Then this morning I was drifting the flats with a small pinfish on a small circle hook under a popping cork. The water was about two feet deep. Suddenly there was a giant swirl next to the cork, it went under and the line started peeling off the reel. Just as I grabbed the rod to tighten the drag the tarpon shot into the air in what looked like an acrobat doing a perfect back flip. A long run, two more jumps and it was over. He had shaken the hook. But now I knew: The tarpon have arrived for the season.

I don’t target tarpon. I posted last week about how such trash fish as jack crevalle and ladyfish can enliven a dull day when the trout, snook or reds aren’t biting, but by and large I avoid fish that I can’t eat. And tarpon are the ultimate trash fish, huge slabs of muscle that aren’t good for anything but a fight.

I’ve hooked probably a dozen and brought three to the boat since I began fishing the Indian River eight years ago. All were hooked “accidentally,” meaning they came across my bait that was intended for something else. I’m always glad when they shake the hook early in the fight. The fish doesn’t get worn out and I don’t waste half the morning being dragged around the river behind the fish. But when a circle hook does its job right and gets lodged in the corner of a tarpon’s jaws, you’re married to that tarpon until you purposely break the line or bring him alongside the boat to get the hook loose.

This morning’s fish wasn’t very big, probably 15 pounds or so. If you figure one minute of fight for every pound of fish (using light tackle, of course), the fact that he shook off the hook in the first minute saved me a quarter of an hour or so. Not that I caught anything worthwhile during that extra time, but every minute you’re fighting a tarpon is a minute you’re not on the verge of nabbing a big red or a fat trout for dinner.