Monday, June 22, 2009

My Name is Ron & I'm a Tarpoholic

The silver king is my thing. The addiction afflicts me in late April and strings me out through sometime in July.

With most users, there is a less additive substance that you start with, which leads to the stronger and more dependent stuff. That first passion would be your gateway drug.

In my youth, my gateway drug would be the freshwater bass. My grandfather, Bill Cornett, was a professional bass fisherman. Not like today’s big time money earners, but a circa 1960’s pro who would fish part time and work a regular job full time. He fished & placed in numerous B.A.S.S. Tournaments throughout the southeast US, but primarily in the great state of Florida where payouts were $100-$200. Big side "shake" back then. I was hooked on bass fishing by the age of four. I spent many hours with Papa fishing the Kissimmee Chain of Lakes. I soaked up everything he offered when it came to fishing and the outdoors.


Above is a picture of me in 1969 with my grandfather hiding behind me supporting the heavy stringer of fish along with my childhood dependency.

As the years passed, it took more and more fish to catch a buzz, so I started getting into the harder stuff. Chasing redfish & snook. Reds & snook are like bass on crack with a little steroids mixed in. I still “jones” for them come spring and fall. These saltwater speedsters will shread the water on light tackle. Taste good too.

It was the summer of 1982, before my senior year in high school, that I would be unknowingly exposed to the hard stuff. The Megalops atlanticus.

I had a side job helping a friend cut fish and selling seafood at a local fish market. The manager of the market’s name was Mike Rabada. He was born and raised on the water as a commercial fisherman, just as his dad before him. He grew up in west Tampa and scratched out his living on Tampa Bay.

Mike had asked me and another co-worker/close friend, Marc Mashburn, to meet him at the boat ramp one hot summer night. He said he was taking us fishing. We thought he meant fishing, as in pulling crab traps or netting mullet, which sounded like good fun to us.

We made our way to one of the interior bridges of Tampa Bay and hooked up below a light, through a drain pipe under the bridge with a contraption only a structural engineer, or wise ole salty dog, could have designed.

He handed us each a 30# rod, with 1/16th oz brown No Alibi . The manufacturer of this lure, C&H Lures, no longer makes this gem in the preferred weight and color. What a shame cause I would order 50 of them, if they would make em. He explained that tarpon would swim in the shadow line cast by the edge of the bridge. We were instructed to use a simple bass fishing technique call “flipping” to present our lures in front of the passing prehistoric pescados.

We were also instructed not to try and stop the fish by applying pressure on the reel spool, but to let them run. Marc found this out the hard way as he lost most of the skin on the working side of his thumb. The skin was burnt off. We were instant junkies, jumping five fish that night averaging 80 - 100lbs and boating one. Tarpon fishing at night became our heroin.

Mr. Rabada was a man's man. He liked to cut up and give us youngsters a hard time. When we hooked a fish he would judge its size and give us an unreasonable deadline, in minutes, before his lit cigar would part our line. This would make us real faster and fight harder to land the fish. He could care less about the long drawn out fight with the fish or landing it. He was into the first few legendary leaps, typical of the poons, and that first blistering long run. In fact, when the fish jumped, instead of bowing to the fish which is proper technique to insure the hook is not thrown, he would haul back as hard as he could to see how many 1/2 gainers he could make his fish do.

Mike was a pure poon junkie. As the story goes, he was Jefferson High School's ace pitcher. Rabada was scheduled to start in the city championship game, except he never showed up for the most important game of his young career. Instead, he slipped out after school to go tarpon fishing and caught a prize fish that won the old Tampa Tarpon Tournament. Addiction at it's finest.

As for Marc, he is a recovering Tarpoholic. He got clean by joining the US Marines and now is a respected Southern Baptist Preacher.

I, on the other hand, will steal my kid’s lunch money to put gas in the boat for another tarpon fix. I have now transformed from user to pusher. The only thing better than jumping a poon is watching close friends and family do the same for the first time.

On occasion, I will soak a bait for these over sized shiners the more traditional way. Fishing the beaches, Skyway Bridge & Egmont Channel during daylight hours is fun, but in my book, doesn’t measure up to doing the tarpon tango at night. No crowds to fight. No blistering hot sun to bake in. Just extreme and up close sight fishing.

The only down side to fishing all night arrives on following day. When I was younger this was not a problem. Today, as I approach my mid-forties, it takes much longer to sleep off my fishing hangover.

I have not seen Mike for over twenty-five years. I have inquired, but never been able to make contact.

Sadly, while writing this post, I read in the Tampa Tribune’s Obituaries that Mike Rabada’s father recently passed away. Here is the Obit:

RABADA, John "EO," 90, passed away June 10, 2009. John was born in Coaldale, Pa. He is survived by his wife of 67 years, Maria Rabada; sister, Mary "Becky" Boyce; son, Michael John Rabada; grand- son, Nicholas and wife, Sherry; two great-grand- children, Ella and Nicholas Rabada Jr. John was an avid fisherman and crabber and enjoyed Tampa Bays waters. John and his son were owners and operators of Chubasco Seafood in S. Tampa. Neptune Society

I would think it is fair to say that John Rabada, in some way, contributed to my Tarpoholism. Using simple logic, he introduced his son Mike to fishing and in tern Mike hooked me up. EO, for your love of the water, I cannot thank you enough. May God heel the broken hearts of your family & I hope your great-grandchildren carry on, as Hank Williams Jr would say, the “family tradition”.

I will keep fishing the Howard Franklin on the secret tide & moon phase and pass along my addiction to my son & daughter.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

My First

It will take some time for me to figure this blog stuff out. I hope to fill this space with my life. First, my life as a father/ husband and secondly my love of the outdoors especially fishing and falconry. Be patient as my page unfolds.