By Casey R. Smartt

On a dreary December morning several months ago I stepped aboard Captain Scott Sommerlatte’s skiff for a day of fly fishing.  Although Scott often ventures into thin water in search of cruising reds and trout, we were going to try something different.  A week earlier, Scott had phoned me with an invitation.  “This will be low-key fishing.  Let’s just take the skiff, work some deep holes along the channel, and see what happens.”  It sounded good to me.  In reality, neither of us was sure if we would catch a darn thing, and frankly it didn’t really matter if we did.  We just wanted to get on the water.

The skies were heavy and a damp breeze gently pushed across the coastal scrub as we pulled away from the boat ramp and motored down the intracoastal waterway.  We soon met a large barge and eased aside to let it pass.  I watched as group of gulls hovered above the barge’s massive prop wash, squawking as they always do over the churned up bits of possible food.  We pushed on, and after a short drive Scott idled down the motor and positioned the boat to make a slow drift down a steep oyster-lined shoreline.

The banks along this stretch of channel were particularly unforgiving.  Riddled with driftwood and carved by storms and surges of water, they had clearly been shaped by powerful natural forces.
Where the steep banks leveled off to flat ground, broad pools of standing water left little doubt that any warm blooded creature venturing across them would quickly be covered in biting insects.  It was the type of country that really made you pity the Indians who once lived in it and the explorers who landed on it.

As the tide began to ebb we quietly drifted on the shoulders of the incoming current.  I punched casts at scattered mullet flicking on the surface, imagining unseen predators below.  Over the next few hours I hooked a couple of small reds, traded flies a few times, and missed a strike or two that telegraphed up from the deep green water.  We eventually motored down the shoreline a bit farther, and as a light rain began to fall Scott took a turn on the bow.  Up ahead, I could see a bend in the shoreline and several abrupt sandbars.  The deep troughs running next to them had a look that would compel almost any angler to make a cast.

As Scott’s boat silently approached the bars, I heard a tell-tale, “Oh yeah,” and turned to see him hooked up on a solid fish.  The fish made a few deep runs and then swirled at the surface.   When it did, we both saw the charcoal and silver flashes of a big trout.  Scott fought the trout for a few minutes and then carefully eased it up to the side of the boat.  The trout was fat… really fat, and looked like it easily weighed 5 pounds.  It had a beautiful metallic color, strangely like a big steelhead in the cold wet air.  I snapped a few photographs and Scott revived the trout, letting it slip out of his hands as it burst back into the frigid water.  Scott and I took a break from fishing, had a bite to eat, and watched waves of doves buzz across the water, bound for their scrubby roosts.

As I watched the birds whiz past, I thought back to a time years ago when I worked as a hunting guide.  It was one of the most difficult and rewarding jobs I have ever had.  I learned a lot about people and a lot about myself during those years.  I also learned many lessons about the outdoors.  One lesson, though, has stuck with me more than all the rest- it is often better to let things happen than to try to make them happen.

The man who vividly illustrated this to me was a Viet Nam veteran- a sniper.  Although he did not discuss his past, I knew he had survived unimaginable and unspeakable events.  But what I remember most about this gentleman was what he taught me about the power of observation.  Like no hunter I have ever met, he could position himself and stay motionless for hours at a time.  And he was quite comfortable doing it.  I remember days where we crawled under the cover of a tree or brush pile in the pre-dawn darkness and stayed there until dusk without moving… at all.  From our observation points we would watch deer, coyotes, bobcats, turkeys and all sorts of other animals come and go.  Woodpeckers hammered away at their trees, and squirrels squabbled and dug for buried acorns.  Those trips were physically challenging, but some of the most fulfilling I ever had.

But in all the time we hunted together this man never fired a shot.  It was clear he didn’t want to.  One evening I asked him why and he said, “Because I want to see what’s going to happen next.”  That idea has stayed with me over the years, and has brought me some unforgettable experiences.  It has made me realize so many things I subconsciously knew about the outdoors and the power it has to connect you to your past, affirm the future, and put your soul at ease.

And so as I sat on the bow of the Scott’s boat taking a break from fishing, the rewards were all around us- the sounds of the marsh, the flights of birds overhead, and the opportunity to catch a trout and watch it swim away.  Once again I was keenly aware that sometimes nature has a better gift in store for you than the one you came for.  You just have to let it be.

Here is an easy way to make multi-colored 3D eyes for your flies.  You can make them any size and any color including fluorescent and glow-in-the-dark.  Get the paints at Hobby Lobby or Walmart.  The key to making the eyes is to give them a light tap from underneath (see video).  This smooths and rounds the paint dollop before it dries.

About 10 years ago, I tied a really gnarly looking Clouser Minnow with a body made from a fat clump of silver Krystal Flash.  The pattern defied the typical less-is-more design proven to be so effective on Clouser Minnows.  But, it looked good in the water and it caught the heck out of fish.  Because it was a big, silver, flashy fly, I called it a “Chrome Clouser.”

Like so many flies, the Chrome Clouser has evolved and morphed over time.  I quit adding belly fibers and exchanged the grey bucktail accent across the back on the original for grey synthetic fibers.  Eventually the white lead dumbell eyes on the early versions were replaced with stainless beadchain eyes which were non-toxic, less expensive, and more durable.  The standard Mustad #2 34007 hook was also replaced with a sticky Eagle Claw 413 jig hook.  This upturned eye of the EC 413 made the fly even better for slipping over over solid structure like rocks and shell and ensured the fly never spun or turned sideways during a fast retrieve.  One thing stayed the same however… the fat clump of Krystal Flash which I believe mostly accounts for the fly’s success.

Because this pattern has changed from what was essentially a Clouser minnow into a fly that shares elements of the Clouser Minnow and many other patterns, I now just call it a Chrome Minnow.  But most certainly it’s roots are in the hook-up, eye-down, jig-like Clouser design.  It is difficult to say how many fish I have caught with Chrome Clousers and Chrome Minnows over the past 10 years, but it easily numbers in the thousands.  It has proven to be an outstanding pattern in both fresh and saltwater.  In fact, I think the only fish I have not caught with it is a common carp.

A few tips on tying this fly are: 1) Be sure not to crowd the eye of hook with the stainless eyes or the materials, 2) Use a little Hard-as-nails or other cement on the thread wraps between each step, 3) Trim the Krystal Flash so you get a good taper to the shape of the fly.

Materials

Hook: Eagle Claw EC413 #2 or equivalent

Thread: Uni med clear nylon mono

Body:  Large clump of tapered silver Krystal Flash

Back:  Slender clump of grey Fishair

Eyes: Med. stainless steel bead chain

The Meaty Minnow is a new slow-sinking baitfish pattern I’ve been working on. It’s made from craft fur and flash material. The head of the fly is dubbed from craft fur and trimmed to shape. This fly can be tied in solid colors (chartreuse is great) or in multi-colored versions (shaded with Prismacolor permanent markers) like the ones shown above.  The unique eyes on the Meaty Minnow are made from strung plastic beadchain, either in solid black bead chain or colored bead chain with pupils painted on them. Learn how to make the eyes here.

This Meaty Minnow is good for largemouth bass, striped bass, smallmouth bass, speckled trout, and redfish.  It’s tied on a Mustad C68SZ hook or a Gamakatsu Octopus Circle hook in sizes #2 to 1/0.

Materials:
Hook- #2 to 1/0 Mustad C68SZ tarpon hook, or Gamakatsu Octopus Circle
Thread- clear nylon mono
Eyes- strung plastic beadchain
Tail- craft fur
Tail flash- Polar Flash
Body- dubbed/trimmed craft fur

Fished Canyon this afternoon with my buddy Jon Fisher from San Antonio.  It was a beautiful day on the water.  Skies were clear and the winds were light.  Jon and I launched our kayaks at the Jacob’s Creek boat ramp and fished the main channel of Jacobs Creek for most of the afternoon (spots 1 & 2 on map).

This area typically holds stripers from early December until early February.  As we had hoped, the fish we there and we each caught numerous stripers.  One heavy blue cat was also caught (spot 3 on map).

We were throwing 8wt. tackle, fast sinking lines, and a large shad patterns including a new one based on a Toadfly design tied on a jig hook.

The fish were suspended at 10-25ft. for most of the afternoon and then moved shallower and began to surface feed along the shorelines at sunset (spot 4 on map).

By Casey R. Smartt

So often it seems there is more to catching fish than simply dropping great looking lures in front of them.  Consider this common scenario- Two guys with equal angling skills are fishing side by side.  They are using identical tackle and casting the same flies into a fish-filled channel.  For one guy the bite is on.  He’s catching fish on every other cast and happily giving his buddy a play-by-play of each fish he lands.  The other guy, sadly, hasn’t caught a fish all morning.  The harder he tries the more hopeless it seems, and he’s beginning to get a little tired of the whole situation.  If it were not for his partner’s obvious success, he probably would have moved spots a long time ago.  Strangely enough, this sort of thing happens frequently.  But why?  Unless the lucky fisherman is spiking his fly with shrimp juice, the answer is probably presentation. 

“Presentation” is the way an angler delivers a lure or bait to a fish.  A fly’s location, direction, speed, and action all combine to create presentation.  A good presentation can either make a fly look like natural prey, or it can trigger an instinct that compels a fish to bite.  Good presentations are sometimes made by accident, but anglers who consistently make effective presentations across a wide array of conditions put a lot of practice and thought into what they do.  This month we’ll take a look at a few ways you can improve your presentation skills.

Visualize

Location (where you place the fly) is the first and most obvious component of presentation.  Each time you make a cast, you are targeting a strike zone.  If you can see the fish, you have should have a clear vision of the strike zone and where the fly needs to land. It’s a 2 dimensional game.  If you make a good clean cast and don’t spook the fish, you have a good chance of catching him.

But when you are fishing in deep or murky waters you cannot see the fish and must rely on your instincts and experience to visualize strike zones.  Now your presentation becomes a 3-dimensional puzzle encompassing distance and depth.  Are the fish you are targeting likely to be suspended?  Are they hugging the edge of a channel or a deep bar waiting for food to wash by?  Are they lurking at or near the bottom?  These are questions you should ask yourself when you are staring across a new piece of water, planning your approach and envisioning strike zones.

Predators are seldom evenly and arbitrarily scattered across a broad swath of water.  Rather, they position themselves in specific areas to conserve energy, to avoid being seen, and to ambush prey.  Envision the contours of the bottom and the areas where channels and currents intersect.  Are there oysters, submerged structures, or hidden edges?  Visualize where you think the fish are located along these features and try to reach them with your fly.

Let the Fly Do Its Work

From the loudest popper to the softest Seaducer, each fly is designed to do a specific thing.  Know what that thing is and let the fly work for you.  For example, consider the spoonfly.  The spoonfly is perhaps one of the hardest working flies around.  It wobbles, it flashes, it darts and dips.  It also catches a lot of fish.  But a spoonfly does some of its best work when the retrieve stops and the fly stalls and flutters to the bottom, without input from the angler.  In essence, the same is true of a Clouser Deep Minnow- many of the strikes come on the fall.  But this won’t happen unless the angler significantly pauses the retrieve and lets the fly fall.

Benthic patterns like crabs, worms, and some shrimp flies have a challenging job.  They are designed to nestle into or skip over the bottom and trick what can sometimes be very wary fish.  Benthic patterns must be weedless and are dressed to be seen but not “too seen.”  They usually have features like feelers, small spots of color, or rubber legs that grab the attention of passers-by without completely blowing their cover.  Of all flies, benthic patterns will undergo the most scrutiny before they are eaten.  Let their natural actions work for you.  When allowed to sit on the bottom, these patterns can be very effective, especially on frustrating species like black drum and sheephead.  The naturally fluid fibers of most benthic patterns will wave and pulse seductively.  Remember, these flies are designed for the sand and mud.  Put them there and let them work their magic.

Alter Your Retrieve

Fleeing baitfish and shrimp do not swim in a constant steady motion.   Neither should your fly.  Watch what your retrieving hand is doing.  Are you making a steady strip… pause…. strip… pause…?  Change it up.  Erratic retrieves are almost always more natural looking than steady ones, simply because nature does not go in a straight line.  Try making more short twitches and staccato style strips with uneven pauses in between.  You will be surprised how well fish will respond to these.

Likewise, altering the speed of your retrieve can often garner great results.  Some fish (especially fast swimming pelagics) almost always prefer a fast retrieve- as fast as you can make it.  They won’t touch a slow moving fly but will nab one that’s zipping through the water column.  I recall fishing for stripers over open water once when the only way we could get a strike was to use a blazing fast hand-over-hand retrieve.  The stripers wanted the presentation fast and if you gave it to them they would strike.

On the other hand, there are times when a painfully slow suspended presentation is highly effective.  Think “Corky” here.  Big trout… cold water.  But whether you are fishing for bonito or black drum, remember- the primary goal of the retrieve is not bring the fly back to you so you can cast it again… it is to make the fly look alive so you can catch a fish.

Perhaps one of the most overlooked ways to impart good action into flies is to tie them on with a loop knot.  It amazes me how much of a difference this makes in the movement of flies, especially when using heavy leaders or tippets, or very small flies.  A loop knot forms a smooth swivel point between the hook eye and the leader.  This allows the fly to wobble, dip, and dart without spinning.  If you need proof, simply tie your favorite fly on with a loop knot, make a retrieve, and then tie it the same fly on with a conventional knot and make a retrieve.  I’ll guarantee you’ll see the difference.  The loop knot is a terrific asset, and I honestly can’t think of any flies that do not benefit from it.

Until next month, keep working on your presentation.  Visualize the fish, get your fly in the strike zone, and make a lifelike retrieve.  These are techniques that will benefit you whenever and wherever you choose to fish.

By Casey R. Smartt

More than 20 years ago, I watched my first video camera go belly up in the Guadalupe River.  We were canoeing down a particularly nasty stretch of the river with the camera stowed in an aluminum case in the center of the canoe.  We got sideways in the current, the canoe flipped, and the camera box went downstream.  The box bobbed in the current for a minute or two and then slipped below the surface.  We retrieved the box further down the river… all 25 soaking pounds of it.  Water poured out when I opened the lid.  It wasn’t pretty.  As an insolvent college student who really shouldn’t have spent the money on that camera in the first place, it was a hard lesson.

But waterproofing technology has come a long way in 20 years.  These days, waterproof cameras and waterproof cases are better built, more widely available, and more affordable than ever before.  That’s great news for anglers and outdoorsmen who want to take their cameras on the water without an eminent fear of ruining them.  This month we’ll take a look at a few cool waterproof cameras and waterproof cases designed to handle the rigors of the rugged and wet outdoors.

Lifeproof Case for the iPhone 4

Not long ago, photos taken with the lowly cell phone were pretty crappy.  But manufacturers have continually improved the onboard cameras in these devices and many are now quite good.  When you consider the option of editing photos within the phone and the ability to instantly send the photos electronically, the modern cell phone becomes a strong player in the camera world.

One inherent problem, though, with using phones on the water is the very real fear they’ll get wet, ruining the phone and all its contents.  It’s a significant deterrent.  But, if you happen to own an iPhone there is a solution.  It’s called the Lifeproof case.  The Lifeproof case for the iPhone protects the phone from water, snow, dirt, and shock (what the company calls the “4 Proofs”).  Not only does the Lifeproof case provide a solid protective covering, it also allows the phone to remain fully functional.  You can make calls, take photos, and operate the touchscreen normally while the phone is inside the case.

The Lifeproof case is slim and unobtrusive and the build quality seems reasonably good, offering protection against water intrusion to a depth of 6 feet.  I have been using a Lifeproof case for several months and it has performed as advertised.  My only complaint is that the case seems to slightly muffle sounds coming and going through the phone.  This makes it a little tough to hear callers and for them to hear you in windy conditions or when there is a lot of background noise.  But, if you frequently carry your iPhone into wet locations it’s a fair trade.  The Lifeproof case for the iPhone sells for $69.95.

Waterproof Compact Point and Shoot Cameras

Waterproof point and shoot digital cameras have been around for nearly 10 years and have become widely popular.  Most of these cameras have solid plastic or metal bodies to protect against impact and access ports outfitted with O-rings or neoprene gaskets to protect against water intrusion.  Generally speaking, these cameras are built to withstand dust, dirt, freezing temperatures, impacts from 6-foot drops, and water intrusion to depths of around 30 feet.  New waterproof point and shoot cameras come out each year and it’s easy to get lost in the details and specifications when comparing them, as nearly all major camera manufacturers offer a waterproof model in their point-and-shoot line.  I am not going to try to cover every waterproof camera on the market, but I’ll mention two very good ones- The Canon Powershot D10, and the  Olympus Stylus Tough-8010.

Both cameras offer similar protection against drops, freezing weather, and water intrusion.  The Olympus Stylus Tough-8010 takes it one step farther and is crush-proof to220 lbs.  The Stylus is also slimmer than the Powershot and records 720 HD video, while the plump little Powershot only records video in standard definition.  The photo quality in both cameras is good, but the Powershot is slightly better than the Stylus, with sharper images and more vivid colors.  I have also found the buttons and controls on the Powershot easier to manipulate on the water or while wearing gloves.  Overall you really can’t go wrong with either of these proven high-quality waterproof cameras. The Olympus Stylus Tough-8010 sells for around $250.00 and the Canon Powershot D10 sells for $299.00.

GoPro HD Hero Video Camera

I have owned a few different compact waterproof video cameras over the years and have been pleased with the performance of most of them.  But hands-down, my favorite is the GoPro HD Hero video camera.  This camera is seriously cool.  The GoPro HD is housed in a small but virtually indestructible waterproof polycarbonate housing that can be clamped, strapped, or suctioned to nearly anything.  The housing is waterproof to over 100 ft. and can withstand high drops and high-speed crashes.  A selection of adapter mounts is included with the GoPro HD Hero camera and mounts are also sold individually.

The GoPro Hero HD will record 1080p HD video at 30 frames per second and 720p HD video at 60 frames per second.  The resolution and color saturation of recorded HD video is very good and the overall quality rivals any other compact HD video camera I have seen.  The GoPro HD also records still photos at a resolution of 5 megapixels and can be programed to snap photos automatically at 2, 5, 10, 30, and 60 second intervals.  The GoPro HD housing is equipped with a super wide angle lens and it captures a lot of real estate (170 deg on 720p and 127 deg on 1080p).  This lens also has the inherent effect of “absorbing” camera-shake, so even under very rough conditions video lacks that disturbing “shakiness.”  The GoPro HD Hero is a perfect camera to mount to your kayak or to the console of your boat.  It’s available in several different packages and is priced around $299.00.

Ikelite Waterproof Camera Housings

If you want the absolute best waterproofing protection for your camera equipment, consider looking at Ikelite’s line of waterproof housings.  Ikelite manufactures top of the line housings for a wide array of compact and SLR cameras- think “Jacques Cousteau” here.  These housings are exceedingly well built and rated for use at depths of well over100 ft.  Ikelite also makes strobes and a variety of other accessories to go with their camera housings.  Ikelite housings start at around $300.00.

A Word of Caution

When it comes to waterproof cameras and housings, the reality is that most failures are due to user error or lack of maintenance.  Seals and fittings will fail if they are not properly cared for, and manufacturers will almost never cover the cost of your camera if their housing fails.  Sad but true.  With that in mind, no matter which waterproof camera or camera housing you use, make absolutely sure you follow the manufactures operating, care, and maintenance procedures.  This will help keep your equipment safe and sound for the long haul.     

Here is a short time lapse of the Plaza in New Braunfels, TX. Composed of 500 still shots captured with a Canon S95 point-and-shoot camera, and edited to play at 25 fps. Camera was anchored to a rotating egg timer set for 15 min.

Playing around with time lapse… this is a first effort. Not great but kind of fun.

Nothing fancy here… just me and my two boys having fun kayaking with the GoPro camera on a short stretch of the S. Llano River near Junction, TX, Oct. 2011.  The S. Llano is a beautiful river that runs for many miles through the Texas Hill Country.

By Casey R. Smartt

I was kayak fishing with friends recently on a sultry morning near Corpus Christi.  It was one of those days where the flats were hot, still, and silent.  We had spent the better part of the day paddling and searching the shallows, with little to show.  The lifeless flats and stifling temperatures had slowly whittled away our concentration.  As lunchtime approached we were wiping our brows and quietly acknowledging our angling adventure had been reduced to nothing more than a steaming hot kayak trip with a lot of miles left to go.  But then we had a stroke of luck.  Our path crossed a big school of redfish, writhing and cruising in the shallows near a small secondary channel.   “Finally” I thought, as I quietly slipped the anchor in.

I eased out of the boat and stripped off some line.  It was a perfect set up.  The school was quartering slowly toward us, like a giant target.  I made a nice clean cast, dropping the fly a few feet in front of the leading fish.  But my hopes fizzled as I watched the entire school split and deliberately swim past my fly as though it were a fencepost in the middle of the trail.  In disbelief I shot another cast and again the school split, uninterested.  The fish slid silently past us but did not spook.  Instead, they made a slow steady circle and came by a second time… and then a third.  We kept casting but still we could not catch them.

Over the next hour we cast nearly every fly we had at those goofy fish.  Glaze-eyed and strong-willed, they just kept swimming in big circles like hypnotized salmon, barely flinching as flies rained down on them again and again.  It was as though their dial was stuck on “swim.” I finally managed to tag one with a chrome baitfish pattern, but could not repeat it.

Eventually we had enough.  Exhausted and defeated, we shook our heads and bailed on the zombie school of redfish.  It was one of those experiences that can rattle your confidence and make you reconsider how much you think you know about catching fish.

Why did those redfish behave that way?  Why would a mob of predators pass up an easy meal, over and over again?  Were they full?  Sick? Perhaps the slack mid-day tides, or the tepid water, or the full moon shut them down.  Or maybe it was none of those things.  That evening we sat around a table full of fly tying materials and vises and tried to come up with the answer.   The only thing we knew for sure was we had paddled a long way, found some fish, and couldn’t catch them.  In retrospect, we probably needed a day like that to keep us honest but it was a tough pill to swallow.

The following morning we headed out at daylight and paddled to an area near where we had seen the school of reds.  We were joined by Corpus Christi angler Austin Orr.  Austin is an expert distance caster and has remained unbeaten for many seasons in the biannual Fly Casting Contest at Roy’s Bait and Tackle.  I keep telling Austin I’ll beat him, ”Next time.”   So far it hasn’t happened.   Austin spends much of his time fishing on foot, throwing shooting heads at pelagic species like kings and jacks from the jetties.  If you have ever fly fished from the jetties you know how rough it can be.  Waves, barnacles, knee-gouging rocks…  Fly fishing from the jetties is a tough gig but Austin’s good at it.

As we pushed slowly across the flats, there was an obvious lack of activity- no wind and no bait.  It did not look very promising  but the tide was starting to flood and that, at least, was in our favor.  We pulled around the front of a large slough and paddled toward a wide bottleneck where a scattered group of islands met the main shoreline.  It was really a nice spot, with a hard sandy bottom and just enough low grass to hold shrimp and crabs.  The water was only a few inches deep in places and I could hear my kayak hiss as it brushed over the sand and weeds.  Austin stood up and poled his kayak over the shallow water to get a better vantage point and we all hoped things would start happening.

Up ahead I noticed a few surface wrinkles radiating from the bank… then a few more.  It was a good sign.  We paddled a bit closer and suddenly four redfish came into view.  They were about 75 yards away and had their backs completely out of the water.  We anchored our boats and quietly waded closer.  I fired a small brown shrimp pattern up ahead of the first fish.  The red turned and exploded on the fly.  At first I thought I had spooked him but when line started ripping through my fingers I knew the fish was on.  A few minutes later, Austin made an effortless long cast and landed his fly right on the mark of a second fish grinding through the sand.  The fish surged forward and with a “chuck” sound, inhaled the fly.  Austin’s reel zinged.  It was a great sound.

I glanced up the shoreline and could see numerous tails and bodies starting to pop up in the placid water.  Things were looking good.  We had found the fish and this time they were hungry.  As the cool currents surged through the bottleneck and around the tiny islands it made for a prime hunting ground, and we were right on it.  The action continued for several hours, with each of us catching redfish as they aggressively dug through the sand and mud.  What a difference a day had made.

But that’s the way it goes… and how it should be.  We endure the tough days and they give us a better appreciation for the good ones.  We learn what we can and marvel at the rest, always remembering how lucky we are to spend time with friends, doing what we enjoy, in a peaceful place.

By Casey R. Smartt

If you are new to fly fishing you may be a bit overwhelmed by the tackle, terminology, and techniques associated with the sport.  Don’t worry, everyone finds it confusing at first.  After all, fly fishing is notably different than most other forms of fishing.  Fly lines are expensive, only 100 feet long, and are measured in “weights” rather than breaking strength.  Reels aren’t cheap either and ironically are often not even used to land fish.  Multiple knots are required to attach fly leader, line, and backing.  And casting is just plain screwy- you cast the line and the fly is just along for the ride.

With a little research though, nearly anyone can navigate the maze of fly fishing terminology, tackle, and rigging.  The real challenge isn’t learning how fly tackle works, it’s learning how to use it effectively.  Here are a few no-fluff pointers for improving your saltwater fly fishing skills.  These are strictly my opinions and are based on what I have observed over the years and identified as common fly fishing challenges and misconceptions.

Casting

The number one hurdle faced by saltwater fly fishermen is learning how to cast properly.  The ability to make good solid casts under a variety of conditions undoubtedly determines success.  In short, if you can’t cast very well you’re probably not going to catch much.  There are exceptions but not many.

A good fly casting stroke is not complex.  It is simple and fluid… almost effortless, like a smooth golf swing.  But, it requires good form and lots of practice to develop.  Very few folks can adequately teach themselves this skill.  If you are struggling with your cast, get help.  Find someone qualified to teach you.  Ask around and you will find the right person.  You may have to pay for a few lessons and it will seem frivolous to you, but it is absolutely worth it in the long run.

Set two short term goals- First, using a correct core casting stroke, learn to make a rock solid and accurate 30-foot cast.  This is not a long cast, but a good anchor point.  Practice this cast until you have developed the muscle memory to make it second nature.  From the thirty foot mark you will slowly learn to cast farther, accurately, using exactly the same stroke.  You will need accuracy for sight fishing, and distance for blind casting or casting to surfacing fish.

Your second goal should be to learn the double haul.  The double haul is a method of adding energy to your cast.  It enables you to make very long casts in good conditions, and moderately long casts in very tough/windy conditions.  The latter is probably more important.  I consider the double haul an essential element of saltwater fly casting and am often surprised at the number of experienced anglers who have not learned it.

Mark the Fly

Whether you are sight casting or blind casting it is imperative to know the location of your fly.  Sounds elementary right?  It is.  If you are casting at a redfish, or school of redfish, you need to know exactly where your fly landed and where it is during the retrieve in relation to the fish.  If your fly missed its mark, the redfish will not magically find it.  You’ll need to quickly cast again.  If you made a good cast and a redfish is following during the retrieve, his take may be subtle.  If you have mismarked your fly you may set the hook too soon, too late, or not at all.

The same holds true for blind casting.  Although the name suggests you cannot see the fly/fish, you should develop a good idea of how close or far your fly is from your targeted strike zone and how deep it is during the retrieve.  Knowing this will help you make accurate consistent presentations, even when you can’t actually see your fly.

Simplify Your Stuff

Keep your auxiliary tackle simple and limited.  Aside from your rod/line/reel, you only need a few flies, extra leader/tippet material, and a good pair of pliers. The common temptation is to pack any and everything in the spirit of preparedness, but inevitably the essentials get lost in the clutter.  I learn and re-learn this lesson again and again.  Nothing is cooler than a big box full of colorful flies and a boat full of tools, but you can do quite well with only a few.  If I was to suggest a collection of simple flies for flats and light inshore fishing, they would include a tan or chartreuse Clouser Deep Minnow, a small gold spoon fly, and an East Cut redfish popper.  Also, a Seaducer is a great fly.  You can catch darn near anything with these flies and you can buy them at most fly shops.

Learn to Use Sinking Lines

Sinking lines have been around for a long time, but have been slow to catch on with many Southern anglers.  This is due in part to the fact that these lines take practice to master.  They tangle easily, require a stripping basket or tub to efficiently handle, and are just one more piece of tackle to purchase and keep up with.  But sinking lines absolutely have their place.  Although they provide little benefit to most flats fishermen, there are many angling situations where sinking lines are helpful or outright required.

Sinking lines allow fishermen to deliver flies to depths of 6-25 feet.  Although it is possible to get flies much deeper than 25 feet using sinking lines, it becomes increasingly difficult to make consistent presentations and detect strikes past this depth.  Sinking lines are also helpful when fishing wave or current ridden areas (surf front).  I resisted sinking lines for years until striped bass fishing forced me to reconsider.  I was glad I did.  These lines have enabled me to catch fish I could not have caught using floating lines and they have gained an important place in my arsenal of tackle.

Remember, the most important element of your game is your cast.  Develop a good stroke and practice.  You will slowly but surely improve.  Keep your tackle simple and don’t be afraid to try a sinking line.  Always look for opportunities around you, they are there.  And most of all don’t forget… it’s fishing.  Enjoy it!

By
Casey R. Smartt

Like many fishermen, I have always carried a camera with me to documenting the fish I caught and the flies I used to catch them.  For years my photographs were “grip and grin” style shots, showing happy fishermen and fish.  I would occasionally capture an image of a sunrise or sunset, or an anecdotal plant or bird while fishing but fishing came first and photographs second.  If no fish were landed, no
photos were taken.  For years that was the system and although I was tempted a time or two, I never seriously considered trying to photograph a fish instead of trying to catch it.  And then along came a freakish afternoon of fishing in the spring of 2007, and a chance at something new.

We had paddled our kayaks into a quiet back lake.  The crystal clear waters of this lake were familiar to us and we knew which shorelines and sandbars would be dead, and which would be alive with activity.  But this day was different.  As we entered the lake it seemed we had unknowingly stumbled into a redfish rally.  As far as our eyes could see there were tails, wakes, and eruptions.  We drifted across the shallow shoals in nervous disbelief and watched redfish in countless combinations feeding around and even under our boats.

Needless to say, fly lines started whizzing.  But after landing 4 or 5 reds and staring
toward the distance at dozens more, something seemed different.  I had never before seen so many redfish in one location and catching them was almost… too… easy.  I glanced back at my camera and it occurred to me this would be a perfect opportunity to try to photograph some tailing fish.  So I put down my fly rod and picked up my camera.  I did not realize it at the time, but that moment was a quiet turning point for me… an off-ramp toward new territory.

A few days later I anxiously downloaded the photos (nearly 600 of them).  As I clicked through the images, my mind began to race.  Looking through dozens of sequential shots, I was disappointed.  Many of the shots were of poor resolution, or
the subjects weren’t clearly visible, or they were overexposed.  In short, most of the photos were real yawners and really did not illustrate the visual experience of the afternoon very well.  How could this be?  I had a pretty darn good camera, plenty of
time, and cooperative subjects.  It suddenly seemed that capturing a good photo of a fish was far more difficult than catching it.

The saving grace was that two of the shots in that first experiment turned out decent.  I studied them carefully and tried to understand what made those two images so much better than the rest.  I couldn’t.  The images were what they were, and it was clear I had a lot to learn about the art and science of photography.  It gave me a much deeper respect for those who are skilled with a camera, and I was challenged to learn more.

Since that first effort I have learned more about cameras and photography.  The clearest lesson perhaps is that while I can get a good photo every now and then, I don’t yet have the skills or experience to do it consistently.  And although modern technology allows us to inexpensively click off thousands of photos and even “enhance” mundane work, good photographs and good photographers still speak for themselves.  They are the product of painstaking planning and practice that places everything in the right place at the right time.  Occasionally photographers get lucky, but most have devoted untold hours and expense to develop their skills.  When I look at the collections of images produced by professional photographers, some of whom are friends of mine, it is humbling because I know how much effort and natural talent has gone into making them.

But I also believe that practicing photography is something we all can enjoy.  It is a
pastime that gets us into the wild and it’s virtually non-consumptive.  Modern cameras are relatively inexpensive to operate and they are durable.  And although
it is true most dedicated photographers have made substantial investments in their equipment, it is certainly possible to capture very nice images with simple inexpensive cameras.  It is a matter of creativity and making the best use of available resources.  Many people do it.  They understand their subjects, take advantage of good light, and compose wonderful photos.

Regardless of what brand of camera is used, the fundamental joy of photographs is how they are uniquely able to tell us a beautiful version of a story we thought we already knew.  This is why we sit and stare and marvel at a compelling photo.  We see things we have never seen before.  This visual stimulus is a powerful thing and capturing it is an art.  It is usually a bit of an experiment and the outcome is often a surprise.

To me photography is not a substitute for fishing, or hunting, or anything else.  It is an extension of these things and a compliment to them.  Photographs are a way we save our memories, express our ideas, and tell our stories. Looking back on that afternoon in the marsh with all those redfish, I am glad I chose to pick up the camera.  That choice has led me to something new and challenging… something to look forward to and think about.  Maybe even something I can pass on to my kids.  It has grown into a very pleasing way to experience and re-visit the natural world.

By Casey R. Smartt

The Spring and early Summer of 2011 has been riddled with very tough fishing conditions.  Relentless winds (characteristic of our region’s returning drought conditions), have rendered many days virtually unfishable, and left only a modest cluster that could be reasonably considered for fly fishing. Weather is weather and there is nothing any of us can do about it, but after a while nagging conditions become frustrating for everyone and they leave farmers and fishermen alike watching and waiting for a break.      

Taking advantage of what appeared to be a few days of tolerable weather recently, I met a friend of mine, John Carpenter, in Aransas Pass for a kayak fly fishing trip.  John is an expert fly tyer who creates some very compelling flies.  He’s also a talented artist with a keen eye for design detail.  I always look forward to seeing what he can crank out at the vise.

When I pulled out of New Braunfels, loaded down with kayaks and fishing gear, the winds were light and the skies were clear.  Things looked pretty
good.  But several hours later as I neared the Coast, the truck was wavering against a powerful southeast wind that pushed the cane breaks over.  It was obvious there would be no lapse in the windy weather after all.

John and I met outside of AransasPass and unloaded our boats in the 20-knot gusts.  We were disappointed with the conditions, but happy to smell the salt air. So, we strapped our hats down, cinched our life jackets tight and paddled toward the protection of a place called the Lighthouse Lakes.

The Lighthouse Lakes is a labyrinth of shallow lakes, flats, islands, and sloughs near Aransas Pass. It is a well-known destination for kayak anglers and skiff fishermen.  In spite of its popularity among anglers and location near the congested tourist towns of Port Aransas and Rockport, the natural beauty and integrity of the Lighthouse Lakes remains relatively unblemished.  It is a wonderful place.

The water in the LighthouseLakes usually stays clear during inclement weather and the large stands of mangroves and cord grass lining its shores offer protection against strong winds.  During periods of very low tides, the lakes literally dry up and are inaccessible.  But when the tides return, the dormant flats and creeks magically come back to life.  Shallow poling skiffs and kayakers regularly venture into the lakes, and in the fall airboats show up with duck hunters.  In general though, the Lighthouse Lakes has a quiet, pristine feel.  It is one of my favorite places to paddle and
fish, and I sincerely hope it remains clean and wild for years to come.

John and I crossed a short stretch of open water and paddled our way about a mile up the South Bay shoreline on the west side of the Lighthouse
Lakes.  We cut through a narrow slough along the outer shoreline and entered the Lakes.  From there we paddled another half mile back to a slender passage that popped out on a large shallow hard-sand lake.   A prominent and unpleasant wind raked across the lake, pushing against our boats and leaving the surface streaked in white lines.

To our right was a broad expanse of very shallow water with the east shoreline barely visible in the distance.  On the leeward shore to our left, the mangrove roots and exposed sandbars were trimmed in foam and small bits of floating grass.  No doubt, the wind was going to be a nuisance, but otherwise the conditions were tolerable.  The temperature was mild, the skies were blue, and the water was clear.  That was good enough for us.  We hopped out of our boats and started wading across the seemingly endless expanse of ankle-deep water.

About 50 feet into the wade, we were greeted by a wonderful sight.  Directly in front of us was a large redfish plowing carelessly through the choppy water.  He was moving away from the bank swimming directly into the wind with this tail waving above the surface.  I stripped off about 60 feet of
line and after making 2 or 3 terrible casts, I managed to drop a small gold fly about 5 feet in front of him. The red surged toward the fly, took one look at it and then blasted toward the horizon. “Well… you blew that one.” I thought.

We continued ahead, wading quietly and scanning the choppy water for any signs of life.  About 20 yards up, we spotted two more reds rolling on each other in the short choppy waves about 6 feet off the bank.  John made several false casts and then plinked his fly near them.  The reds saw the fly and sulked away, clearly irritated at the interruption.  It was disheartening.  Things seemed to be quickly shaping into one of those frustrating outings where you find feeding fish, but you can’t catch them.  I took it as a cue to try a more subtle approach and tied on a small brown shrimp fly that had always been a great producer.  It was worth a shot.

We waded another 50 yards and I glanced back over my left shoulder at some “used up” water.  I suddenly saw a group of 3 reds grinding down the bank headed away from us.  We had missed them.  I made an awful-looking Hail Mary cast at them.  I knew full well there was no way this cast was going to hit the mark, but figured, “Why not try.” Somehow the wind-blown fly landed right in their path.  One of the fish rushed the fly, wolfed it down, and the fight was on.  Yes!  It appeared these fish must be feeding on small shrimp.

The same scenario repeated itself throughout the remainder of the half-mile-long wade.  The wind was just plain bad and it made casting really tough, but fortunately there were plenty of fish.  John and I both experimented with a variety of patterns and presentations, but the only flie drawing consistent strikes were small brown, nearly inert-looking, shrimp patterns.  As the day drew to an end, we ended up landing a handful of reds, losing a few, and scaring the Hell out of a bunch.  On the paddle back to the truck that evening, John and I talked about how funny it is that a rough old redfish digging through the sand can be so selective in what he chooses to eat.  Just when we think we have them all figured out, they remind us we don’t!  I guess that’s why we keep coming back for more.

Flyfishing for longnose gar, Canyon Lake

My buddy Jon Fisher and I kayaked the lower end of Canyon Lake today from 9:00 am until 5:00 pm.  Generally the striper action begins to pick up around the 3rd week of Sept. and we were hoping to see some schooling activity.

We launched at the boat ramp off Skyline (in the corner SW of the dam) and worked our way up to Comal Park, over to Jacob’s Creek Pt., and back down to the dam.  For most of the day the water was glassy smooth and there was almost no boat traffic.  There was light and sporatic topwater activity from largemouth bass but we did not see any stripers surfacing.  We caught largemouth bass at locations 1, 2, 3, & 5 on the map.  One 22-inch striper was caught in front of the sailboat marina (location 4 on map).  It was good to be on the water but the fishing was slow.

Smartt’s Shrimp is a small crustacean pattern that works well when redfish get picky, especially in the Spring when they are feeding on juvenile shrimp and crabs.  Smartt’s Shrimp is light and easy to cast and somewhat translucent in the water.  The eyes are made from burned/painted 60# mono and the body is formed with a dubbing loop using tan and brown EP fibers.  The dubbing spinnner/hook (shown in photo) hangs from the dubbing loop and is used to spin and twist the EP fibers into a tight frizzy strand.  Once palmered around the hook shank, the fibers are picked out thoroughly with Velcro and then trimmed to a tapered shape in the final step.

Materials:

Hook: Mustad 340011 #4 to #6

Thread: Clear Nylon Mono (Uni med.)

Eyes: Burned 60 lb mono, painted black, then dipped in Aleene’s Fabric Fusion

Antennae/Feelers: 2 strands root beer Krystal Flash

Horn: Tan EP Fibers

Body: Tan and brown or olive EP fibers

Weed Guard: Double or single strand 12-16 lb Mason Hard Mono (single shown)

Here is a short video of me and my buddy Jon Fisher flyfishing for black drum near Aransas Pass, TX, 6-25-2011.  We were casting 8wt. tackle and Chin Slinky flies at cruising fish.  Cruising drum often form a prominent v-shaped wake as they travel across a flat toward feeding grounds.  The trick to catching them is position yourself in their path and place the fly well ahead of the school.  As the school approaches, lift the fly from the bottom and make very short twitches.  Be ready for any sign of a strike, as drum often grab and quickly release a fly if they sense it is not food.  For more tips on catching black drum on a fly, click here.

Decided to give it a shot this evening.  Launched at Cranes Mill Road boat ramp (note: boat ramp is now closed).  Parking area was still open, so I launched via the grass off the end of the pavement.  Winds were horrible and the lake was as rough as I have seen it.  Made a short paddle just for kicks and really did not fish at all.  Oddly enough, there were a fair number of carp tailing back in the cove East of the boat ramp, right there in the breaking waves.  Strange.  It was just too windy to try to catch them.  Going to be tough until these drought winds let off a bit.

Fished for longnose gar on the North end of lake this evening in my Tarpon 120 kayak.  The gar were rolling and feeding moderately well.  I was using 8wt. tackle, intermediate sinking line, and a gar fly I have been working on.  The fly is a tube fly made by wrapping cactus chenille around the tube with a little craft fur on the tail.  A 3/0 Gmktsu. Octopus circle hook hangs at the rear, tied to 60 lb leader running through the tube.   It works well.  I’ll post a step-by-step later.

Hooked and landed 3 gar, the largest was about 40 inches.  Here is a short video of the evening:

I had an opportunity to take the canoe out this evening so I launched on the upper end of the lake at the Crane’s Mill Rd. boat ramp.  It is boat ramp #23 here:

http://www.swf-wc.usace.army.mil/canyon/Maps/CanyonBoatRamps2011_full.pdf

The winds were strong and it made for an unpleasant paddle.  I wished I had brought the Tarpon 120 kayak instead of the canoe, but I made the best of it.  I headed out and and paddled a short distance down the shoreline until I reached the interior of the small cove east of the ramp.  Unlike many Canyon Lake shorelines which are steep and boulder-covered, this one is gently sloping.  It is a great spot for carp.

As I approached the shore I could see headwakes, swirls, and muddy spots made by carp feeding in shallow water.  I made a few casts at them with a 6wt. rod and several different small carp flies, but they were more interested in rooting up the bottom than eating my flies.  So, I just took some photos instead.  It’s amazing how much they look and act like tailing redfish (but much tougher to catch!).

Around dark I headed back to the ramp, where the skeletal remains of a fish caught my eye.  At first, it looked like a typical ”boat ramp carcass” left behind by people fishing around the ramp.  But upon closer inspection, it was clear this was no average Canyon Lake fish.  Take a look at the serious teeth, tapered head, and high position of the eye sockets.

I believe this is the skeleton of a red snapper, probably left behind by a bar-b-queing camper, or by a lazy fisherman who brought it home from the coast and dumped it out of his ice chest or cleaned it at the lake.  Either way, it’s strange this fish wound up on the banks of Canyon Lake.

By Casey R. Smartt

 During cold-weather months, fish frequently seek the comfort and shelter of deep water.  They may do this for long periods of time during extreme conditions, or for short periods when the shallows have not yet been warmed by sunlight or an influx of warm water.  Predatory fish also venture into deep water during tidal movements, where they lurk near structural features and wait to ambush prey.  Anglers who are accustomed to fishing shallow water sometimes feel helpless when fish move deep because delivering a fly to depths of 10, 15, or even 20 feet is challenging.  But it can be done, and with the right tackle it can be done quite effectively.

One of the most valuable components of deep water fly fishing is a sinking fly line.  Sinking lines come in a wide variety of tapers and sink rates.  There are slow-sinkers, fast-sinkers and everything in between.  All these choices can create confusion for first-time buyers, so let’s take a look at several types of sinking fly lines and the factors to consider when choosing one for deep water fishing. 

When choosing a sinking fly line, the first question you should ask yourself is, “How deep do I need to go?”  It sounds elementary, but it is an important question to answer because sinking fly lines are designed to drop at defined rates.  For example, slow sinking “intermediate” lines drop at about 1-2 inches per second.  This is quite slow… about like a waterlogged floating line.  Fast sinking lines however, fall anywhere from 6-8 inches per second.  That’s quick… about like dropping a Clouser overboard.   

The sink rate of a fly line will be labeled on the box, usually in inches per second (i.p.s.).  Simple multiplication will tell you how long a particular line will take to carry your fly to a certain depth.  Keep in mind that listed sink rates do not account for factors like current, a fly’s drag, and a drifting boat.  These will slow down the sink rate of the line. 

When considering sink rate, select a line that reaches your target depth as quickly as possible.  In general, don’t plan on having the patience to wait more than 45 seconds or so for your line to sink.  This is a long time to stare at a fly line and it becomes not-so-fun after a few cast… even less fun if you’re not catching anything.  If you don’t believe me, make a cast and wait an honest 45 seconds.  It’s a long time.  My advice is to be bold with your selection.  Don’t try to fine tune it.  If you are targeting fish deeper than 10 feet, go straight to the fast-sinkers, and choose the quickest sinking line your fly rod can handle.  In the 8wt. varieties, these lines sink from 6-8 i.p.s. and have head weights of 250-300 grains. 

 Once you have established your target depth, the next question you should ask is, “Where will I be standing when I cast?”  If you plan to be fishing from a boat it is likely you will be casting over an area of water with a more-or-less uniform depth and you won’t be concerned with dragging your fly line over shallow snags.  A full sink line is a good choice for this situation.

Full sink lines are designed for casting either from a boat or from shorelines with very steep drops or ledges.  Because the entire length of a full sink line falls at a steady rate, anglers can make retrieves that keep flies as deep as possible for as long as possible. 

Full sinking lines are generally quite thin and dense.  This makes them easy to cast in the wind and less affected by current and drift than other lines.  But their narrow diameters also make them prone to tangles and difficult to manage in the hand, especially with cold fingers.

If you plan to fish from shore, or from the jetties, you’ll be forced to retrieve the submerged line back over an area of shallow water in front of you.  Full sink lines will drag over this shallow water, embed in the sand or rocks, and almost certainly become snagged near the end of the retrieve.  For this reason, choose a sink tip line instead.

Sink tip lines are basically modified shooting lines that cleanly integrate sinking heads to floating or intermediate running lines.  While the head of the line sinks, the floating or slow sinking bellies hover over shallow obstructions and enable anglers to make retrieves without getting snagged on them.  They’re pretty nifty lines. 

For jetty fishing, a sink tip line with a floating belly is a good choice.  These lines deliver flies to deep water and still allow anglers to make clean retrieves in spite of line-eating barnacles and rocks.  Learning to cast them efficiently takes practice, but defeating those jetty-snags makes it worthwhile.  One disadvantage to sink tip lines with floating bellies is the inherent bow formed in the line between the floating running line and the sinking head.  This bow creates slack and makes it difficult to quickly detect strikes.  

For those standing on the sand and mud at the edge of a steep channel, a line with a sinking tip and intermediate belly is a good choice.  These lines sink quickly but they still allow anglers to retrieve across shallow mud or grass areas at their feet.  They maintain a fairly straight line connection between the rod and the fly and are reasonably easy to handle.

Do not get discouraged if you find sinking lines difficult to handle at first… everyone does.  Make sure you use a stripping basket or bucket to help manage and shoot these lines, aim high with your casts, and keep practicing.  When the fish move deep you’ll be ready.

By Casey R. Smartt

 One of the most thrilling sites in saltwater fly fishing is a school of redfish tailing its way across the flats.  These writhing colorful packs of fish are sometimes so charged with hunger and aggression they crack anything that comes near them.  When they’re fired up like this, redfish are an angler’s dream. 

 But in spite of their normally cooperative demeanor, redfish (even tailing redfish) can also be selective and spooky.  They’ll ignore or even dodge your fly, bolt at the slightest misstep, and vanish before your very eyes.  I’ve never quite figured out why redfish get grumpy, but they do. 

A kayaking trip near Rockport recently reminded me how moody redfish can be.  On this particular trip the tides were strong and the weather was nearly perfect.  We encountered many different fish throughout the day.  There were large schools, singles, doubles, rooters, and cruisers… nearly every kind of redfish scenario you could think of.  But, not all the fish we sighted were responsive and by mid-afternoon we were reaching deeper into the bag of tricks and rethinking our approach to catching them.  That evening as the sun lost its edge, I paddled back toward the truck and thought about the fish we had caught and the ones we hadn’t.  It rekindled some of the redfish lessons I had learned over the years.  Here are several that came to mind.

 Direction-

When you spot a redfish or school of redfish on the flats, one of the first things you should do is figure out which direction they’re headed.  This will help you plan your approach so you can get into position to make a clean cast.  Tailing redfish may poke right or left, but they usually plod steadily along more or less in a defined direction. 

The direction of big pods of redfish is easy to predict because they make so much commotion.  But nailing down singles can be tougher, especially in murky water.  Solitary tailing redfish have a nasty habit of slipping under and vanishing just as you’re about to make a cast.  Oddly enough, it always seems like a cloud drifts under the sun at that same moment, ruining your visibility.  It must be some sort of conspiracy. 

When a redfish disappears, there are usually two things I do.  First, I trust my instincts and I focus on the area I think the fish was headed.  Second, I freeze and look for any visual clues that reveal the fish’s location.  Sometimes these clues are slight and insignificant, like a few bubbles surfacing or a small raindrop-like ripple on the water. 

On that kayak trip near Rockport, one fish in particular was a perfect example of how focusing on a small visual clue pays off.  While wading back to may kayak after an unsuccessful attempt to catch a few black drum, I heard an unmistakable “chook” sound behind me.  I turned to see a large frothy disturbance on the surface with a sliver of pink tail disappearing in the middle.  It was obviously a redfish but it utterly melted away in the tea-stained water as I stripped some line off my reel.  I waited and watched… nothing.  Then I saw a few tiny baitfish scatter along the edge of the cordgrass about eight feet up from where I had seen the tail.  I punched a cast ahead of the little minnows and let it settle in for a moment before twitching it slightly.  The second I moved the fly the redfish blasted it in a bright orange flash that made my heart jump.  In spite of his large size and aggressive behavior that redfish was virtually invisible cruising up the bank.  A few tiny minnows flicking on the surface ironically gave him away.      

Lead the fish-

A relatively simple way of making an accurate lifelike presentation to a redfish is to lead him.  You simply drop the fly in the redfish’s projected path (4-8 ft ahead of the fish) and then twitch it as he closes in.  Leading a redfish does not require super-accurate casts or ultra-delicate presentations, and it gives you a few seconds to get ready while the fish approaches. 

There are two challenges when leading a redfish.  The first is timing your retrieve.  If you strip too soon, the redfish may not see your fly or he may trail the fly back toward you, spot you and spook.  If you strip too late, you’ll graze him with the leader or fly which will spook him for sure.  The second challenge is keeping your fly from tangling in the weeds while you wait for the fish to approach.  Make sure you use a weedless fly or a small popper if you are leading a fish.

I watched a buddy of mine recently try to keep up with a school of fast-moving reds.  They were tailing quickly across a hard shallow flat into a stout wind and he couldn’t manage to get a clean cast to them.  So, he made a quick wide wade, got ahead of them, and dropped his weedless shrimp pattern in their path.  As the redfish approached he stripped the fly once and the lead fish surged forward and whacked it.  It was a great solution to an otherwise awkward casting angle.

Choose a Weedless Fly-

For some reason I still make the bad decision of carrying non-weedless flies onto the flats.  And nearly every time I do I regret it.  Rooted and floating weeds, cordgrass, and oysters are not friends of the fly.  They will spoil your presentation every time… count on it.  Even if you think you will be fishing an area with a clean hard sand bottom, carry flies with weed guards or flies that are tied with the hook inverted.  Strong tides and shifting winds often carry bits of floating or suspended weeds and grass into areas that otherwise have none. 

A case in point- I recently cast to and spooked 3 redfish in a row, without ever moving my feet.  These fish were doing headstands in moderately clear water on a narrow sandbar.  A falling tide created a strong current flowing across the bar.  It was a killer set up and I was stunned to see these fish bolt from what appeared to be perfect casts.  I was about to invoke the 3-strike rule when I realized my fly was getting fouled by small bits of weed suspended in the current.  The weeds were snapping free on my backcast, but as soon as the fly touched down more weeds took their place.  I cut off the fly and replaced it with a weedless pattern which was what I should have tied on in the first place.  Lesson learned, again!  Until next month… enjoy your time on the water.

By Casey Smartt

 One of the things that has always frustrated me about applying eyes to flies is glueing them on.  About half the time, the glue smears, or the eyes end up mashing the fly’s fibers down and changing it’s profile.  Glued on eyes also have a tendancy to fall off.

But there  is an alternative to glued on eyes…. plastic bead chain.  Plastic bead chain, also called “Fused Pearls,” or “Fused Beads,” is available in craft stores and also in the sewing section of dept. stores.  Plastic bead chain is sold either by the foot or by the roll, in 3mm, 4mm, and 6mm diameters.  The bead chain shown below is 4mm.  

What you’ll need:

1.  Plastic bead chain (sold by the foot or roll as fabric trim at craft or dept. stores)

2.  Black permanent marker, or black model paint, or black nail polish

3.  Aleene’s Fabric Fusion (sold with fabric glues at craft or dept. store)

4.  Wide-mouth plastic jar (sold with model paints, brushes, at craft store)

Begin by cutting off a 3-bead section with sharp scissors.  Smash the center bead with pliers and remove it. 

Place the new 2-bead section in alligator clips and carefully dip, brush, or color a black pupil on the outside edge of each bead.  You can use model paint, nail polish, or a permanent marker for this.

Allow the pupil to adequately dry, and then carefully dip each end in a wide-mouth jar (the kind sold in the model department at craft stores) filled with Aleene’s Fabric Fusion (AFF).  Make sure the AFF completely coats each eye and try not to get it on the clips or the center string.

Place the eyes in a turner or other safe place to dry.  AFF requires a few hours to dry to the touch, and 3 days before it is ready to seriously dunk.

Once the eyes are dry to the touch, you may use them on your baitfish patterns.  There will be a large gap between the eyes when you tie them on to the hook shank.  This allows ample room for wide baitfish heads. 

Jig Hooks

By Casey R. Smartt

 Jig hooks have been around for a very long time.  Some of the earliest lures were built on jig hooks and many-a-fisherman began his/her career either tossing jigs at bluegills or bouncing them up and down in front of crappie.  I can remember whipping a lot of fish with a Zebco 202 and a “speck rig.”  They were deadly, and still are.  But in spite of their popularity among conventional fishermen, jig hooks have been slow to catch on in the fly fishing world. 

I don’t know why, but few flies have traditionally been tied on jig hooks even though the design is really ideal for many different patterns.  For example, look at the Clouser Minnow.  The Clouser Minnow is one of the most popular and effective flies of all time. It is fundamentally a jig.  But, the Clouser Minnow has not typically been tied on a jig hook.  Why?  I don’t know.   

But in recent years, a number of fresh and salt water fly tyers have taken a closer look at jig hooks.  They are rediscovering the jig hook’s merits and cranking out some really good flies tied on them.  Let’s take a closer look at the jig hook design and how/when jig hooks can be used in fly tying.

Jig Hook Design

Jig hooks differ from conventional hooks in that the forward portion of the shank is bent at either a 60 degree or a 90 degree angle toward the point of the hook, forming an elbow in the shank.  This elbow moves the plane of the eye of the hook closer to the plane of the hook point.  The position of the hook eye causes the hook to rotate to an inverted (hook point on top) position when it is retrieved using a standard mono leader.  In essence, it makes the hook weedless.  A second but less obvious benefit to this design is that because the plane of the hook point is closely in line with the plane of the eye/leader, the hook tends to penetrate smoothly without twisting or levering at an angle. The net effect is hook sets are very efficient.

Hooks with a 90 degree bend are often used to build what we recognize as classic vertical “jigs.”  These lures usually have dense molded lead heads and are intended to be dropped straight over the side of the boat and bounced up and down over deep structure or trolled.  Alternately, hooks with a 60 degree bend are designed to be cast out and retrieved in a conventional manner, bouncing across the bottom.  The slightly upturned nose of the 60 degree is good at sliding over structure, somewhat like a ski.

For most fly tying applications, the 60 degree jig hook is more versatile and practical than the 90 degree jig hook, and a good fit for a variety of subsurface fly patterns. 

Choosing the Hook

When you start looking for jig hooks, the first thing you’ll discover is that most hooks are either too small and flimsy for saltwater work (think, “crappie jigs”), or way too big and bulky for most standard-caliber flies (think, “bass jigs”).  The exception is the Eagle Claw 413.  The Eagle Claw 413’s are decent hooks.  I say, “decent” because they are reasonably priced, acceptable in quality/strength, and available in sizes down to #2.  The 413, though not stainless, is plated and fairly resistant to the rigors of saltwater.  Although, don’t expect it to last long if you close it up wet in a salty fly box.  I learned that lesson the hard way. 

If you need to go smaller than #2, take a look at the Targus 9413 jig hook.  The 9413 is a knock-off of the Eagle Claw 413, but it is available down to #4.  Gamakatsu also makes jig hooks, including one called the “Jig 60.” As you might expect, the Jig 60’s are just plain scary, sticky, prickly pear sharp.  But unfortunately they are designed for bass fishermen slinging soft plastics and are available only in very large sizes.  From the standpoint of price, availability, and size, the Eagle Claw 413 is your best bet.  A good source for them (and just about all your fly tying supplies) is www.saltwaterflies.com .

 Tying Flies on Jig Hooks

If you step back and look at which flies could honestly be improved with jig hooks, there are two patterns that immediately come to mind- the Clouser Minnow and the Bendback.  These are staple flies that are effective in a variety of applications.  One of the key features of both patterns is they were designed to ride with the hook in the upright position.  This makes them perfect candidates for a jig hook.

By most standards the Clouser Minnow is nearly a perfect fly.  Anyone would be hard-pressed to improve upon its simple design.  But, when you tie a Clouser Minnow on a jig hook, several improvements are made.  First, the nose of the fly is slightly upturned, making it less prone to plow into shell, rocks, and weeds.  The second improvement is that Clouser Minnows tied on jig hooks will almost never, and I mean never, twist or turn upside down during the retrieve.  The combination of an offset shank and weighted eyes makes the fly run true every time. 

Besides the Clouser Minnow, the Bendback is a fly that most saltwater fly fishermen have in their box.  The Bendback is light, weedless, and easy to tie.  But it has one minor flaw- the bend itself.  When tying a Bendback, the very first step is to make a subtle bend in the shank.  This bend, along with correct placement of material on the shank, causes the hook to rotate to the point-up position.  But the problem is that when the shank is bent, the plane of the hook point is no longer in line with the plane of the eye of the hook.  The hook points slightly “upward.”  So, when you set the hook using a Bendback, the hook point enters at a slight angle.  If it’s not needle sharp, the hook sometimes scrapes across its target rather than sticking in it.  The more bend you place in the hook, the greater the problem.  But, if you tie a Bendback on a jig hook, this problem is eliminated because the plane of the hook point is closely in line with the plane of the eye/leader. 

The Clouser Minnow and Bendback are just two examples of flies that can be tied on jig hooks.  There are many others, including Popovic’s Jiggy’s, Whistlers, and swimming shrimp patterns.  If you would like to get some jig hooks and see for yourself if they are worthwhile, my suggestion is to buy a pack of #2 Eagle Claw 413’s and get after it.  With a little practice tying and a good opportunity to try out your creations, I think you will be pleased.

Freedom

 By Casey R. Smartt

Squinting against the blistering South Texas sun, my friend Larry pointed to a large expanse of tea-colored water that stretched out ahead of our idling boats.  “That’s all shallow sand, Casey.   It runs for about a mile to the south.  The fish will be up there this evening.  You’ll see them.  We’ll meet you back at the cabin at dark.  Good luck.”  Larry pulled his boat away and I watched it shrink into the distance, bound for Baffin Bay. 

I eased my skiff up to the foot of the giant sand flat and gently beached it on a high spot.  The bottom of the flat was clean and hard, with wind-driven ripples firm enough to feel through the soles of my boots.  Several light green veins snaked across its center, revealing subtle dips and pockets.  Looking toward the horizon I could see the curved green boundaries where the shallow sand abruptly dropped to deeper water.  To the east were the weathered white dunes of Padre Island and to the west was the thorny King Ranch shoreline.  I just stood there for a few minutes, taking it all in.  

The expansive feeling of this place was wonderful.  The sky was broad and full, and the vast stretch of water before me held so much promise.  A steady Gulf breeze pushed across the shallow water and seeped through the sleeves and collar of my shirt.  It felt good to be there at that moment.  It was a feeling of freedom.    

I grabbed my fly rod and a couple of flies and I started walking.  The hard sand beneath my feet was different from the soft olive bottoms, grass, and oyster reefs I normally fished.  Stark but pristine banks of sand rose up along the shorelines and the shallow bottom had pancake textures that were smooth and clean.  The whole place was shaped by relentless winds and baking sun, and it fit perfectly with raw beauty of the surrounding Brush Country.  It looked like terrific land to explore but an awful place to be stranded. 

I waded a few hundred yards down the flat, wondering if I would see any fish.  I could clearly make out hundreds of tiny worm holes scattered over the bottom, so I figured surely a big lumbering fish would be easy to see in the skinny clear water.  And then my eyes caught something moving across the sand.  At first it appeared to be a shadow cast by a bird flying overhead, but moments later I could see the outline of a large purple torpedo-shaped object.  It was a redfish… a big redfish. 

He was swimming slowly and deliberately in my direction.  I could see the crosshatch pattern of scales on his exposed back in the ankle-deep water.  As he approached, his body arched and his large blue tail rose up slowly from the shallow water.  It hung in the air for a moment and then gently folded over and wiggled as his jaws crunched down on a small meal hidden in the sand. 

In contrast to his bleached surroundings, the redfish’s silvery blues and crimson reds were unnaturally vibrant.  Drifting over the pale sand, he looked as colorful and preoccupied as a big tom turkey strutting at close range. I froze and watched him for a few minutes.  Finally, I decided to toss a fly in front of him.  As I flicked out a short cast I was almost certain he would spot my arms moving, but he didn’t.

The fly landed a few feet in front of the redfish and settled to the bottom.  I gave it a twitch and the redfish accelerated and then stopped abruptly, nearly running over the fly.  His rear end lifted out of the water, almost as though inertia alone had carried it upward.  A small fiery flash of bronze sparked from his gills and I knew he had grabbed the fly. My line pulled tight and he tore for deeper water, leaving behind a trail of sandy froth. 

Although large and strong, he tired quickly in the warm shallow water. In a few minutes I slipped my hand under his belly and lifted him up to remove the fly.  He was healthy and fat, with broad shoulders and gold-rimmed eyes that were clear and alive.

At that moment I did something I had not done in a very long time.  I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a short piece of rope to use as a stringer.  Earlier that afternoon there had been talk of grilled fish at sunset.  It sounded like the perfect way to end a day on the water so I agreed to contribute a fish if I caught one.  But as I uncoiled the rope and looked at the redfish, I hesitated. 

Years ago, I kept, cleaned, and ate fish of all kinds.  Most were palatable, some were not.  But the longer I fished, the more I realized what brought me the most pleasure was catching fish and then watching them swim away.  So I started releasing everything I caught.  I was simply doing what made me happy.  Over the years I encouraged others to do the same but certainly didn’t fault them if they chose to keep what they caught.  After all, like me, they were just doing what made them happy.

And so I looked again at that wonderful redfish and his magnificent surroundings.  It was clear to me I had already been given enough gifts for one day… why ask for more.  I shoved the rope back into my pocket and slid my fingers down the leader to the small hook lodged in the redfish’s lower jaw.  With a quick twist the hook snapped free. 

I eased the redfish back into the water and slowly let him gain back his strength.  And then with a burst he swam out of my hands.  I watched as he slowly pushed across the flat in a deliberate straight line.   When he reached the edge, he disappeared into the safety of deeper water.  I looked back down the flat and couldn’t help but smile.  It was the old familiar feeling of freedom.    

By Casey R. Smartt

“Why is fishing so important to you?”  I have been asked that question many times over the years (often under duress) and I have yet to adequately answer it.   Maybe it’s a spiritual thing, or my DNA, or just a passion for the outdoors that drives me to fish.  All I know is that fishing is an undeniable part of who I am.  And although my love for it has caused me to make a few unwise choices over the years, fishing has always brought me great joy and great memories.  It refreshes my spirit, clears my mind, and reinforces my love for my family, friends, and wild places.

One trip recently was especially memorable.  I was fishing with my buddy Jon Fisher from San Antonio.  Jon and I have been fly fishing together for years.  He’s a good angler, he’s patient, and he has a great sense of humor.  Perhaps that’s why Jon puts up with most of my wild ideas and notions about how to catch fish on flies.  

On the first day of this particular trip the flats were a mess so we headed out toward bigger water.  We located a steep sandbar where a strong tidal rip created a wedged-shaped area of chop.   After anchoring the boat, we began to cast into the rip, letting our lines swing with the current and sink into the abyss.  On the third cast, I felt my fly line pull defiantly tight and nearly straight down.  I set the hook into a heavy moving object and my rod bent deeply.  It was promising news at the end of a tough day.  The fish swam in a solid deliberate manner, slowly circling the boat and working the current to his advantage.  It felt like a broad-shouldered creature, clearly not a speck or skipjack, but at the same time not quite feisty enough to be a redfish. 

After a brief tug-of-war I lifted the fish toward the surface.  A dark body and long tentacles became visible.  “What the…. Ha!… It’s a gafftop,” I said.   I clumsily lifted him and the slime-covered leader into the boat and reached for my pliers.   “Hey that’s a nice gafftop you got yourself there Case,” Jon said with a smirk.  “Quit messing with me and grab the camera Jon,” I said.  Jon reluctantly retrieved his line and snapped a few shots with one of my cameras.  I tossed the thumping gafftop back overboard and tried to de-slime my leader.  We caught several more gafftops as the last bits of evening light played out.

The following morning we were back out at the channel and it was alive with signs of life.  Broad swaths of birds were diving, and the water flicked and splashed with baitfish and predator activity.  We positioned the boat upwind of a flock of feeding birds and began to drift into the action.  Jon hooked up with a strong fish right on cue.  Seconds later we identified it as a big skipjack as it jumped high in the air.  Jon’s fish plunged under the boat and he put pressure on it.  As he lifted the fish from the depths, his line bounced in a strange manner.  Something didn’t seem quite right.  From the front deck of the boat, I looked back down the side and into the deep green water.  A huge grey object caught my eye as it materialized from below. 

As it drew closer, we could both see the creature was a massive bottlenose dolphin rising up towards the boat in a sideways position.  The dolphin burst to the surface and to our amazement laid there on its side with its huge body nestled up against the gunnels of the boat.  It was a magnificent animal with slick skin and polished teeth that gleamed in the morning sunlight.  Carefully balanced across the dolphin’s open bill was Jon’s skipjack.  The skipjack had not one scratch on it.  It was as though the dolphin was delivering the fish straight to us and I swear he looked happy to do so. 

Jon and I stood there speechless.  The horrified skipjack made a desperate attempt to escape but the dolphin just twitched and kept him balanced across its nose.  On his second attempt the skipjack got lucky and flopped off the dolphin’s nose, ripped out Jon’s slack line and threw the hook in the process.  The dolphin took a disappointed look at us and then dove below the boat.

“What is wrong with you?” Jon said.  “Where’s your damn camera?  I stopped what I was doing last night to take shots of your gafftop and then you miss a shot of THAT?”  I didn’t know what to say, except that the dolphin must have hypnotized me or something. 

Just then the dolphin reappeared on the other side of the boat and stuck his head up over the edge.  Adding insult to injury, he looked at us both and then leaned back and sank belly-up into the green depths.  It was a surreal experience. 

Jon was pretty quiet up in the front of the boat, so after a few minutes I decided it might be a good idea to take a spin.  I fired up the motor and headed down to a corner along the channel where several pelicans were drifting over a large dark patch of floating weeds.  We anchored the boat a short distance from the pelicans and began to cast.  “So… you still pissed about that whole no-camera deal with the dolphin there Jon?”  I asked, hoping to break the ice with a little humor.  “Pretty much,” he said.  More silence followed.  But the silence broke moments later when we discovered the dark spot below the pelicans wasn’t a pad of drifting weeds, it was a giant school of redfish. 

Jon hopped in the front of the boat and punched a cast at the approaching school.  Seconds later he was hooked up with a big redfish and believe me… I was snapping photos.  After a lengthy fight, Jon boated the fish.  It was just shy of 30 inches- his biggest redfish on fly tackle.  Jon released the red and organized his line with shaky fingers.  The huge school circled around us and he fired cast at them, hooking up immediately with another large red.  Countless redfish enveloped the boat as Jon fought the fish.  It was an amazing site.  Jon landed and released his red and we traded positions on the boat.

By then, the school had stretched out in a long winding purple trail backlit by deep green water.  I shot a cast toward the right side of the trail and one of the reds casually peeled off and grabbed my Clouser.  When I set the hook he streaked off toward open water.  What a great feeling to be standing on the deck of the boat with your line singing off the reel and into the depths.  I eventually got the red to the boat and after several photos we released him back to the channel. 

The school had vanished, but that was alright.  For nearly 30 minutes they had been all around us.  Jon and I knew it couldn’t get much better than that.  It had been a strange day on the water.  It was a day I will never forget, and yet another answer to the question of why I love to fish.

By Casey R. Smartt

 A few years ago over the 2006 Thanksgiving holiday weekend, Billy Sandifer and I rode down the beach in his old sky blue Suburban searching for fly targets.  About 60 miles down, Billy spotted a familiar 4-wheel drive pickup parked on the sand and we stopped to visit.  The truck belonged to local angler Charlie Golla.  Charlie’s two boys, Chris and Justin, stood near the tailgate wearing neoprene waders and big smiles, ready to take on the surf.  Chris was 16 at the time and Justin was 8.  Chris had his fly gear out so he and I immediately struck up a conversation, trading ideas on different ways to approach the beach with fly tackle.  Chris reported that the jacks had shown up the day before near the 55 mile mark and had been hammering migrating mullet there.  His report stoked my enthusiasm. 

After visiting for a few minutes, Billy and I loaded up and headed out.  As I watched the Golla’s shrink away in the rear view mirror I was impressed by how polite and focused Charlie’s boys were.  Despite camping on the beach for nearly 5 days they were chipper, bright-eyed, and ready to chase fish… way better off than I would have been after that much time in the sand.

I munched on some of Charlie’s fantastic smoked redfish as Billy and I rattled up the shoreline.  “Maybe it’s Dad’s cooking that keeps those boys smiling,” I thought.  Since that morning, Charlie Golla has kept me posted on the boy’s fly fishing adventures, and he regularly sends me photos and stories of their fly-caught fish.  The fish seem to get bigger and bigger each month.

Last year, 9-year old Justin sight-cast and landed a 32” jack crevalle from the beach on his 10 wt. fly rod.  Just think about that for a minute… a 9-year old wielding a 10 wt. fly rod on the beach and landing a 32” jack with it.  Hooking a big jack on fly tackle and landing it on the sand is physically demanding even for seasoned fishermen. No doubt it’s much tougher for an angler who barely outweighs the fish.  In fact, I am tempted to carry a photo of Justin fighting that jackfish so I can flash it the next time I hear a grown man whine about casting in the wind.      

But Justin likes a challenge.  He’s been camping and fishing since he was old enough to walk, beginning with bay fishing and then graduating to the surf.  When asked how he got started fly fishing Justin says, “My brother Chris got a fly rod for trout and reds.  I started learning to cast it and like it, so I got one.  It’s hard but that’s what I like about it.” 

When Justin and Chris aren’t chasing fish in the surf, the two enjoy kayaking and camping near Aransas Pass with their dad, Charlie.  Justin says he enjoys fly fishing from a kayak because, “I like to work for fish.”  To date, Justin’s caught flounder, trout, reds, skipjacks, jack crevalle, and a host of other species on fly tackle.

Chris picked up his first fly rod 4 years ago.  When asked how he got started Chris says, “I used to see Billy Sandifer’s Suburban cruising down the beach with all these fly rods strapped on it.  I knew I wanted to try it.”  Chris eventually procured a fly rod and began teaching himself to cast.  Sandifer supplied him with a few flies and books, and members of the Rockport Fly Fishers provided Chris with some casting instruction.  It wasn’t long before he was off and running.   

Like a lot of anglers, Chris has gone through some fly tackle over the past few years.  One of his first outfits vanished during a drive up the beach.  Chris replaced it, and then unfortunately it was stolen along with several others.  Chris eventually built back up his arsenal of fly tackle and it now consists of fly rods and reels capable of landing everything from ladyfish to tarpon. 

Chris is also an avid fly tyer.  He again credits the members of the Rockport Fly Fishers for helping him with the basics.  Some of Chris’ favorite patterns are Clouser minnows, spoonflies, and a large mylar tubing (created by your’s truly) fly called a Christmas Minnow.

With all these fly rods slinging around him, it seemed inevitable that Charlie would eventually follow his boy’s lead and give fly fishing a try.  When asked whether his dad fly fishes Chris says, “Yeah… he finally gave in.  We were out-fishing him regularly with our fly rods.  There was one day when we were catching trout one after the other and he wasn’t catching a thing.  He couldn’t take it anymore, so now he’s started fly fishing too.”

To date, Chris has landed reds, trout, flounder, snook, and jacks with his fly rod along with nearly every other Texas inshore species.  But perhaps his most notable catch was a Spanish mackerel he landed on July 29, 2007 while fly fishing on PINS.

Chris says, “We were coming up the beach around the 55 mile mark when we noticed pelicans diving over what looked like black sand.  It looked like a place where you might see some fossils so we stopped.  Then Dad started hollering for me to grab my fly rod.  We could see all these fish so we start casting at them.  Dad hooked up and then I cast right out in front of these cruising Spanish mackerel and a big one appeared from behind and just slammed the fly.  The fight was on.  I eventually landed him on the beach and he looked like he might be a record.  We found Billy (Sandifer) farther up the beach and he said he thought it would be the new State Record Spanish Mackerel.”  Sure enough, Chris’ fish was certified as the new State Record Spanish Mackerel, Fly Fishing division, at 6.6 lbs and 30.88 inches- quite an achievement. 

Congratulations to both Chris and Justin Golla for their accomplishments in the outdoors.  Through hard work and hands-on experience they have proven themselves as talented anglers.  No doubt more fish and more adventures lie ahead of these two fine young men.

By Casey R. Smartt

As anglers we often talk about fishing “the edge.”   Edges in the water column are important because they create opportunities for predators to attack or ambush prey.  A few examples of edges include reefs, mud lines, weed lines, temperature and current gradients, sandbars, submerged structure, and shorelines.  These are all good places to deliver a fly.  The surf, where a giant mass of water collides with a giant mass of land, is perhaps the ultimate edge.  And yes… it too can be a good place to deliver a fly. 

Fly fishing in the surf is the topic of many e-mails and phone calls I receive from anglers who want to try something beyond bay and flats fishing.  I love the surf so I encourage most folks to try it.  An angler could spend his entire life, and many have, trying to figure out the secrets and endure the hardships of the surf.  There are so many facets and so many things to learn, but the mystery of course is what keeps us coming back for more.    

The easiest fish to catch in the surf are the ones feeding at the surface.  When predators amass in large schools, they push balls of bait to the top and pound away until they get their fill.  These surface blitzes can be seen rolling down the beach at great distances and are usually marked by diving gulls and pelicans.  For a guy with a fly rod, it’s as good as it gets.  Just get within casting range and flop your offering into the middle of the explosions… pure excitement.

Like nearly any place else, fish in the surf are opportunistic feeders.  They seek out the easiest most efficient way to get a meal.  Sometimes they feed at the surface, but more often they stage along ambush points where currents and structure allow them to surprise and attack prey. 

Learning to identify these ambush points is known as “reading the surf.” Reading the surf requires experience, imagination, and a fundamental understanding of the forces at work below the breaking waves and foam.  From the bank, the surf may appear to be a static system- a simple intersection between flat sand and curling waves.  But there is way more to it than that. 

Below those waves is a bottom structure that is alive and ever changing.  Currents driven by wind and celestial powers sculpt the sand into a series of guts and bars.  These structural features follow the shoreline along the full length of the beach.  They look like uniform submerged windrows that pile up below crashing waves but in reality they are ever-changing.  Subtle variations like small potholes or bends and large variations like j-hooks and washouts or breaches in the bars are present throughout their length. 

The powerful force of moving water forms these features and they are great places for predators to stage and attack prey.  Baitfish can be tumbled off bars by wave action or swept around or through the bars by currents.  Predators lie in wait for the delivery, concealed either in the depths or in the confusion of the froth.  The challenge as an angler is to spot these areas and get your fly into them. 

At high tide, if you wade across the shallow wash area called the wade gut and plant your feet on the first bar, you will be staring out across the first gut toward the inside of the second bar.  Waves are likely breaking over the second bar and the wash from those waves is carrying over into the gut in front of you.  Where are the fish?

Imagine that you are staring upstream toward a waterfall.  Hungry fish are waiting below the waterfall for prey that tumbles helplessly down to them.  That is the image.  Now cast across the gut and drop your fly on top of the second bar.  Make a short retrieve and drag your fly “over the waterfall.”  The strike occurs as the fly tumbles down into the gut.  This tactic is one of my favorites and has accounted for many fish over the years.

If the wind or distance is limiting your ability to reach the second bar, then slide your feet slowly toward the outside of the first bar to a point where the bar begins to slope into the first gut in front of you.  Now imagine the gut in front of you is a river and you are knee-deep on its edge.  Visualize the way the fish in that river would patrol its banks and its bed, working the currents and searching for an errant victim.  Make your casts and deliver your fly to the fish you envision in that river. 

When you encounter special features in the surf like prominent j-hooks or washouts, take advantage of them.  The inside curve of a j-hook is often a stake out point for fish.  Water driven over the bottom of the j-hook is deposited in the small trough at the base and carries with it all sorts of food.  Again, it is like a very small waterfall.  Casting your fly onto the shallow hump of the j-hook and allowing it to tumble over the waterfall and into the trough is a tactic that can draw strikes from waiting fish.  You also can deliver a fly directly to the pothole and let it fall in. 

The edges of washouts and breaches in bars can be fished several ways.  One way is cast a fly directly into the breach and let the current suck it out to waiting fish.  A second method is to actually stand on the bar that is breached and approach the washout from the upstream side.  Make a cast on the inside edge of the bar and allow the current to carry the fly down to and out through the washout. Predators will stake out the outside edge of the washout.  It is exactly the same technique you might use to catch fish along secondary channels on the edges of flats during a falling tide.  The predators lie in wait outside the secondary channel and pounce on prey swept out to them.

If you are lucky enough to find yourself casting to nothing but breaking fish in the surf you won’t need to fall back on creative tactics.  But at some point you’ll likely find yourself staring across an endless expanse of water wondering where to start.  Remember that the world below the surface is very much alive and changing.  Currents collide and combine, bars collapse and rebuild, channels are gouged and filled again.  It is the ultimate edge.