Two hundred feet away a reptilian back arches out of the water as a tarpon gulps air, its scales reflecting the fire of the sunrise. The line pulses out and the fly falls, is pulled once…and stops. I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say there is a point early on when we are looking up at 6 feet of fish coming down, and another, seemingly moments later, when the fish is so far away that, jumping, it looks like a tangerine minnow imprinted against the mangroves. The battle is won, technically, a half hour later and a half mile away, when the leader comes back to the rod tip. But no one has told the tarpon. It wrenches its chromium-plated head and spits the fly.