You might be married to an exiled south Florida fishing nut when, during football season:
1. On the first Sunday in recent memory you actually get to sleep late, your fishing nut suddenly bolts upright and exclaims with panic “Crap, I’ve gotta go to Hooters.” (The only place in town a Dolphin fan can cheer on his team in peace.)

2. The days the Fins are on regular TV are national holidays and not to be defiled with any kind of untoward, productive activity.

For an angler, the day never holds as much promise as when viewed from midstream at first light. When I stepped into the river the world was still shades of gray. But with the lightening sky, shapes flat and indistinct became bankside willows, yellow and pale green; peaks ochre and brown and slate; sand and gravel bars bleached-bone white and flecked with silver mica.

This remote location is so distant it requires multiple plane trips to Murmansk, and another two-hour flight in a helicopter over desolate Russian tundra to reach the Kola Peninsula. From there it’s a few more days to reach Ponoi—where wonders await.

It’s the moment when you lift off into the unknown that a fishing trip like this really starts. I totally get that the Seychelles are one of the world’s most desirable hot weather holiday and honeymoon destinations, but to me they will always be synonymous with some of the best saltwater flats fishing to be found anywhere on this earth.