creek in front of our house.rnBill Barnes had latch’ brought a youngrnblack and tan puppy to Casa Mar; therndog wandered about in an olfactor)’ blissrnof scents. My first night, I heard therngrowling of what had to be a jaguar notrnfar from my cabin, and the black and tanrnhowling in pursuit, all while a light rainrnhit Are tin roof 1 hoped fliat the puppyrndid not catch up wifli fliat eat. But I wasrnhappilv in my bed, feeling all the greatrnpalpabilitv’ of tiiis vast world and revelingrnin it. The next da’, I asked about therncommotion, and several others hadrnheard it, too. It turned out, tiiough, therernwas no jaguar at all, but a couple ofrnhowler monkeys raising Cain. That’s allrnright . . . I’ll take that over boom boxesrnand traffic jams any day.rnWilliam Mills, a novelist and poet, is therneditor of Images of Kansas Cih’. Hisrnlatest work of fiction is Properties ofrnBlood.rnCvhroniclcs corresponding editor with hisrn12S-pound tarpon.rnFEBRUARY 2()()()/41rnrnrn