The round plastic card table we use for lunch at the shop has been a war zone lately. Feathers everywhere, hook boxes open, a couple of empty glasses, often one half-full of Sunriver’s seasonal West Coast IPA, red Solo cup overflowing with spent sunflower-seeds. Brett Dennis “El Jefe” parked at the vise, music jumping from Morgan Wallen to Teddy Swims to whatever else the algorithm throws at us, and the man is tying like his life depends on it.

He’s deep into the newest evolution of the Barry White. Why name it Barry White you might ask. Simple. It’s The First, The Last, Our Everything, The Answer To All Our Dreams.  The tarpon fly he created over the last few years for Cuba that has since turned out to fool every predator we show it to, from snook, jacks, dorado, to highly educated tarpon of Boca Grande. These latest versions have his own hand-made brushes, a hackle lateral line, flash that goes unnoticed at first, and hooks weighted to hold perfect keel. They’ve been swimming great in the tank we recently built.

Then the other night he finishes one on a Mustad Heritage hook he figured would ride just a touch higher because of the lighter weight of the hook. Drops it in expecting the usual magic.

Straight to the bottom.

We both stare at it like we just watched our dog forget how to sit. Quick test with a couple of proven Barry Whites: same thing. Sinking.

Turns out the cheap powerhead has been slowly dying and chose that moment to flat-line. The hook wasn’t too heavy; the current was just almost non-existent.

The new adjustable-flow powerhead is now on order and lands this Thursday.

That single moment is why, after all these years, the passion for the sport continues. A guy who’s been doing this since the 90s and a guy who grew up in it are still willing to be wrong, still willing to spend money on a better tool, still stupid-excited for Thursday’s mail so we can watch a pile of feathers and fur tied on a hook swim the way it’s supposed to.

There’s always something left to learn. The day we stop shrugging at a sunk fly and ordering the fix is the day the passion dies.

January peacocks are waiting, and the fire is alive!

Brazil is full, but you are in luck, we still have a few seats that have become available due to personal issues on prime Cuba Tarpon weeks and a couple other big-fish trips this season. If this kind of obsession sounds like your language, call or email before they’re gone. Let’s keep learning together.