It’s one of those nights. You know, one of those nights where you’re feeling a little apathetic and can’t truly be bothered doing anything. Just as you resign yourself to the fact that this is going to be one truly mundane and lonely evening, your phone does a little dance and vibrates across the coffee table. You pick up the shiny black piece of electronics and press it to your ear, relieving it of attention-getting duties. Just so happens one of your mates is headed for a brightly lit bridge to make the most of the king tides that night.The bridge hasn’t been kind to you before, having only managed the very odd fish for very few bites. Your mate on the other hand seems to have done fairly well in the past, and thinks that both tarpon and barra will be feeding pretty hard tonight. So, after a quick think, you ask yourself: What do I have to lose?The answer: sleep.Sleep that you can catch up on later on. Besides, it’s been a while since you caught a decent fish. So, the gear is gathered, bundled into the car, and off you go. The night starts fairly promisingly, with a school of above average tarpon appearing, and having a go. Bites are gotten, and one is hooked. But of course, as there is still a small primate with a long tail on your back, the hook falls out. The action then proceeds to both slow down, and become increasingly frustrating.The second time the tarpon turn up, you miss half a dozen bites. At this stage, morale has fallen out of the bottom of the world, and you disconsolately cast up against another pylon, rather closer to the bank than you would readily expect attention. Two barramundi disagree.After two more casts attracting more interest, your fly trailing in the current directly underneath the bridge proves the clincher. There’s a bite, a strip-strike, and some solid headshakes before a long, powerful run. The hook-up’s solid. It’s then you realise that the rod you’re holding, the rod currently bent over the bridge and trying its level best to lift a good fish in roaring current, is a 5wt. Not the 10wt you originally brought for the purpose, but the poor 5wt that you’ve pulled out to play with the tarpon. Just about then, as you become aware of your predicament, the fish arcs for a pylon. “LEFT!! MOVE LEFT!!”This is your good friend on the other side of the bridge coaching you through which way the fish is headed, ensuring that you do not lose this fish to a pylon.”RIGHT! MOVE RIGHT!!”Again, and again, the process is undergone, until finally, the fish slows, but still maintains position under the bridge. This is the time to test both your knots and your unfortunate rod to the limit. Hand on the reel, point down, and HEAVE. The fish moves. At last, its head is up, and in that adrenaline dripping moment, you know there is only one way to land this fish. Slide it over the water to the bank, go! go! go!”Slide! Slide! Slide!”The fish rests on a rock as your mate clambers down the other side of the bridge to secure the trophy. Another of your good friends holds the rod while you too sprint down to have a look at this fish. The night is golden, you have your prize, a very solid 71cm barramundi, landed under a bridge 7m above the water on a rod better suited to trout; The pain in your wrist, an insistent reminder that next time, the 10wt would be a better call.Photos are being taken, and congratulations and thanks handed around. Throughout all this you think to yourself. The photos have captured the images, but the memory of this entire, perfect experience has filled you with a warmth and energy that you hope will remain with you long after your memory needs jogging from photos.