March 2005
Sight fishing with a fly rod is a specialized sport. Compared to most other methods of fishing, it's a masochistic sport. The measure of a nice day is having a legitimate shot at a few fish. A good day is actually getting your fly in front of a fish and having him turn on it with interest before spotting the boat and leaving town faster than Bonnie and Clyde after a bank heist. A great day is sighting the fish before he sees you, making a perfect presentation and working the fly to entice a strike followed by a quick, clean fight and ending with a few photos and safe release. This first day of Spring was a great day.
It didn't start out that way. A couple of days earlier a record breaking five inches of rain washed a dry season's worth of detritus into the Pine Island Sound back country. Conditions were impossible for sight fishing at the first spot I picked. We idled through a few creeks and small lakes only slightly encouraged by the jumping bait and big wakes of our prey fleeing through the murky water.
While I was trying to formulate plan B we turned the corner into a small lake with an opening into the sound. The flood tide had brought in clear water providing perfect visibility in one small corner. The only problem was, last Summer's Hurricane Charley had roared through the same opening from the sound and left numerous mangrove hazards to negotiate. Plan B was still a guess less clear than the water at my first spot. We decided to give this a go. At least we could see the bottom, only eight inches below the surface. Suddenly, the water exploded 200 feet away in the back of the lake as a snook ate out in the open. We were in super stealth mode as I poled us into the shallowest corner but we were having problems. Even though we were protected by a lee shore the wind was gusting and swirling against Angie's casting arm. And it's hard to be stealthy with the bottom of the boat crunching the flat. When Black Fly runs out of water, you're talking about fishing skinny!
We knew this corner. It had produced a fine redfish just a few weeks before under almost the same conditions. Today, our snook had given himself away when he crashed the whitebait. We knew he was there but not where. We only knew that he was deep in the corner and that we were directly in his escape path. If he saw, or more probably, felt us, he would flee.
I had to remind myself to breathe as we literally inched Black Fly deeper into the corner. This could very well be the opportunity that determined whether we had a nice day or great day. We saw the fish simultaneously when he barely moved to the right along the mangroves headed deeper into the cove.
Angie raised the rod to start her cast but the snook seemed a little nervous as he turned left, slowly headed out of the corner. A strong gust blew Black Fly sideways into a clump of mangrove debris making a scraping sound that must have sounded like a siren in the water.
Barely able to breathe, I pushed us back clear of the dead branch and set up for another entry. The air was still as we made the second approach. The snook was still there, even deeper in the cove, now facing left and open water as if ready to bolt.
Angie set up the presentation with a false cast away from the fish then parachuted the Tabory Snake fly ten feet in front of his face. "Too far away," I thought. The moment the fly hit the water the snook exploded toward the fly and open bay beyond. Before the thought "spooked" formulated in my mind, the snook raised his head out of the water and ate the fly off the surface.
Angie cleared her fly line as the snook slalomed out of the cove through the dead mangrove branches. Time skipped several heartbeats as the fish was soon over a hundred feet into her backing still headed for deeper water. Wisely, she stepped down off the casting deck into the boat as I furiously poled after the fish. She knows boat is light and is easy to push out from under her.
We accelerated after the snook as fast as Angie could retrieve the backing. Fortunately, the reduced pressure slowed the fish and we were soon upon him in open water. We were amazed at the un-snook like behavior that kept him from seeking sanctuary in the multitude of structure around us. Angie fought the fish quickly to boat side.
This slot snook was ours. We used our every sense and angling skill to find, lure and catch him. The catch photo is a proud moment signaling the end of the hunt.
There is a difference between a fish caught by hopefully casting bait into the water and one that is hunted, found and stalked. Seeing the fish swimming freely, trying to match its environment and deciding how to present your lure builds a relationship with the fish. You learn some of his nature, how he moves, almost how he thinks. If, somehow, you can manage to bring such a fish to the boat, you have found a friend and put a finger upon nature's soul.
A few seconds carefully shared and this special fish must be allowed to swim freely. A few photos and story is all that is needed to make a memory of a lifetime.
Indeed, this first day of Spring was a great day . . .
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