By Captain Jason Moore

They slip in on the rising summer tide, largely unseen and certainly unheralded. But for a (very) few knowing fly anglers, cownose rays bring the heat.

It took a few seasons to crack the code on these rays. Summers along this stretch of coast can feel still and slow. Flounder settle near the cuts, and bluefish might light up the surface occasionally, but the fly game stays subtle most days. Then the rays showed up. Clean water sweeps over sandbars with the tide. Big fish move with intent and are more than willing to eat a fly if it moves just right. It felt more like the tropics than southern New Jersey.

It made sense to go looking.

Wild Bill stood on the bow of the panga, relaxed, rod tip low, line stripped out and at the ready. The tide flooded the flat, rolling up the edges and across the sandbars. Ripples were starting to show, carrying everything the rays came for—small fish, sand crabs, and anything else caught in the tumbling current, or that moved too slowly without burrowing into the sand. From up top, dark shapes slid in and out of the flow, wings just breaking the surface as they fed, pivoting and leaving clouds of fine sand in their wake.

Cownose rays (Rhinoptera bonasus) are a seasonal fixture here, showing up each summer as the water warms along the shallow inlets and bays of the Atlantic seaboard. Averaging 20 pounds and sometimes pushing twice that, they cruise the flats, bays, and beachfront troughs looking for small fish and crustaceans, turning over sand and leaving behind the plumes that give them away.

The skiff is panga-style with a mostly flat bottom, a poling platform, and an honest eight-inch draft. It’s built off the same commercial lines still used across Latin America—clean, simple, efficient. It tracks quietly, floats skinny, and gets into water most boats can’t.

At dead low, the flat is barren. Dull brown sand stretches wide under harsh light, soft underfoot, and still. But as the tide begins to push, the flat changes. Water creeps in. At first, it’s a slow fill through the deeper cuts, then it builds. Fish start moving. Crabs scramble. Everything that feeds, crawls, or drifts starts shifting. And right behind them, the rays.

They don’t show up early. They hold just off the edge where the current stacks, sliding in only when there’s enough depth and enough commotion. They appear just as it all comes together—slow-moving shadows drifting with purpose, wings tipping slightly with each adjustment. They come in low, sometimes so close you’re sure they’re stalking you.

This time of year, sand crabs and small fish are everywhere. Female crabs flash bright orange egg sacs beneath their bellies, and the rays don’t pass them up. They track low, lift slightly, then drop to pin their food. That’s why the take isn’t always seen—it’s felt. A hard pull, sudden and heavy, like someone trying to rip the rod from your hands.

When the tide tops out, the flat exhales. The fish don’t leave, but they vanish under depth and glare. The current spreads, and the surface goes glassy. Contrast disappears. That narrow window is all you get—just enough water to bring the flat to life, but not so much that it hides everything.

And that window doesn’t last long.

The Right Stuff

It’s timing. Knowing when to push and when to post up. When the rays decide to eat, they’re looking for a fly already trying to get away—tumbling in the current, bouncing off the bottom, fighting for the edge.

They aren’t easy. Like any good saltwater prize, cownose rays force decisions. They’ll make you question the cast, second-guess the strip, and lose the angle. Rush it and you’re late. Wait too long and she’s gone. Everything has to line up—the cast, the fly, the retrieve. Miss any one and you’re done.

The flies are simple. Sparse baitfish in light tones with a little flash, tied on stout 2/0 hooks. Sand flea profiles with a sash of orange or green Alphlexo crabs. But it’s not just the fly—it has to move like it’s trying to stay alive. Move like it’s getting thrown out of a bar, a bit frantic but still trying to stay in control.

A 10-weight is standard, paired with a good reel and at least 200 yards of 30-pound backing. Rays run wide, dig deep, and don’t quit just because you want to.

Leaders are basic. No taper unless you’re feeling fancy or are getting ready for a trip to the Yucatan. Twenty or even thirty-pound fluorocarbon stays connected without drawing attention. Go heavier and they’ll see it. Go lighter and you’ll regret it on the first run or when the line scrapes across their back.

Flat on Flat

Bill was ready. His flies were tied for this place and these fish—no bulk, glued wraps, weighted right. They dropped fast, didn’t tumble, and held bottom when needed. Flies that looked like they didn’t want to be seen.

The first school came through, rays packed close, almost touching. A push of shadows fanning across the flat. Bill dropped his cast just ahead of the lead ray. Let it sink—two slow strips. The fish flared, hovered. Then came the take, and the line went tight and the rod bent, and it was on.

The flat erupted. Wings slapped the surface, and the ray surged. Not quick like a bonefish, but deliberate, like she meant to drag us across the inlet. The rod bent deep. The reel screamed. I don’t remember the line going; it was just the backing melting away as she ran.

Rays don’t bolt. They tear into long, heavy runs with wide arcs and no give. It’s like pulling burlap through current—nothing flashy, just constant resistance. The first run was long. The second longer. When it slowed, it didn’t get easier. Rays settle and pull harder, fanning their wings into the pressure like it’s personal.

You need to feel this in your legs. The rod stays low. Steady pressure.

Bill worked the fish slowly. I turned the skiff to hold the angle. The ray surfaced—still heavy, almost calm. We brought her close, popped the hook, and watched her slip back into the current. One last pulse of sand, and she was gone.

Line was stripped out again. Another fly tied on. Another school already sliding in. Same angle, same game.

Catching rays isn’t about numbers. It’s about reading the push. It’s about one fish at a time and, if everything lines up, then another.

Barracuda Breakdown by Chico Fernandez

Fly Fishing the Surf with Bob Popovics

Bison Of The Flats: The Bumphead Parrotfish

The post For a (very) few knowing fly anglers, cownose rays bring the heat. first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post For a (very) few knowing fly anglers, cownose rays bring the heat. appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

Many coastal fly anglers consider surf fishing to be the ultimate challenge. Fortunately, most of us live within a coffee-mug drive from some of the best surf fly fishing opportunities in the world. Down South, the snook is king, while Up North the striped bass wears the crown. There’s a supporting cast of bluefish, mackerel, trout, and jacks.

Bob Popovics is one of the best at the game of surf fly fishing. He’s been at it for more than 50 years and lives only minutes from New Jersey’s Island Beach State Park, a favorite for striped bass hunters. His surf experience also includes time at surf fly fishing haunts like Martha’s Vineyard, Montauk, and the Outer Banks.

Just back from Vietnam in 1970, the young Marine was eager to get on with his life and get back to fishing with his dad and working at his family’s Shady Rest restaurant in Bayville, New Jersey.  A lunch get-together with high school buddies Jimmy Magee and Butch Colvin (whose dad owned the iconic Cap Colvin’s Tackle in Seaside Park), was the first step in a lifelong fly fishing journey that has made Bob one of the most influential fly tiers of the second generation of saltwater fly fishing pioneers.

The three buddies arranged a trip off Harvey Cedars to jig weakfish, but when bluefish crashed the party, Butch grabbed a fly rod and began casting. “I thought that was pretty cool, and wanted to learn more about fly fishing, so the next day Butch took me to Cap Colvin’s to buy my first fly rod, reel and line,” Popovics says. “I was hooked. It was like therapy, and the process of learning to cast and catch fish was soothing, and great fun. I fished with the fly rod as often as I could.”

Later that winter, Butch gave Bob a cardboard beer flat filled with a fly tying vise, bobbin, thread, and some feathers and bucktail, and said, “You’re going to learn how to tie flies.” Back then, there wasn’t much information about saltwater fly tying, but like the promise of a full moon at high tide, a new organization called the Salt Water Fly Rodders of America (SWFROA) brought a fresh level of excitement to coastal fly fishers with an exchange of information, techniques, tackle, and fly tying. Bob was an eager student.

Annual get-togethers were sponsored by SWFROA and its chapters at places like Tilghman Island, Maryland; Key West, Florida; Newport, Rhode Island; and Sag Harbor, New York. Bob attended one on North Carolina’s Outer Banks, where he met Lefty Kreh, who became a good friend and mentor. SWFROA had many well known fly anglers on its board of directors, but Fred Schrier of Toms River, New Jersey, was the dynamo, “the juice,” that drove the new organization.

“I owe a lot to Fred,” Popovic says, “because he was a great motivator, always encouraging me to try new things, and he helped introduce me to so many people like Mark Sosin, Poul Jorgensen, Bub Church, and many others who generously gave me advice and support. Fred’s really the guy who gave me the biggest boost.”

“Surf fly fishing is a very visual experience, and to be good at it you have to be an observer, be aware of your surroundings, the type of beach, the breeze, the currents, and beach structure. Watch everything that happens all around you. Before you make the first cast, walk up to the beach, wait a few moments and observe. Watch the wave sets, get the feel of the rhythm of things before you start fishing. Before I make the first cast I check out the water for signs of bait, cloudy and clear water edges, the formation of bars and points, the location of white water and calm water, and the types of birds in the area. You need patience to be an observer, but it makes you a better fly fisherman.”

Bob likes to keep things simple. He may have plenty of fly gear and equipment in his beach buggy, but keeps only the bare essentials in a shirt or jacket pocket when he’s standing at the water’s edge fishing. “I always have my stripping basket, and like to use a Velcro belt, which is so much easier to get on and off than a buckle-type belt. My pliers are on my wading belt. I pare down what I need to just a few flies and essentials. Instead of taking 20 of each type of pattern, such as crab flies, or bucktail Deceivers, or Jiggies, I take maybe three of each so I have enough on hand to replace a broken-off or fish-chewed fly. I like soft fleece wallets that fit into my shirt pockets to keep a supply of favorite flies close at hand.”

He also keeps a spool of 16-pound tippet handy, and another of 12-pound for very clear water. He usually doesn’t use a heavy mono bite tippet. If blues show up, he has a screw-top tube container in his pocket (like the kind that hold cigars), with 8-inch wire leaders tied with a haywire loop at one end to attach to the tippet. The open end is then haywired to the fly.

“Most of the time I know what to expect when I hit the beach, so if the mullet are running, I take mullet patterns and don’t bother loading myself down with a bunch of flies that probably are not appropriate,” Popovics says. “I do like to have a color selection on hand in case I need to change from a bright fly to dark one, and same goes for short and long patterns.”

Bob favors a 9- or 10-foot, single-hand rod, and says, “Although I’ve tried, I haven’t gotten into the two-hand casting style, and prefer to use single-hand rods most of the time. I like a rod that is not an ultra-fast design. In my consulting work with fly rod manufacturers and in teaching fly casting, I’ve come to like fly rods that have a tad more bend in the butt section as compared to stiff, ultra-fast taper fly rods. Some of my favorites include designs by St. Croix that give the surf fly caster better control of the fly presentation when mending the line or when lifting the line to make a quick cast to reposition the fly. This is an essential feature for any good surf fly rod.”

“When fly fishing the surf, it’s common to retrieve the fly all the way to the rod tip. To quickly and efficiently make the next cast, I like a short, blunt-head line that will load the rod with less line outside the tip. You’re looking to make as few false casts as possible, so a short compact head will load the rod quicker and more efficiently. Use the resistance of the water to help load the rod as you lift to make the backcast, shoot some line on the backcast, then shoot the works on the forward cast. Depending on wind you may need another false cast to reach out to the fish, but always strive for the fewest number of false casts. The goal is to lift for the backcast, shoot, and shoot again on the forward cast.”

“A floating line is my first choice when selecting a fly line. Most fly anglers can dependably cast 50 to 70 feet, and at that distance most beaches will be about 5 to 7 feet deep. A striped bass can easily see the fly at that depth and if you need to go deeper, a weighted fly like a Jiggy or a Clouser Minnow will get deep enough,” Popovics says.

A floater with a short intermediate head is his second choice. “You want to be able to pick up line and recast if necessary, and this is still possible with an intermediate sink tip fly line. You need to do this if the fish moves away from you after you’ve made a cast, or if the fish veers off at an angle from its original swimming direction.”

“A floating line only behaves badly and makes a poor presentation in the surf when you allow the line to be carried away by a breaking wave. You can overcome this by working the line in between the waves, letting it ride and fall with the waves as they roll to the beach. Watch the sets. After six or seven waves, there’s usually a calm area before the next set starts and you can make a nice presentation into this calm water.”

Bob recommends that every surf fly angler learn the skill of mending line. This quick, circular flip motion of the rod tip adjusts the line’s position in a current or wave to keep the fly tracking nicely. If the wave action makes it impossible to control the fly, he uses a roll cast, then lifts for a backcast, and shoots a forward cast to reposition the fly in calm water. “Rod handling becomes second nature, and after awhile you don’t even think about it. The line mending and lifting just become automatic responses to the motions and actions of the waves.”

We all dream of catching a fish so big we won’t have to fib about it, but typical surf-caught striped bass run from schoolies to teen-size and maybe into the 20-pound range. A 30-pounder is an astonishing catch. Even the biggest striped bass will not take too much line, so Bob prefers lightweight large-arbor reels that can hold about 150 yards of backing. “You don’t need a huge reel. The weight of a big reel gets tiring and feels like you have an anchor under the rod. More important is a large spool diameter that retrieves line quickly. Keep in mind that most fish I can play by simply bringing the line in by hand and dropping it into the stripping basket.

“Most reels today are saltwater worthy,” he says, “and it’s probably more important to consider which hand you use to crank the line in. Right or left, the dominant hand is your best choice. A right hander will reel faster, longer, and more smoothly with the right hand; the opposite is true for a southpaw.”

It’s natural to want to walk into the surf up to your knees, but Popovics prefers being higher on the sand because many times the bass will be right in the wash. When fly fishing a beach, the currents and structure are important. The basic current is from the incoming and receding waves, but there are also beach currents generated by wind that often run along the beach. These areas can be worked by letting the fly swing in the current, mending the line as needed to keep in touch with the fly and not let the waves pull line and cause an erratic retrieve and slack.

Bob suggests surgically casting along the beach structure just like a trout fishermen in a small stream. The bass aren’t everywhere; they hold and travel along definite structure such as a slough between the beach and a sand bar, a cut in a sand bar, a point of the beach with white water along its sides, the edges of clear and cloudy water, and also the calm water. “Work all of it,” he says. “Use wind and currents to your advantage when walking the beach. Keep the wind off your non-casting side when possible, or walk with the current a few steps in between casts.”

Bob’s good friend Lou Tabory told him, “There’s no substitute for time on the water,” and Bob echoes that with more good advice, “Even a fishless morning can still be a great day because of the experience earned and knowledge gained. Count the hours, not the fish. Be an observer, look for things, think about what’s going on around you, work the structure, and remember that time on the water builds casting and fishing skills.”

As the premier fall surf fly fishing builds, Bob uses specific fly patterns based on what bait is prevalent as the season matures from September through November. For the early fall, he’s usually throwing Siliclones and Bob’s Bangers to imitate mullet, and Jiggies and Surf Candies to imitate rain fish. When bigger baits are in the surf, his go-to patterns include bucktail Deceivers, The Beast, and Spread Fleyes. Later in the fall, when the sand eel invasion has hordes of the slender baits invading the beach, he’ll switch to longer but skinny Jiggy Fleyes.

One last tip, one of Bob’s favorite fall times to fly fish is the start of a fresh northeaster before the water gets all roiled up and murky, when it’s still clear. “The bass go on binge feed,” he says, “and if the water is real rough, I’ll use a 300 to 400-grain sink tip line to cut through the turbulence.”

Surf fly fishing is popular for many reasons, including its simplicity and nearness to home—and equipment doesn’t have to cost an arm and a leg. It’s exhilarating when a full-blown bluefish blitz erupts, yet serene and calm as the sun ignites the dawn and striped bass begin to swirl at bait in the trough. Fly fishing the surf is a lifelong adventure that has captured fly fishing pioneers dating back to Rhode Island’s Harold Gibbs, New Jersey’s Cap Colvin, and Maryland’s Lefty Kreh—and it now inspires today’s new generation of fly fishers.

Read more great articles like this one and get expert tips from the legends of saltwater fly fishing in the pages of Tail Fly Fishing Magazine. If you love saltwater fly fishing and wish to improve your game, support conservation causes and become part of a small but incredible community, then subscribe to Tail Fly Fishing Magazine today.

You might also like:

Stripers in the Suds – John G. Sherman

Striper Redux – Jack Gagnon

Worm Hatch – Northeast – Striped Bass

California Corbina: Sight Fishing the Surf

More Articles by Pete Barrett:

Fiberglass Rods for Saltwater Fly Fishing

Who Caught the First Bonefish on a Fly?

Amazing Autumn Fly Fishing

The post Fly Fishing the Surf with Bob Popovics first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Fly Fishing the Surf with Bob Popovics appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

I work in a fly shop. I hear and see every opinionated cliché that our beloved little niche sport conjures up. Often it comes from my customers, sometimes from my peers. 

“Always fish IGFA tippet.” 

“That fly with a spinner blade is so dirty!”

“Euro-nymphing is just Chuck and Duck Lite.”

“Bluefish are trash fish, a striper is a real gamefish.”

For the love of God, just go fishing. 

It would be compounded if I were friends with my customers and local guides on Facebook (as many of my coworkers are), but that’s one vitriolic cesspool too many for me. A peer will frequently inquire, “Did you see the rant about [insert technique] that [insert local guide] did on Facebook?” And while I’ve blessedly ensured my answer is always “Nope,” I’m never surprised when my peer relates the gist of the outburst. 

We’ve already willingly handicapped ourselves: We’ve taken the proverbial plunge into choosing to throw small, non-bait, handmade bits of feather and fur and tinsel. We’ve already decided that we have to get within 50 feet of our quarry if we’re going to present to them. We’ve already decided that our rods will be lighter-duty, more flexible, less wieldy despite putting ourselves at the mercy of offshore winds. We’ve decided that we’re going to comb the world in search of particularly difficult or hard-to-find fish—eaten by flies, ducking under mangrove arbors, being smacked in the face by tag alders along the way—just to make a cast that requires more room despite a particularly confined space. We’ve done all of this to ourselves; so this oasis of stupid doesn’t need to become a virtual battleground about the best, most traditional, or “highest” methods.

Ethics are a bit different. In my mind, there’s a fairly significant difference between whether or not scenting your fly is actually fly fishing and whether or not a certain fishing practice is better or worse for the resource. When it comes to protecting everything we hold dear and preserving it for future generations, any amount of discussion is good. It keeps the ethics of fishing at the forefront and keeps conservation in our brains. If talking about whether a technique is really fishing at all, or whether it’s snagging—that’s an ethics debate. If you’re talking about whether a particular kind of hook or presentation more frequently results in a deep-hooked or foul-hooked fish, then let’s get into it. I’d love it if everyone spent the time they take arguing about how to fish to talk instead about why to fish, or about how to be a better conservationist, or how to introduce someone to the sport. 

I meet many customers who are sheepish about mentioning methods outside of fly fishing. They’ll talk about a great day of fishing and then get a haunted look on their face as they intimate that some of the fish were caught on spin tackle. I can see the inner conflict, the uncertainty or guilt at mentioning conventional gear to a fly-gear guy. I’ll save you the trouble: You caught fish, good for you! And I say that with no sarcasm. You went out and fished, and that’s better than the person sitting in traffic next to you who may spend their weekend getting trashed at a club, searching for something that they’ll never find in the maw of a city. So you kept a couple fish for dinner? Sure is better than the person at the grocery store who doesn’t know or care where their food comes from. That old chestnut about stepping back and seeing the forest from the trees, about looking at the big picture, is appropriate here. 

In recent years, the sport of fly fishing has done its level best to escape the shackles of elitism. More young people, more women, more minorities are taking up the sport. The final mantle we need to shed is petty purism, which plagues every niche sport in some way (traditional archery over a compound bow comes to mind). If you’ve handicapped yourself by taking up this silly sport (yes, it is very silly), you’ve done well, my fellow idiot. Don’t argue with your peers about who’s the bigger idiot—we have enough ways to use the internet to demonstrate our idiocy without turning new anglers away with our bickering. Just go fly fishing.

By James P. Spica (Editor-at-large)

SUBSCRIBE TO TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE

Lefty Kreh – Well Done

Atlantic Striped Bass: Pisces in Peril | Mark White

Fly Fishing Film Tour 2021 – Dropped in the Pacific

The post Fly Fishing: Handicapping Ourselves first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Fly Fishing: Handicapping Ourselves appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

What makes redfish so perfect? First, anglers can sight cast to them, thereby getting in some technical fishing. Second, pound for pound, redfish are a hard-fighting species. And finally, they’re just absolutely beautiful. Fly anglers can pursue redfish all year, but a fall fishing trip is ideal: Beginning in September and October, when late-summer heat gives way to more moderate autumn weather, redfish sense the falling water temperatures and change their behavior dramatically. Instinctively recognizing that their forage is about to disappear, they begin to feed heavily at all times and in places where they usually would not. When this happens, fly anglers interested in exciting sight fishing will want to target redfish in three specific habitats: High tide flats, low tide flats, and small creeks. 

High tide flats fishing, possible in only a few places in the world, is plentiful in the Lowcountry in autumn. Around the full and new moons the tides are abnormally high; water floods up into the spartina grass surrounding the creeks, creating a field of flooded grass in which redfish may gorge on crabs. As the stronger-than-normal current comes into the marshes, redfish take the opportunity to go deep in the grasses to hide from predators and procure an easy meal. When they stop to slurp up crabs in the shallow flooded marsh, redfish often stick their tails straight up in the air, which indicates their position to the fly angler hoping to sight cast with a fly rod and weedless fly. Determine the direction the redfish is headed and place the fly just a few feet in front of it. Make short strips just as he gets to the fly. Redfish anglers generally don’t suffer for lack of feedback, because redfish either hammer a fly–in which case line will commence screaming out of your hands–or spook off, leaving only a wake and shaky knees behind them. 

A low tide flat is a large muddy area that holds at least a little bit of water even at the lowest of low tides; redfish love these low tide flats especially because their number-one predator, the bottlenose dolphin, hates them. Dolphins love a meal of redfish, but they’re careful to avoid very shallow water, especially at falling tide. Low tide flats also usually feature numerous oyster mounds that serve as “structure” for redfish. Growing schools of redfish will swim around and around from one oyster bed to another, feeding on anything in their path as temperatures continue to dip. 

Redfish make long blistering runs in these large muddy flats because they have nowhere to go but out and away from the skiff. From fall through winter, Lowcountry low tide flats fishing provides exceptional sight-casting opportunities because the water is so clear: When you enter a flat you can often see the redfish exploding on baitfish and shrimp in large schools from 50 yards away. A trip to the low tide flat is also great for newcomers to fly fishing: Larger schools of fish mean anglers can usually get a few good shots before the school is spooked–and even after that, there are still more schools remaining. 

Creek fishing is my personal favorite for many reasons, but especially because I enjoy the idea of catching a big fish in a small creek. When you set the hook on a 30-inch redfish in a 10-foot-wide creek, you’d better have brought your A game because there’s no telling where that fish will decide to go. It may head around the corner 60 yards in the creek to wrap you around grass. It may try to break you off on the nearest oyster bed. It may head straight for you under the boat and out of the creek. Redfish like the shallow creek for the same reason they like the flats: These habitats are difficult for predators–both human and dolphin–to access. 

Redfish will push far up into the shallowest part of the creeks at low tide to feed and to hide–and that is precisely when we like to target them with fly rods. Pole silently up a tiny creek on a crisp fall morning and spot schools of large 20- to 30-inch fish busting on baitfish, their backs and tails out of the water–and shaky knees and intense memories are all but guaranteed.

The sights, smells, and sounds of the marsh draw angling novices to South Carolina every year; the delights of the fishery ensure that even the most experienced fly anglers never want to leave. Hiding in plain sight, a short drive and a world away from the East Coast’s bustling cities, South Carolina’s Lowcountry redfish are the only excuse a fly angler needs to schedule a fall road trip. 

Photos by Paul Doughty

SUBSCRIBE TO TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE

Fly Fishing the Lowcountry – Part One

The Lowcountry: Part Two – Species, Seasons, Selections

Fly Fishing the Lowcountry – Part Three: Migratory Species of the Lowcountry

The post Redfish Road Trip: Saltwater fly fishing first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Redfish Road Trip: Saltwater fly fishing appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

In the springtime, when we’ve had about enough of fishing the marshes for juvenile redfish, we’re excited for new targets to migrate our way. The first species I usually come across is bluefish. Bluefish are fun on fly rods because they’re aggressive and mean. If the redfish you were fishing for last winter were like Kenny G, then these bluefish are more like Ozzy Osbourne. They don’t care what you feed them as long as they have a chance to bite the head off of your fly and spit it onto the deck. Bluefish are fun to chase around nearshore reefs, but they can also be found in tidal rips. White birds are a sure sign that there are bluefish in the area. Some of the most entertaining fly fishing in springtime is running and gunning around the beaches, following the terns and gulls with hungry fish just below the surface. The bluefish in this area typically range between 1 and 5 pounds and can be taken on lighter tackle. My go-to is a 6- or 7-weight rod with a floating or intermediate line. Long-shank hooks are great in sizes 2 to 3/0. I tie my flies just above the bend and use the long exposed shank as a bite guard. I try to avoid hair and feathers because they only last a fish or two. Instead, I have better luck with white, red, and pink craft fur and EP, or SF fiber. When fishing for bluefish, flash and epoxy are your friends. Don’t forget to pack some poppers when the bite is hot!

Another high-intensity spring target is the Spanish mackerel. They, too, are vicious, blood-splattering, toothy critters that will readily take a fly. Spanish mackerel are a lot like bluefish and can often be found around the same rips, reefs, and beaches. Running and gunning the beaches for Spanish mackerel is a blast on 7- and 8-weight rods. The larger spawning mackerel weigh almost into the double digits and can easily get you into your backing. The bigger fish are not quite as reckless as the schoolies, so more realistic baitfish patterns are the norm. Chum will greatly increase your odds of hooking large mackerel on the fly. Targeting big Spanish mackerel without fresh chum is like a throwing a college party without beer. Your party will last only a few minutes before all the hot girls leave. Floating and intermediate lines do the trick in most cases. I also pack a reel with a 250- to 300-grain sinking line for when I am marking the fish on sonar but can’t seem to raise them. Baitfish patterns tied in green, white, pink, red, and most combinations thereof, will do the trick on 1/0 to 4/0 hooks. I like the more durable synthetic flies over hair for them as well. Since Spanish mackerel attack from all angles, I use a 6-inch section of stranded 30-pound wire as a bite guard. Avoid using small swivels or larger profile knots to attach the bite guard because mackerel like to eat knots when small baits are around. If the Spanish mackerel’s big brother, the king mackerel, shows up in the process, a reel with 200 yards of backing should buy you some time while your guide or buddy initiates the chase!

One of my favorite migratory fish, which shows up shortly after the bluefish and Spanish mackerel, is the cobia. Cobia look like a shark mixed with a catfish, and they’re known for being curious to a fault. These fish literally swim straight to the boat like kamikaze pilots. Inshore cobia have taken quite a hit from meat fishermen in the last decade, but we’re still seeing fish in the 10- to 40-pound-plus range daily during the spawn. Slick calm, slack tide, and sunshine are ideal for fly fishing for cobia. I typically ride in the tower of my Jones Brothers with my angler on the bow, fly rod in hand, in search of wakes and Vs on the surface. Once I find one, I’ll parallel the fish about 50 feet away and intercept the fish from a 90-degree angle with the fly. So long as you can drop the fly where it needs to be, a bite typically follows. Baitfish patterns like the EP Peanut Butter Baitfish, Whistlers, and zonker-strip flies make for good cobia food. Cobia have strange bottom lips that require sharp, wide-gap hooks. Hooks 5/0 and larger dressed with orange, white, red, green, or pink patterns will please old brownie. With such a wide size range of cobia, I stick with a 10-weight rod with weight-forward floating line. A 10-weight is not too heavy for the little guys and not too light for the big ones.

Often while I’m idling down tidelines in search of cobia I run across another favorite, the tripletail. Tripletail look a lot like something you’d catch in Miami while fishing for peacock bass. The dorsal, tail, and anal fin all sweep back to look as if the fish has three tails. Tripletail, or T3s as the guides call them, are not particularly easy to please, like cobia, but they’re very predictable. T3s often seek refuge under anything and everything. One of the best T3s I ever caught was hiding underneath an empty bottle of rubbing alcohol that was floating in a weed line. These targets look like a giant bluegill on their sides, bobbing in the current like a sunken paper bag. You know the fast-swimming, aggressive, apex predator types, right? Well, this isn’t one of them. I like to present a small 1/0 to 3/0 baitfish or shrimp pattern just right to get the bite. Just right, to me, is a fly passing slowly by the fish as if it doesn’t recognize the threat at all. Go to your local bait shop and watch shrimp crawl around in the tank. That’s how I like my fly to float by a tripletail. In the Lowcountry, tripletail can weigh anywhere from a couple of pounds to 30 pounds. So long as you have a 30-pound leader, even an 8-weight rod can get the job done.

When I think of migratory species, ones that can make an angler cry uncle, I think of jack crevalle. We’re not talking about the 5- to 10-pound jacks you caught on your last trip to Tampa. We’re talking about the vicious 30-pound ass-whoopers that sound to 50 feet and admire every clamshell on the bottom while your muscles tremble. Early June marks the beginning of giant jack season. Similar to cobia, calm conditions are necessary as we scan the sounds and beachfronts for large wakes or yellow sickle tails cutting the surface. More often than not, we’re fishing to large schools of jacks rather than solitary predators. This can work to our advantage with the element of competition, or it can work against us like a stampede of antelope evading a big cat. As with most close-quarter predators, the first cast is crucial. If the first presentation is botched, odds are our prized “yeller tails” are going to sound and come back up with a completely different attitude–a bad one. The ultimate jack fly is a big popper on a 5/0 or larger hook. Watching big jacks climb over each other to crush a popper never gets old. Considering the length of the fight and how hot it is here June through September, losing a fish after the first blistering run is no big deal. If you’re married to the idea of landing a giant jack on the fly, I’d suggest going with a 6-inch streamer in green and white to match the menhaden that jack crevalle follow into our waters. Deceivers, Whistlers, EP baitfish, and anything in between will get the bite so long as it acts right under the surface. Acting right is open to interpretation, of course, but I like short, fast strips. Long, slow strips do not create a sense of urgency. Urgency creates chaos, and both of these are great for fly fishing. Rods 10- through 12-weight do a great job of pulling on jack crevalle. Weight-forward floating and intermediate lines are great for presenting jack food. Don’t be afraid to throw your tarpon outfit at that giant jack. It may be the difference between catching one that morning or catching three.

If you’ve ever fished with me you know what I love most: tarpon! Why wouldn’t you love tarpon? They’re huge, shiny fish that eat flies and do flips! I could float around in a school of tarpon for hours without a bite, knowing that at any minute they could turn on. The Lowcountry is an interesting place to fly fish for tarpon. There is just something special about putting a hook in a Lowcountry tarpon, whether it’s a single fish in the salt marsh or a string of 50 in the Atlantic. 

Let me state for the record that I am not the authority when it comes to tarpon on the fly, but I sure have put in my time and have some good material for the highlight reel. Tarpon can be found swimming lazily around the marshes, feeding primarily on mullet, or on the beachside blasting through giant schools of menhaden. I prefer the latter because of the visuals. Whether or not I think I can connect with Mr. T, I find it very entertaining to watch these beasts breaching through baitfish pods like Free Willy. I like to throw heavier fly rods for tarpon. A 10-weight is a great choice when the water is 4-feet deep, but around here you can find yourself in 50 feet of water in no time. Not to mention, an average Lowcountry tarpon is 80-plus pounds. I prefer an 11-weight or 12-weight with an intermediate line and 300 yards of backing. If I fish a clear-tip line, I’ll go with a straight 60-pound fluorocarbon leader, about 8 feet or so. Otherwise, I like a 10-foot tapered leader with a 60-pound bite tippet. I don’t waste my time with the 20-pound class leaders because I like either to put the fish in the air or to land them quickly to fight another day. I prefer larger baitfish patters around these parts. I’m a big fan of black/purple and green/white flies on 3/0 or larger hooks.  If I’m fishing around baitfish schools, I like my fly to stand out in color or size. A fly as long, or longer, than a beer can should do it. Flies that are shaped like mullet or menhaden should work if the fly is in the right place at the right time.

by Captain Kai Williams

Bio: Captain Kai Williams has lived in Hilton Head for 28 years and has guided anglers for 16 years on kayaks, flats skiffs, and center-console boats. Visit his website at awesomeadventurecharters.com

SUBSCRIBE TO TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE TODAY

The Lowcountry: Part Two – Species, Seasons, Selections

Fly Fishing the Lowcountry – Part One

The post Fly Fishing the Lowcountry – Part Three: Migratory Species of the Lowcountry first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Fly Fishing the Lowcountry – Part Three: Migratory Species of the Lowcountry appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

It’s part of family lore that when I was three years old I’d go out in a skiff with my father, who’d tie the first fish caught on my line, which would keep me busy for the day. I grew up in Miami Beach, and the backyard of our house bordered on Biscayne Bay. It was easy enough to drop a line in the water after school–and most days I did. Back then, several decades before I learned the art of presenting the ruse of a fly to a fish, shrimp was my bait of choice. My father, a public relations consultant (with the flamboyance typically associated with that profession), once pitched a story to the fishing editor of the Miami Herald, spinning me as a kind of rod-and-reel child prodigy. The editor rose to the bait.  I still have the clip: yellow and brittle as a dried leaf. “My favorite fish is a grunch (a grunt),” I told my interviewer. “And,” I added with precocious certainty (I was six), “when I grow up I want to be a ickyologist (ichthyologist).”

   Fishing was a common language in my family and connected us like nothing else did. My brother is a maniac about the sport—his wife, Maria, too—and, it is telling that on the day he was born my father went fishing and caught a bonefish. When I was growing up, my father would trade in his fishing boat for a larger one at regular intervals before advancing age put an end to boat ownership. Although I left Miami more than 30 years ago to write for National Geographic in Washington, D.C., where a feeding frenzy has more to do with a school of snapping journalists on the trail of a story than it does a bait ball, I could always count on a deep-sea fishing expedition on trips home for the holidays. We typically drove down to Islamorada in the Florida Keys and trolled for sailfish and dolphin in the Gulf Stream, or dropped a line in shallower water for grouper and yellowtail.

   My family, like most, harbors frictions, (some longstanding, others newly minted) that simmer and occasionally erupt, but fishing remained safe territory where abrasions could heal in the mind-clearing astringency of salt air. Years ago, on assignment, I interviewed John Maclean, whose father, Norman, wrote A River Runs Through It, a shadowed story ostensibly about fishing but really about family. As we sat in his Montana cabin, I asked about the role of fishing in his family. Fishing, Maclean explained, had a spiritual dimension and held together a family that communicated in disastrous ways. His father, he said, talked about going to the river because he could say things there he couldn’t say anywhere else.

    La vida es un fandango y aquel que no baila es un tonto, my father used to say.  Life is a fandango (he’d in fact named one of his boats Fandango) and he who doesn’t dance is a fool. So he lived large and danced fiercely, something not without occasional cost to the rest of us. Perhaps that ferocity to live large came from his having survived World War II. He’d flown missions over Germany as a navigator-bombardier on a B-17, and not everyone who flew off returned.

      I knew my father was getting old when he stopped fishing. Two knee replacements, a cracked cervical vertebrae requiring a titanium rod to stabilize it, and age—gravity takes its toll on us all, after all—had compromised his balance. There was no way he could keep his footing on a boat, particularly one tossed about in the Atlantic. Inevitably, he was consigned to a walker, a sentence he met with great resentment. Despite the risk, he longed for one last fishing trip in the Gulf Stream, but it never happened–at least not in the way he’d hoped for.

Years before my father’s deep-water days were curtailed by the rude jolt of age, I had asked John Maclean to talk about his last fishing trip with his father.  “When we returned from our last fishing trip, my father sat down,” Maclean told me. “He was tired.  I asked if I could get something—anything–for him. ‘A drink,’ he said. I fixed it, but it didn’t taste good to him, and I knew he was near the end. He was like an old fisherman who has a big one he knows he’ll never land.”

Recently, my father reached his own end and died. He was 96, and he directed that his ashes be dispersed in the Gulf Stream, where we had fished over so many years.  The ocean off Islamorada was choppy that day. A stiff breeze snapped the lines on the outriggers of the Catch 22, a 54-foot sport-fishing boat owned by Richard Stanczyk, a family friend who took us out for the ceremony. We scattered his ashes into the ocean, and as they unfurled into plumes of gray that disappeared into blue, the head of a big loggerhead turtle popped up from the waves. I swear it winked.

Of course we went fishing afterwards—it was, you might say, my father’s last fishing trip—and in a fitting coda, my nephew, his youngest grandson, caught his first sailfish.

My father would have liked that.

Cathy Newman spent 20 years as a journalist for National Geographic Magazine and was very kind to share her father’s story with Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

.

SUBSCRIBE TO TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE

The post (My) Old Man & the Sea first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post (My) Old Man & the Sea appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

Today April 18^th, 2020, the Marco Beaches are closed. A few restaurants are serving to-go only and you can’t get to Ft Myers on Delta in the same day from here in Birmingham unless you drive to Atlanta. The return options are just as bad. So, let me tell you about Plan B. Start the day by checking your favorite Insta fishing posts. Most of those are posting reruns. Sort of like watching Gilligan’s Island. Watched a decent Costa Rica tarpon film this morning called, “The Jungle’s Edge”, posted by Venturing Angler. Thank you. This afternoon and after some honey-do’s I walked across the street to my fishing buddy mother’s house. She has an expansive front lawn. There I cast the 11 weight as if tarpon might slide down the cul-de-sac. Where’s the sun when need it. Stepped off 86’, my best. That’ll get you a whole lot nothing when the fish are really coming at you in a cross breeze and a bouncy chop. Not sure what the neighbors think.

Then I pulled out the Tail July/August issue out of the stack I maintain in my closet. I recalled a lobster tail recipe with fried plantain tostones that sounded yummy. Yep, that’s what it has come to. Cooking seafood recipes out of fishing magazines. My wife walks in from her own errands and curiously asks, “what’s this all about?” “It’s fishing week, baby” is all I can utter back.

She smiled as I scurried about in the kitchen about as well as if Andy Lee stepped down from the platform and handed me the push pole. We did manage to deliver a great meal, the two of us. Teamwork is always key when it is fishing week.

I am not sure tomorrow holds.

Leftovers, I guess.

S. Culp
Tail Subscriber

The post Plan B first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Plan B appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

When it comes to flies, I’ve always had an innovative attitude that I believe is due to my occupational background. As an AutoCad draftsman for the better part of 20 years, I’ve been able to use my everyday computer skills at home on my hobbies. When I sleep, I guess you could say that I’m haunted by fish-shaped foam.

Materials

• Hook: Mustad 3407DT O’Shaughnessy (or equivalent), Size 2/0
• Thread: Danville 210 Denier Flat Waxed Nylon
• Head: 2mm Craft Foam Sheet (craft store or fly shop)
• Adhesive: Super Glue
• Loops: 20- to 30-pound monofilament or fluorocarbon, 12 inches
• Beads:  Glass Beads – 3/16” to 1/4” diameter (Typical for 2) (craft store)
• Body: Letera’s 4” Magnum Dubbing by American Tied Flies (or equivalent)
• Eyes: Prism, self-adhesive, 3/16” to 1/4” diameter
• Body Art: Paint Markers, Airbrush, etc.
• Finish Coat: Flex Seal Liquid (Clear) or UV Flex Epoxy

Step 1

Starting at the hook eye, wrap a base of thread toward the bend a little less than half way. Wrap thread back to the eye before beginning step 2.

Step 2

Fold a 12-inch length of mono or fluoro in half, leaving a loop at one end. With the loop end, starting behind the hook eye, use the thread to tie in the mono, keeping both 6-inch lengths side by side on the top of the shank and down the bend, matching the wraps from step 1.

Step 3

Starting with the bobbin hanging near the hook point, place one glass bead on either tag end of the mono. Keeping both tag ends as even as possible, roll the mono forward, creating bead loops. Make about six wraps and adjust the length of the mono loops before continuing to tie in the remainder of the mono.

Step 4

Cut the remaining tag ends of mono behind the hook eye and wrap in completely. When completed, the loops should still be loose enough to allow the beads some freedom of movement.

Step 5

Starting with the bobbin hanging just ahead of the hook bend, tie in the first layer of body hair (belly color). Leave approximately 3 inches of hair extending beyond the bend. Finish wrapping any remaining hair along the hook shank.

Step 6

Matching the start point and length of the first layer, tie in second layer of body hair (back color). This time, pull the forward portion of remaining hair backward to be used as filler. When pulling the hair back, be sure to add a few wraps ahead of the hair to lock it in. Whip finish and prepare the foam head using the provided pattern.

Step 7

Once you have the foam head cut out and pre-glued into a tubular shape, rotate the fly 180 degrees and take a moment to test fit the foam head and see how you would like it to sit. Once satisfied with where the head will be positioned, put the head aside and add a few dabs of Super Glue along the bottom of the hook shank. Using a bodkin or toothpick, spread the glue evenly along the bottom and sides of the shank.

Step 8

Once the glue is spread evenly along the thread, slide the foam head over the hook, being careful not to let the foam touch the glue until it’s in the correct position. Let the glue set to the foam for about 15 seconds.

Step 9

Flip the fly right-side up. If you have not already done so, use a bodkin and poke a hole in the foam lip where it will be pushed over the hook eye. The hole should be approximately 5/16 of an inch up from the end of the lip. Carefully stretch the foam down and over the eye.

Step 10

Add prism eyes and any other body art, if desired. I’ve found both paint markers and airbrush paints hold up well when using a finish coat.

Step 11

Put a finish coat on the entire surface of the foam head. I prefer Flex Seal clear liquid, but it requires 4 to 6 hours of drying time. Use UV Flex Epoxy for faster drying times.

To learn more about Carl Harris’ innovative fly patterns,

you can visit his Online Store, Instagram, or Facebook pages

SUBSCRIBE TO TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE

The post Soft Chew Wiggler 2.0 first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Soft Chew Wiggler 2.0 appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

I developed the Candy Corn Crawler primarily as a redfish pattern for Florida’s central coasts. Obviously its application doesn’t stop there. If tied smaller it can certainly entice some bonefish and even permit. Mixing up the colors on this fly can produce some very effective variants as well. I often tie it in Chartreuse/Olive as well as Purple/Yellow. This was the fly we fished the most during a recent trip to Louisiana last November.

Now that you have the down low on this pattern, here’s how to make them. Be sure to whip a few up and test them out in your local waters.

Candy Corn Crawler

Step 1: Stick an SC15 in the vise and lay down a solid thread base from the eye of the hook all the way past the hook bend.

Step 2: Use figure 8 wraps and underbelly wraps to secure the Double Pupil Eyes to the hook shank.

Step 3: Tie in a pinch of Orangutan Colored Pseudo Hair to the back end of the hook just past the bend.

Step 4: Tie in a pinch of Sand Colored Pseudo Hair directly on top of the first layer and secure it.

Step 5: Tie in 1.5” Sand Colored Foxy Brush right after the Pseudo Hair.

Step 6: Palmer the Foxy Brush around the hooks shank 3 times moving towards the eye of the hook and then tie it off.

Step 7: Cut the Foxy Brush and put a few thread wraps over the remaing tab.

Step 8: Select two Orange/Black Legs from the patch.

Step 9: Wrap the legs around the thread of the hook before tying them in.

Step 10: Tie the legs in right after the foxy brush.

Step 11: Trim the legs to desired length. I like them to be just a tad bit shorter than the length of the Pseudo Hair.

Step 12: Tie in Rust Colored 1.5” Foxy Brush.

Step 13: Palmer the Rust Colored Foxy Brush three times while moving towards the eye of the hook and then tie it off.

Step 14: Tie in Tan .5” Wooly Critter Brush right in front of the Foxy Brush.

Step 15: Palmer the Wooly Critter Brush forward and secure it up in font of the dumbell eyes.

Step 16: Trim off the Wooly Critter Brush and cover up the remaining tab.

Step 17: Select a short piece of 30 mono for the weed guard and crimp one end of it to help minimize bulk after it is tied in.

Step 18: Tie the weed guard in just in front of the dumbbell eyes.

Step 19: Whip finish the fly and cut the thread.

Step 20: Finish the fly by using Loon UV Thick to secure the thread wraps for a long lasting fly.

Jesse Males Bio: As a fly fisherman growing up on Florida’s Nature Coast, I had plenty of access to shallow flats to chase redfish, trout, snook, and tarpon as well as awesome river systems to fish for largemouth bass and bluegill. The more I fly fished, the more I saw the need to share my trips and info with other fly anglers. That led me to develop my main website www.backwaterflyfishing.com. This site serves as a blog as well as a hub for fly tying information and HD fly tying videos. I also run an online fly shop, www.backwaterflies.com, where fly anglers can purchase my favorite fly patterns, including the Candy Corn Crawler. 

Two and a half years ago I began an incredible journey by moving down to Costa Rica. Since then I have explored most of the country (aside from some very remote areas) and landed some amazing fish along the way. I currently run a guiding business here in Costa Rica with my good friends Micah Baly and Mark Evans. You can find info on all our guided trips at www.506outdoors.com. As for social media, be sure to catch up with me by following me on Facebook and Instagram at @backwaterflyfishing.

Subscribe to Tail Fly Fishing Magazine for more great fly tying patterns

The post Candy Corn Crawler first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Candy Corn Crawler appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

I first came into contact with triggerfish in the Seychelles in the early 2000s. At that time, most saltwater operations concentrated on bonefish, but a number of enterprising guides were beginning to target triggers on the fly, and they realized the value that triggers represented as a gamefish. Having spent much of my saltwater career fishing in the Caribbean at that point, my focus had been primarily bonefish and permit. I distinctly remember wading across a flat with my guide when suddenly that first orange spade started waving at me. I was about to move on, still scanning for bonefish, when the guide put a hand out to stop me.

“Trigger!” he pointed. At first was I confused, but then I realized he was indicating the waving tail.

In my naivety, I asked what it was and he reaffirmed: a titan triggerfish. I actually had no idea what one looked like, or even if they took flies. Little did I know another species obsession was about to be born. The guide switched out my leader to some 20-pound test and tied a small crab fly on the end. The fish was slowly feeding in and around a small white hole on the edge of a flat, happily tailing as it went. I found the movement of the tail rather mesmerizing; it seemed to flop around with not much purpose as the trigger rolled in the gentle current of the incoming tide. By direction I dropped the crab into the white hole and let it sink. Once it had touched the bottom, I gave it one short strip and stopped. The puff of sand was enough to attract the attention of the titan, and it came scurrying over to investigate. I gave a slow pull and felt the nip nip as it tried to pin the fly to the sand. On the next strip, about halfway through, everything went tight and I slowly lifted the rod while simultaneously giving the hook a short strip set. The fish charged off and I remember marveling at the power in such a small fish.

Triggerfish are, in my opinion, one of the most underrated fish to target on fly. If giant trevally are the bulldogs of the flats, then triggers have to be the Jack Russell: small, pugnacious, ideas far above their station, and even GTs will steer clear of them. Triggers have no qualms about attacking much larger fish, and any diver will tell you they are a fish to be respected, especially when they’re protecting their territory or their nests. This particular trigger was heading for the drop-off rapidly, and I knew if he hit the razor-sharp coral there the game would be over. I leaned on him sideways, applying pressure, and finally managed to put a stop to the powerful run and bring him under control. Shortly afterwards I was cradling my first trigger, and what a weird-looking fish it was!

Although fishing for triggerfish follows a pattern, each interaction with them is unique. Never was there a fish with such independent character. Fly fishing for them is a technical challenge not unlike permit, but they are far more attainable due to their more aggressive nature. If they notice you on the flats they are often unafraid and have been known to come and check you out if you are encroaching on their territory. To catch one you have to find the right water and tidal height to locate them, select the right fly, and present it correctly. Then actually hooking the trigger presents its own challenge with that mouthful of teeth. Lastly, if you hook one, they have a nasty habit of scurrying off into a coral hole as fast as they can and either cutting you off or refusing to come out. For the uninitiated, this can happen before you even realize you have hooked it. Some days they absolutely hammer flies, and then other days nothing you try works. It’s this challenge and frustration that, like permit, make them such a fascinating fly rod species.

There are essentially four species of triggerfish from the family Balistidae that we target on fly, and although there are many more, most inhabit deep water. On the flats we find the titan (also known as moustache or giant triggerfish), the yellow margin (also known as the peach face triggerfish), the Picasso, and the gray. The Picasso is very small, a palm-sized one being a trophy. Generally in the Pacific and Indian Oceans we are targeting the titan and yellow margin and in the Caribbean the not-so-colorful  gray triggerfish. The  gray triggerfish is really only just beginning to be targeted.

Aside from their bright and colorful markings, triggerfish are defined by their almost human-looking teeth secured to incredibly powerful mandibles that make up a large proportion of their body. The triggerfish uses these hydraulics to quite literally bite coral, revealing prey underneath. You therefore do not want to get your fingers or peripherals anywhere near these snapping jaws for fear of losing digits. Almost as bizarre as its toothy maw is the ability of its eyes to rotate with a high degree of freedom; similar to a chameleon, it can look in different directions simultaneously.

Next is the trademark trigger in the dorsal fin that the fish can lock in place. This mechanism can make prying them out of coral holes particularly difficult. Although the colorings of each species are very different, on the flats it is their tails that make them so distinctive as they hunt. The titan has a large orange tail with a black band across it and a flat spade end. The yellow margin has a crescent-shaped tail outlined with yellow. The tail of the gray triggerfish is gray, although sometimes it looks like a small black flag. The Picasso is too small to tail and is normally found in very skinny coral areas.

To find tailing triggers you need to be in the right depth of water. In most reef systems they feed actively in that short window as the tide starts to push, allowing them access to the rich feeding grounds along the edges of the flats. They are particularly fond, it seems, of areas that have white holes and broken coral around which they can hunt, but also bolt into if they are alarmed. They also like the reef edge itself. The opportunity to stalk tailing fish therefore can be short, as they are harder to find once the water reaches a certain depth. On the whole they won’t make their way farther up onto the flats like bonefish and permit, instead preferring to remain near the coral edges. This is not always the case, however, and sometimes they will appear in odd places, or you will find them chasing each other when one encroaches on another’s territory.

Once you have spotted your tailing trigger what is the method of attack? To target triggerfish a 9-weight setup is the best, although in some instances you might get away with an 8-weight. The 9-weight is the perfect blend of lightness of presentation combined with the backbone to be able to apply pressure if the fish heads for the reef edge or a large coral head and you don’t fancy swimming to pry him free. Fly choices, as always, vary depending on the bottom you are fishing on, but normally my go-to flies are shrimp patterns such as Itchy Triggers, EP Spawning Shrimps, and small crabs such as Gumby Crabs in deeper water. Flies need to be fairly light to give a gentle presentation, and a good hook is vital. The Itchy Trigger is tied on a thicker wire hook and survives well. Weed guards are essential due to the nature of where you are fishing, and they avoid much frustration. Your ideal leader will be a tapered leader of 12 feet in length, 16- to 20-pound test. Nine feet is a bit short, and 15 feet can be tricky to manage with a shrimp fly, especially at close range.

You must approach stealthily, as triggerfish are alerted to your presence by crunching coral and water pushing from your legs. Tread as lightly as possible. There’s a fine line between being close enough for a comfortable and accurate shot, but not so close that you’ll spook it. Like all flats fishing, this really depends on your abilities. As with permit, your first cast needs to be your best, so gauge the distance by casting in another direction before you cast at the triggerfish. Some days they seem very skittish, others they’re totally emboldened.

Once you are in position, wait for the tail to come up before you make your cast. Not only will this give you the fish’s exact position, but also with its face buried in the flat the fish is less likely to become aware of your presence. You need to deliver the fly as close to its head as you dare and ahead of the direction it is facing. I know this sounds obvious, but when they are tailing they often roll around in the current and it can be very frustrating as they change direction just as you drop the fly. If the fish does not see the fly drop, then wait until the fly has sunk and the tail goes down before giving a long slow strip. This is normally enough for him to see the escaping crustacean and come rushing over to hit it. As soon as it comes over and tails on the fly, the fish is trying to eat it; so you need to give a short, sharp strip strike. The issue arises in trying to find a hook hold in that toothy mouth, so if you don’t go tight the fly will pop out. The big difference with a trigger and a bonefish or permit is that a triggerfish will continue to try and eat the fly, whereas other species will abort quite quickly. This prolonged game of cat and mouse can go on four or five times, sometimes even to the rod tip, which is why it is so exciting.

Continue with the slow draw, and as soon as you feel tension again give a short, sharp strip to try to set the hook. You may find that if you are not hooking up the fish may have destroyed the hook on the first attack, as they can completely mangle flies and even bite hooks in half. It is vital you don’t trout strike, or this will pull the fly away from the fish and leave it bewildered and suspicious. Triggerfish do have an amazing ability to backpedal in the water, so even when you think you have hooked it solidly you might end up with the fly spat back at you as they use the hook as a toothpick. I have had fish that have done this three times before I finally achieved a solid hookup.

If you have not hooked one before, you will be surprised at how powerful triggerfish are and how dirty they fight. They can swim on their sides in shallow water, and their first instinct is to head for deeper water and coral. This can be a depression on the flat or the reef edge. Either way, it’s not going to end well if you let them! As always in coral areas, keep the rod high during the battle, but apply as much side strain as possible to prevent it stuffing you in a hole. If this does happen it might not mean the end, as I have fished with a number of dedicated guides who pull out their goggles and go in after them. Even if they have locked the trigger, by touching the second spine on the dorsal it’s possible to drop the mechanism and pull them out by the tail. Be warned: He is going to come out really angry and will bite anything presented.

So where should you go to hunt for triggerfish? The prime spots are Christmas Island and the Seychelles. Some of the triggers on Christmas Island are the size of footballs, and I have been smoked good and proper on its expansive flats. You will find them on all the atolls of the Indian Ocean, and most guides in that area are well-versed in fishing for them. Some of the very best triggerfishing in the world is on the Nubian Flats of Sudan. Here, with a nearly nonexistent tidal fluctuation, you will find large triggers (some massive) tailing across the flats. Here they are the prime target, where ten shots in a session is not uncommon. You will also find  gray triggers on nearly all the reefs of the Caribbean, which have gone largely overlooked, except by a dedicated few, in favor of bonefish and permit. There are also some colossal specimens on the oceanside flats of Los Roques in Venezuela, and there are really good numbers in the southern Bahamas, such as around Acklins and Crooked Island. Here they can be targeted on white sand, which makes it particularly exciting.

So the next time you are wading across a flat in search of bones, permit, or GTs, if you see a waving trigger tail, I would highly recommend you go and have a crack. The visual element and prolonged interaction is highly addictive, and this is yet another species that can get under your skin. I have known many fishermen totally obsessed with them…. I am one of them.

Bio: Peter McLeod began guiding fly anglers for Atlantic salmon in Norway at the age of 16. He is the founder of Aardvark McLeod, international fly fishing specialists. Peter is the author of the acclaimed GT: A Fly-Fisher’s Guide to Giant Trevally (Merlin Unwin Books, 2016). For more information on fly fishing for triggerfish, you can contact Peter through www.aardvarkmcleod.com.

SUBSCRIBE TO TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE

The post Pulling The Trigger first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Pulling The Trigger appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.