Meredith McCord has caught just about everything you can hook on a fly rod. With 240 IGFA world records, three Ladies Tarpon Fly Tournament wins, and a global reputation as one of saltwater fly fishing’s most accomplished anglers, McCord has spent years traveling the world to chase some incredible fish. But the one species she keeps coming back to, no matter what her season holds? Tarpon.
We caught up with the “Silver Queen” to talk about what makes the Florida Keys so special, the lessons tarpon have taught her, and why patience may be the most important piece of gear an angler can bring to the bow.
What was your first tarpon encounter like, and what made you fall in love with chasing the Silver King?
Well there’s tarpon, and then there are Keys tarpon—they’re two completely different fish, in my mind.
What’s the difference?
Tarpon in Belize and Mexico are easier to catch. They’re way more aggressive—they’ll swim out six feet to eat your fly. In the Keys, if your fly isn’t coming perfectly at a 45-degree angle across their face in the right direction, at the right speed, you might as well have nothing at the end of your fly line. It’s crazy—they’re not kind, which makes them way more challenging.
Okay, so what was your first experience catching a Keys’ tarpon like?
My first real Keys tarpon came in 2011 after some friends at the Bonefish & Tarpon Trust Symposium encouraged me to fish in Florida. They were like, ‘I can’t believe you’ve saltwater fished all over the world, but never in Florida—why don’t you stay on a few days and fish with Paul”—it happened to be Paul Tajera. So, Paul took me on a bonefishing trip in Biscayne Bay. The weather was terrible, and the fishing was slow, but by the end of the trip Paul told me, ‘You look like you have the ability to tarpon fish in Florida. Why don’t you come back in April, and I’ll take you tarpon fishing?’
So I flew back to the Keys by myself a few months later, and it turned into one of the most memorable fishing trips of my life. Paul was an incredible teacher. He coached me through every cast, every strip, every jump, and every mistake. Over three days, I landed two migratory tarpon—one around 80 pounds and another just under 100. He even filmed the whole experience and put together a little video for me that I still have on my website.
You’ve caught just about every fish imaginable, yet you continue to come back to tarpon. What keeps drawing you back year after year?
The moment you hook into a tarpon, and you see that giant, 5-gallon bucket mouth open up and take a tiny shrimp fly, there’s just nothing else like it. When they jump, it’s just incredible—that’s what distinguishes tarpon from almost any other inshore saltwater species. There’s no other flats fish I can think of that jumps and performs and does acrobatics like a tarpon. That’s what draws me back to fishing for them—seeing them just rocket out of the water. Plus, once you see these 100-pound fish swimming in that shallow, clear water, it’s hard not to want to go back and fish for them, even when they’re being tough. It’s like a drug.
Your career has taken you around the world—what are some valuable lessons you’ve learned along the way?
Patience. Tarpon fishing isn’t for impatient people, and honestly, that’s probably the biggest thing I’ve had to work on as an angler. I think the same is true for permit fishing—it really comes with saltwater. You can spend all day looking and never find a fish, or you can find fish all day long and have every single one refuse your fly. That can make for some really tough days. You have to be an eternal optimist—you have to believe that around the next point, the next cove, or the next sandbar is going to be the fish that finally eats. If you lose that mindset, tarpon fishing will wear you down.
Tournament tarpon fishing is not a sport for the physically weak. You’ve got to be able to quickly land huge fish and then go and quickly catch another big fish. And you also have to be willing to stand on the bow all day in the blazing sun. We always joke that you know it’s tarpon season when you’ve got sweat running down your butt crack. That’s just part of the deal.
It is super physical—how do you even train for something like that?
Tarpon fishing is super physical, so number one, you’ve got to be physically fit. I stay in the gym to be ready for tarpon season, focusing on core and balance; they’re everything. I even train on a BOSU ball to mimic standing on the bow in 30‑mile‑per‑hour wind and big chop. From there, it’s about learning how to play the fish and land it quickly by using your rod and reel—your tools—instead of trying to muscle it with just your arms. Everyone wants to fight tarpon with their arms, but it’s really their legs and core doing the work. And then it all comes down to rod angles and drag: if you point the rod straight at the fish, you can put way more pressure on it than when the rod is high, and I’m always adjusting my drag throughout the fight. You should be using your drag system and your rod angles to fight the fish, not your arms.
You really need to practice to land a fish quickly. People think that because I’ve caught all these world records that I’m wearing out these fish and using too light of tippet. And my response to that negativity is—if I’m being honest—you don’t know how to play fish. For all 240 of my records, my average fight time is 2 minutes and 40 seconds.
With my ladies I coach, I actually teach how to fight fast with a scale. I’ll hook it to the end of the fly line and have them pull like they’re fighting a fish. Then I’ll ask, ‘How much do you think you’re pulling?’ They’ll say, ‘I don’t know, I’m on 16‑pound test, I feel like I’m about to break it,’ when they’re actually pulling 2.5 pounds of pressure. Then I have them dial down the drag, point the rod straight at me, and I’ll pull line off the reel while they hold on. I’ll ask again, ‘How much do you think I’m pulling now?’ and they’ll say, ‘Oh my gosh, twenty pounds, I’m shocked this isn’t breaking,’ and they’re really only fighting with 8.5 pounds of pressure. That’s the lesson: learning the true strength of your tippet.
Conservation has become inseparable from tarpon fishing. What gives you hope for the future of the fishery, and where do you think anglers still have work to do?
First, I have to give huge shout‑outs to Captains for Clean Water and Bonefish & Tarpon Trust—they’re both doing the hard work to help these fish.
On the water, the biggest change I see is pressure. There are spots in the Keys that everyone knows are one‑boat spots—maybe two at most—and when you start cramming more skiffs in there, you’re not just cutting off other anglers, you’re changing fish behavior. These fish feel that pressure. A lot of them are starting to swim out deeper and skipping the flats entirely.
I’ve seen a model work in Ascension Bay, Mexico. Down there, they’ve essentially capped the number of commercial guide boats that can operate in the fishery. It’s treated almost like a commercial license system: only so many guiding boats can fish that area. You might only get a handful of tarpon shots in a day, but those fish eat beautifully, and the pressure is managed.
I believe Florida should especially adopt a higher out‑of‑state guide fee, similar to the one in Louisiana. It gets tricky with limiting folks’ access to the water, but I think in Florida particularly, if you’re trailering in from elsewhere to work that fishery, you should be contributing more. It won’t fix everything, but it will make people think twice about running down for a couple of weeks to hammer on those fish.
Any advice for folks brave enough to take on the Silver King?
Don’t just show up without practicing. You wouldn’t go bow hunting without shooting your arrows at a target—it’s the same with casting at tarpon, or any kind of technical species. Practice with the same gear you would use on the water—a 10- or an 11-weight rod and a fly with the hook cut off. And don’t just cast at a hula hoop or a patch of grass—have a target that represents a fish, so you know where to strip your fly. That’s my biggest piece of advice for anyone who wants to go tarpon fishing.