Points of Transition

Edges, corners and points of transition are attractors for all sorts of fish and game. Fishermen and hunters alike gravitate toward contour changes in pursuit of quarry that have a proclivity for these areas as well. A big largemouth on an outer edge of a submerged brush pile, a huge buck in the corner of a woodlot or striped bass at the transition point from sand to rocks are all examples of locations of potential wildlife and fish activity. The salty fly fisherman would be well served to pay attention to these and other similar geographic considerations and variations in structure. Just recently I was fly-fishing a stretch of beach in the wee hours of pre-dawn. Shuffling along the sand bottom I made cast after cast without a single bass showing so much as passing interest in my fly. At one point I sensed a bottom change through my wading boot; the structure beneath my feet transitioned from smooth, soft sand to what felt like a pebbly bottom. Within two or three subsequent lateral steps, I had a nice striped bass strike my fly. A few casts later, another bass hit. At the time I didn’t think much of it and continued my way down the beach, moving off the rocky bottom and back on to sand. But after wading an additional one hundred yards without another hit, I began thinking about the pebbles and stones that had been underfoot. I retraced my steps back to that general area of change and began casting, positioning myself first over the sand bottom. I waded again laterally and as fate or luck or structure would have it, once I hit upon the pebbled bottom, more bass ate the fly. What now became an obvious revelation was that as long as I stayed within that small area of transition I caught bass. If I moved off from that preferred bottom situation the bite became non-existent. I continued to catch bass that morning as long as I stayed within the parameters of the gravely transition zone. But what was even more revealing to me was that this pattern continued for more than a week of fishing, as long as I moved from one similar area to another. Sometimes it just pays to have sensitive feet and to listen to what your wading boots are telling you!

Casting the Whole Chicken

A couple years ago at an Eastern Flyrodders of Long Island meeting I watched world renowned fly casting expert Mark Sedotti toss a 20-inch, large bodied Slammer Fly – the size of a full grown oven-roaster - one-hundred-twenty feet with a six weight fly rod. The audience didn’t believe what they had witnessed, so to convince them Mark did it again. This time the fly sailed the same distance and with pinpoint accuracy almost landed in the cup of a practice hole at Indian Island Country Club in Riverhead. I also witnessed Mark do the same thing at the Fly Fishing Show in Somerset NJ, only that time he knocked down the backboard as the cast’s finale! My first thought was Annie Oakley, for this just had to be a trick cast. Mark is a very gifted and athletic caster and a topnotch angler as well. I equate his casting abilities to those of a baseball pitcher. A lot of folks can throw strikes but only a handful can do so at 95 miles an hour! To do so takes an extra special genetic makeup. I mentioned that to Mark and added that only he and a handful of other casters I know could do what he does with a fly rod and big flies. After all, his casting seemed to defy the rules of physics. Mark response to that, “Anyone can do it.” OK, I’ll bite - what’s the trick? “No trick,” Mark shot back. “The secret is a ‘weight-balanced’ fly. My first thought was, I don’t care how weight-balanced a fly is, throwing a chicken on a six-weight is just not possible, even though I had seen him do it.
After the Eastern exhibition the group withdrew to the clubhouse and Mark explained his fly tying and fly casting theories. Simply put, add enough balanced weight to a fly in the form of a keel, allowing the fly to overcome air resistance and drag, and casting really big flies is a breeze. Simple? Yes! Does it work? Yes! It still takes honed casting skills to toss a fly like Mark, but his approach teaches us an even more important fly-fishing lesson - think outside the fly box and don’t always subscribe to conventional wisdom or theory. That is how the sport of fly fishing advances and how we enhance out own abilities. By the way, if the opportunity ever presents itself, take a fly-cast lesson with Mark. Even if you are an accomplished caster, his tips and techniques will make you better.

Don't Go in the Water

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.

Crab Flies and Striped Bass

Casting crab flies to striped bass might be as close to technical fly-fishing as we have on the local saltwater scene. Bass love to eat live crabs of all varieties, but getting them to eat a crustacean imitation is not an easy task, especially if you’re sight casting to them in thin water or on the flats. That takes patience, stealth, accurate casting, an enticing retrieve and a modicum of good luck. It is one of those techniques where the fly angler has to actually “feed” the fly to the fish. The two most common methods for fishing crab flies are drifting them while blind casting to probable feeding stations, or visually sighting and casting to bass feeding in shallow water. The latter is unquestionably the more demanding and challenging approach. One thing is for certain when fishing in this manner – each bass caught is well deserved and gratifying.
Alan Caolo is one of the very best crab fly anglers in the Northeast. His book,
Sight-Fishing for Striped Bass (Amato Publications, 2001) focuses on various fly fishing strategies and is filled with helpful hints and tips on skinny water fly fishing for striped bass, including those involving crab flies. I touched base with Alan recently and he graciously provided some words of wisdom regarding his experiences fly-fishing crabs. His insights are sure to enhance any fly angler’s understanding of crab fly techniques.
“Fishing crab patterns here in the Northeast for striped bass and tautog is a relatively new approach that’s quite a bit different from the usual tactics employed by fly-rodders. There are certainly times when dead-drifting unweighted crab flies in currents, or casting-and-retrieving weighted patterns (as one would a Clouser Minnow) while “blind-fishing” will take fish, but, for the most part, crab flies are “sight-fishing” patterns. To fish them effectively, anglers must “feed” the fly to a game fish that was first spotted, and then presented the fly. The fish’s response to the fly must be visually interpreted during the retrieve as you “convince” the fish to take it. It is the need to read the fish’s behavior as you cajole it to eat that makes fishing these patterns (for the most part) a sight-fishing game – much like when bonefishing.
There are a number of very good crab patterns specifically developed for Northeast sight-fishing today; Dave Skok’s Blind Crab and Calico Merkin, and my own Green Diablo and Pink Lady are four of my favorites. A key to fishing these flies is getting them in front of the target fish with a presentation that lands the fly far enough ahead of the fish to avoid spooking it, and so as to allow it to settle to the bottom before the fish spots it and the retrieve is started. Once the fish sees it and is interested, try not to impart too much movement to the fly; a tempered retrieve that is punctuated with twitches, nudges, and is frequently paused is best for closing the sale . . . much as with bonefish and permit in the tropics.”
I’ll second the choice of Caolo’s Green Diablo and Pink Lady and add a few more patterns that are personal favorites: BMAR Crab, Samson’s Stone Crab, Mikkleson’s Crab-A-Dab-A-Goo, Courchaine’s Monomoy Crab and Murphy’s Live Body Defense Crab. Within our fishing range the most predominant species of crabs are: fiddlers, green, calico, mud, blue and Asian, all dietary preferences of local stripers. Many of the more effective permit and large bonefish flies also work well for striped bass. Keep some light tan, dark brown and mottled-back crabs in your fly arsenal. That combination of colors can handle most any conditions you will encounter on the Island.
I was honored recently by a stocky 33-inch bass that chose to eat one of my small crab fly concoctions. This occurred in an area with a large number of Asian crabs that wash into a small backwater eddy. Needless to say, that fish made my day! While the fly is more of a hybrid crab/crustacean pattern, it is fished like a drifted crab and the bass seem to like it.

Tarpon...Almost

I returned recently from a few days on the west coast of Florida where I was totally harassed by some large tarpon. I fished with Captain Nick Angelo of Tampa, who guided me to my fair share of shots at these magnificent fish. Catching these oversized, prehistoric herring on the fly can be a daunting and humbling task. While I have had success in getting tarpon to the boat using fly-fishing gear, that objective was not achieved this time. I did manage to stick flies into the bony maws of three “poons”, and I did jump a one hundred-pound plus fish. But in the end, the quarry won! Consistent success at this game requires a resolute will, patience and unyielding determination; success is often measured in small victories. The challenge is to place the fly in the path of oncoming fish, often moving at high rates of speed across open sand and grass flats. The fly must be presented at a correct angle so that it crosses the path of the tarpon in a natural way. This involves leading fish with the cast, much as a quarterback leads a receiver. Easier said than done! Despite their size, tarpon are surprisingly wary of anything – including flies- that comes at them from an unnatural direction. Once the fly is cast and allowed to sink to the level of the fish, long, steady retrieves should get it to intersect the fish’s route and capture its attention. Should the fish react to the fly in a positive way, chalk that up as a minor victory. But this is where the real fun begins. When a big tarpon tracks a fly in thin water it is tough to maintain one’s composure while watching the drama unfold! I can vouch for that from personal experience. Buck fever pales in comparison to this deal! But the fly must continue moving along steadily and in a way so as to maintain the “beast’s” interest. Sometimes, tarpon will nose the fly or bump it. This is when one’s self control needs be at its peak. Often, a break in the retrieve with either a slight pause or some form of subtle seduction - like jiggling the fly with the rod tip - can excite and stimulate the fish. The goal at this stage of the presentation is to make the fly look alive - to get the tarpon to want to eat it. If the fish actually does inhale the fly, consider that another minor victory, or perhaps even a small miracle! When it does eat, one of two things will happen. The strike will either be an unmistakable, bone-jarring smash or a take so subtle you will think a small sea trout may have mouthed the fly. This latter strike is where it gets tricky. The natural inclination is to lift the rod. That is a big mistake! I’ve been there too! At this point in the game one needs to keep the fly in motion, even if you see the take and the accompanying flash of a turning fish. The key is letting the line go completely tight, as if you were hung up on a log. Once that happens, a few strip strikes just might seal the deal. If the fly angler makes it this far, congratulations on a job well done. But the mission is far from accomplished for this is when the difficult work begins. Tarpon can pull as hard as a Mack truck, and they will go missile ballistic as airborne acrobats. Should the fish choose to stay low and deep, just settle in for a long, hard fight. If you hook a flyer, all sorts of nasty things can happen. But that is a story for another time.
When the tarpon frustration levels reached their zenith on my trip, I worked off the excess stress by throwing flies to snook in the mangroves, permit on the points and bars, small grouper on the rocks, and tons of little tunny! Not a bad release valve!