"Try A French Fry!"
Upon returning at dusk one evening by boat from the Laguna Xlapac in Cozumel where my son Jeff and I had been fishing the flats, our guide pointed to a shoreline restaurant, Las Gaviotas, where lights danced on aquamarine waters. He mentioned that tarpon and permit congregate there at night when the restaurant turns on its lights. Taking his cue, we returned that evening and anchored our boat just beyond the light to behold dozens of shining fish milling in the light. Excited, we saw normally reclusive permit and tarpon readily rising. Repeated casts for an hour produced zero, nothing. You couldn’t catch a fish if you bounced a fly off its head.
“You bathe today, Jeff?” I asked.
“That’s just the skunk in the boat you smell, Dad.”
Constant changes of flies still produced nothing. I was about ready to put a knife in my teeth and dive in. Finally a chase - a strike - a jump - and a thrown hook. Of course! Then we heard a muffled voice cry out from shore, but couldn’t make out the words. Then a loud, “Hey, you! You, the fisherman!”
Looking closely into the lights on the restaurant dock, I saw an old man. He cried out, “Try a French fry!”
“A what?” I asked. “A French fry, or some bread,” he said.
I looked at Jeff; Jeff looked at me. He rolled his eyes. What was this, McDonald’s? But, just then a little girl tossed out a French fry, and sure enough, to our amazement, several fish flashed and a nice tarpon engulfed the fly - er, fry. Several more fries and a couple of pieces of bread were offered to the fish and immediately taken. Shaking my head and looking at Jeff who was laughing, I said, “Guess we don’t have any flies tied in a ‘French fry’ pattern.”
“Yep,” he said, “We need an Idaho deceiver.”
The next night, Jeff and I returned with our Apt Tarpon flies, deceivers, and - you bet, a bag of fries. After the same success as the night before – meaning zippo! We slapped a French fry on a deceiver and WHAM! Of course, you know the rest of the story. We hammered ’em. The skunk abandoned ship and swam for shore. These fish had been fed fries and bread by restaurant patrons for years. In fact, when we started catching fish on the fries, the restaurant owners shut the lights off to protect the fish. The next night, my wife and other family members dined at the restaurant, and when we showed up, the lights again were turned off. The owner stated he didn’t want the fish hurt. My wife looked down at her plate -- at her fish dinner, “It looks like this is the only fish around here that’s been hurt.” She informed him that we gently released all the fish we catch. Reluctantly, he turned the lights back on. So that’s my “tail!” Believe it or not!