Words by: Nathaniel Riverhorse Nakadate
It takes a while, but you find them. The school of some 30 tarpon amble mesmerizingly across the flat a couple hundred feet out and are set to cross paths with you in seconds. This is it, why you came so many thousands of miles, for no matter what the rest of the world calls “making a living,” this is the only kind of living that matters to you. A world of concrete and cubicles has never made sense, nor will it ever. “Yea boy you get ready for a shot at around 11 o’clock at 80 feet when I say, and don’t you trout set me mon!” You both laugh.