A lot has been said recently about an Arctic Grayling’s voracious appetite for rodents. No doubt about it, when you’re throwing a mouse pattern in Western Alaska for rainbow trout, you’re going to see your fair share of this:
Fly Out Media got out the camera recently when the rainbows were more than happy to oblige.
Sight fishing in the gin clear waters of an estuary where you routinely hear waves pounding the shore just over the dunes can lead you to believe you’re dialed in when it comes to how you handle a fly rod. Sure, you’ve got to be vigilant, eye on the ball at all times and ready to get in the game the moment a fish appears, but for the most part it becomes a matter of routine. Leading a redfish or trout is a calculation that happens in the blink of an eye, or rather the moment in time that it takes to develop a backcast and shoot line to the spot where you want the intercept angle to originate.
Recently a trip to Alaska opened my eyes to line control in a big way. I spent two weeks, nearly 16 hours a day immersed in a clinic put on by two guys that dissect water in a way that had my attention. Seriously, there was no end to the nuance of the ways they covered every possible spot a fish might be laying in wait for a passing meal.
A lot of humor comes at the expense of trout anglers when they’re on the pointy end of a skiff facing an onshore breeze that seems to keep their intended target just outside of casting range. Guides can spin yarns at the dock over a morning cup of coffee that will have you in stitches as they recall a sport that nearly started a tropical storm whipping fly line to and fro in a panic at the sight of a fish.
For the record, I’ve told a few of those stories as well.
Now, I have to tell you there is some modicum of truth to the generalizations made relative to casting skills between trout anglers and someone who spends most of their time in salt. Its simply a fact of life. The clinic I witnessed in the wilds of Alaska changed my overall bias towards the skills required to fish successfully on a river or stream.
In its most simple form, I’ll call it line control. The cast is merely an introduction from what I saw. A howdy-do, per se. The conversation that follows was the interesting part of the encounter. While it wasn’t 100% sight fishing, it was so akin to it, the line control I witnessed made it clear to me that the essence of it was the exact same thing.
Just like in shallow water sight fishing their is a point where the magic was going to happen. The point in space where a collision was going to occur and the line would come tight. The tug.
Anytime I was on the down current end of the raft, casting to a spot where I thought a fish would be lying in wait; from time to time, there was. Fish on. Yet, when I was on the oars, I would watch these two cast to a similar target, yet their fly would skate or drift through the same point in slow motion, lingering in the sweet spot begging to be eaten. The difference being plainly, my offering was there and gone in the blink of an eye.
They caught fish at a rate of 3 to 1 compared to my effort.
As I watched them, I started to realize that they were more connected to what the fly did once it was in the water. Getting it there was just the beginning compared to my approach which was to have it arrive at the destination.
Mend. Mend. Mend, Goddamit!
Well, its not just for trout fishing anymore in my mind. What?!?
Mending in saltwater sight fishing? YES.
But thats a technique to reduce line drag to ensure a dead drift for wary trout…
Agreed, but the principles of it apply to feeding fish on the flats as well. After making a cast to a moving fish, the ability to adjust the angle of a retrieve more subtlety is invaluable. If you can do it without picking up fly line and recasting you avoid spooking a fish by having line in the air.
I now find myself kicking out line to drag an angle to an arch or raising the rod tip to sweep the fly line to one side or the other to get the fly to where I want it, the point of collision, rather than re-casting.
This change in tactics has accounted for plenty of hook-ups where in the past they likely wouldn’t have happened.
I’ll never look at a trout fishing the same way again.
Tailing redfish are extremely fun to target when sight fishing. Depending on the type of bottom they are feeding over, they can also be frustrating beyond belief to feed successfully.
One of the reasons for it in thick grass is the fact that their vision is impaired by the grass itself.
The next time you’re experiencing apparent refusals, keep in mind it may simply be that the fly is not being seen.
Switching to a top water fly may be contrary to conventional wisdom, but it works.
Cast a foot or two ahead of the direction the fish is feeding and wait for it to move. A couple of subtle strips is usually all it takes to get their immediate attention and you find yourself clearing line and getting on the reel.
The fall lunar cycle is piling water up inshore, now more than ever, you might consider this different approach to tailers. It could spell the difference between success and failure.
The past few weeks have been filled with days of building anticipation for the good times and fishing that is to come. Three intrepid angling souls will pack up flies, rods and reels in just two days and retract the landing gear to head southeast into the archipelago of The Bahamas.
The unknown challenges of going it alone is the greatest appeal for “Do It Yourself” in a far flung location, but the rewards are epic when they come.
The entire experience is an adventure. Beyond the simplicity of making a call to any of the fine bonefish lodges that dot the island nation, the search for shelter is just the beginning in a DIY adventure. Scouring Google Maps for potential flats that will be both accessible and productive consumes hours of time as the date approaches.
For now, its back to packing and double checking gear…
The reflection of sunlight glimmers like a star on the evening horizon as a tail rises above the surface, distributing the light in a beacon like flash. Roseate spoonbills and wood storks line the shoreline in search of a piscatorial breakfast. As you glide towards the point where the tail has disappeared beneath the surface, not so much as a breeze stirs the heavy moist morning air.
The anticipation of seeing that tail emerge again is building. Your focus is laser-like as you try to discern even the slightest ripple or wake that might alert you to the redfish that is starting to seem like it vanished completely.
The scenario plays out several more times over the next hour while the storks and spoonbills have all but stood still, save the occasional movement that was required to capture a crustacean or fish at its feet.
By now, the sun has climbed a bit higher and the sight lines into the water have grown longer. The occasional sign of a fish still appears, but its merely a tease, as they continue to cruise silently back into oblivion, blending into the mottled bottom.
Rather than succumbing to the urge to leave these redfish behind in search of “happier” fish, a better option is to simply put time on your side.
The birds along the shore are masters of time and use it wisely to ensure they remain well fed each and every day. Emulating their tactics can lead to success where before it had remained elusive.
Sight fishing is often referred to as being akin to hunting . Most often it is a spot and stalk game, but occasionally still hunting will deliver the best results.
When the fish are playing hide and go seek, hunker down and put time on your side. They’ll eventually make the mistake of showing themselves within your range. Then, just like our feathered friends have learned, they’ll be easy pickings.