Both men can relax now. Or perhaps reflect on how, during the tail-roping attempt, the shark grabbed a mouthful of fiberglass.

Sharks readily see and eat gaudy, fully dressed flies, and apparently, like a little gel coat for dessert.

Within minutes, they’re heading back to the dock where the shark will be weighed, measured and released. At one point, Arostegui will actually jump in the water and attempt to revive it. No doubt, everyone at the dock is in for a show.

Several years ago, I had my own close encounter of the worst kind.

I was fishing for bonefish in The Bahamas at the time, and can still remember the wind. Visibility was practically nonexistent, which made the going tough. However, on the third morning my guide poled us into a cove where a rim of loblollies provided a modicum of shelter.

I’ll never forget it. Everything had a yellowish tint, including the pocked mud bottom which closely resembled that of a redfish warren. The air was redolent with sulfides, but for a change, it carried a note of promise. As proof, when my eyes adjusted I was able to make out the shapes of several lemon sharks, which all looked to be around 100 pounds apiece. I watched as first one, then the others approached.

Everything downshifted into slow motion. I’d watched several minutes earlier as one shark attacked a bonefish. The ferocity was riveting; in fact, the blood was only now beginning to dissipate. By now, I could practically taste the menace. I might add that I’d cast to sharks before, but had only encountered refusals in spite of my repeated attempts.

This time I was ready. I’d seen sharks the day before and decided to bring along a second outfit rigged with a large, double-hooked billfish fly. It was a 10-weight and inadequate by today’s standards. But as I was about to discover, it was fare sufficient for the piscatorial ride of my life. A fired-up shark engulfed my fly on the second cast. What happened next was tantamount to witnessing a drag race from the starting line. I’ll spare the details by stating that the shark nearly emptied my reel before slowing and eventually letting me lead it to the boat. I was whipped. But not too worn out to jump onto the flat and attempt to unhook the writhing creature which, by now, was firmly impaled on both hooks of the streamer. It was a big mistake. As soon as I removed the fly, the shark turned and made a determined grab for my leg. I was able to push it away the first time. However, a series of repeated attempts convinced me that the only practical recourse lay in a hasty retreat. I made a leap for the casting deck, which put the shark off its mark. I was safe. Still, my departure didn’t keep the enraged lemon from turning on the boat and extracting a grinding mouthful of gel coat.

My guide was speechless. But who wouldn’t be?

Sharks have an attitude, which reminds me of another trip with guides Andy Novak and Brian Sanders of Fort Lauderdale. We’d headed offshore of Chokoloskee Island in hopes of hooking a really big shark in deep water.

It was my first experience with chumming. As it turned out, Brian managed to hook an estimated 300-pound hammerhead that he fought for several minutes before the hook straightened out. It was a tough break. However, I learned about what it takes to lure big sharks within flycasting range.

The secret—and hardly a revelation—is chumming. Before setting up, we went to the trouble of capturing several large barracudas and butterflying their carcasses. These we roped and hung over the side on a cleat. Chumming is dicey business. Once they’re excited, sharks will literally climb aboard in an attempt to get at the chum. Andy had to rip the cuda away to get the shark interested in the fly. It worked. The result deserves a place in fly fishing’s all-time adrenaline annals. We all bemoaned the loss of the hammerhead, but I eventually managed to hook and land a nasty little blacktip that bloodied several knuckles and transformed my forearms into a pair of lifeless, protoid blobs. At this point, my conversion was complete.