A number of years back I was wade fishing for snook along a stretch of beach on Sanibel Island, Florida. It was one of those picture-perfect Gulf Coast days. Being immersed in water up to mid-thigh depth kept me cool, and a cast-friendly breeze aided my distance as I worked the fly rod. I was proud of my casts as the fly sailed out just beyond the first set of small breakers and settled in the trough preceding the next grouping of waves. I shuffled along slowly, casting to new water every few feet. My solitude was interrupted by a surprising voice behind me, “ Nice casting there fella. Too bad all the snook are behind you!” “What? What are you talking about?” I replied.
The fellow motioned for me to get out of the water and come stand up by him. I was taught at a young age not to talk to strangers but I sensed this guy might have some fishing wisdom to share so I took the risk! Out of the water I came. “Let’s just watch for a few minutes,” he said. Within moments he pointed to a few ghost-like images cruising up the edge of the shoreline, the telltale black lines dead giveaways to the snooks’ presence. We waited and we watched as small pods and squadrons of snook passed by one after the other, all well behind the position I’d been fishing just moments before, and very near to the shore. It made me think that had I dropped the fly behind me on the back casts I may have had some hook-ups. The old gent winked at me and continued on his walk. I continued fishing but now I stayed planted on terra firma, and I caught snook.
The lessons of that experience were vividly awakened recently as I waded a favorite stretch of local beach for striped bass. Once again I was in up to my stripping basket and impressing myself with the casting. I heard a slight pop off to my right and just caught a glimpse of silver as a fish appeared to be turning on small bait. I slowly backed out of the water and watched. Within minutes I spied hundreds of small, slender and frenetic sand eels shooting past my vantage point. Hot on their heels were some decent-sized stripers. I made one short false cast angled to the right and dropped the fly no more than fifteen feet from shore. A couple strips were all it took for the first of numerous bass to take. I walked the beach for the balance of the tide, not once getting my waders wet. There are certainly times while fly-fishing our local beaches when it pays to simply stay dry at the water’s edge. The obvious situations are pre-dawn, dusk and at night when fish cruise close to where water meets land searching for shallow water prey. Another similar situation is during the spring when bass run thin water looking for sand eels, as are certain periods during the fall run along both shores of the Island, when high incoming winds force bait into the zones along the edge. Every once and a while make a few casts before forging ahead into the water. You might be surprised at the outcome.
