A school of a few dozen fish moved slowly through the teal water in front of the skiff. They maintained their trajectory and tolerated my false casting. This was not one of those moments in which everything depended on one perfect cast. There would be others, but as the tide continued to drop and the inlet drained, the fish would stop their pushing and circling. I couldn’t waste opportunities, but this moment wasn’t one of make or break.
A saltwater double haul is not a delicate “ten and two” presentation. It’s much more of a chuck, though that doesn’t mean it is void of beauty. It’s still artful, but unlike a carefully placed dry fly offered to a holding or feeding trout, fishing for cruising salmon in 15 feet of saltwater necessitates getting the fly out there, then getting it moving.
My fly landed a few feet in front of the school which moved more or less in a tight formation, three fish across at its widest. I gave it two counts to sink, then started to strip.
My fly wasn’t visible and the silvers had moved beyond my vision, but in the direction of the fly. They were seeing it even if I couldn’t. I needed one to strike, or be curious enough to circle around and follow until the temptation was too much.
Nothing. Nothing.
The closer a fly, spinner, spoon, cut plug or whatever gets to the boat, the more anticipation fades, but it’s not over until you see that nothing is in pursuit. All anglers have a story about a take that happens right at the boat or shore. All anglers have a story about cutting the cast short, and pulling the fly from the water just as the take was going to happen.
If you are an angler and you don’t have both, you will.
I saw my fly and kept it moving closer, closer to the bow. Nothing followed. I moved my rod to my right to make sure, keeping the fly in the water as long as possible.
I took a breath and stared back into the water, looking for legitimate opportunities rather than blind casting and not being able to feel my elbow or shoulder the next day.
There is no perfect boat, but there are perfect boats for particular applications. A few days before I had been attempting to fly fish for cohos from the bow of my buddy’s Hewescraft. My line caught the anchor, chain, cleat, rail and rod holder. Still I had hooked one within the first 10 minutes. I fought the fish and eventually my buddy Rob netted it on the back deck. It was perfect.
The next day I went to work building an obstruction-free casting deck over the fuel tank in the front of my skiff.
It was the dream. Sight fishing for salmon in the salt with my fly rod from a platform. The only difference between me and an angler pursuing bonefish in Andros would be the fish. And the water temperature. And the aluminum of my skiff vs. the fiberglass of a flats skiff. And the muddy bottom of this cove versus the sandy bottom of the Bahamas. OK, so it’s only alike in that I’d be using a fly rod in the saltwater just like this fictional dude in Andros would.
But who had it better?
There is a time for trolling with downriggers, mooching with cut plugs or tossing a spinner. And there is a time when the only way to fish a situation is with a fly. Another school…fish on!
• Jeff Lund is a freelance writer based in Ketchikan. His book, “A Miserable Paradise: Life in Southeast Alaska,” is available in local bookstores and at Amazon.com. “I Went to the Woods” appears twice per month in the Sports and Outdoors section of the Juneau Empire.
