Redfish to the Bone

 

MY BAHAMIAN GUIDE, Charles Whose-Last-Name-I-Can’t-Remember, had a calm demeanor and osprey eyes. Both are excellent attributes on a bonefish flat.

“A single at 10 o’clock, moving left to right at 40 feet,” he said, planting the push pole and stopping the skiff. “Nice fish.”

I was on the bow casting platform and suffering from an abrupt case of jitters. “Nice fish” is not to be confused with “banana bone” or “pocket bone,” especially when Charles is rendering the verdict.

I stared wildly at the sun-sparkle of shallow sand and saw nothing moving. Bonefish are almost always moving. 

“Point your rod. No, more left. There. See him?” 

“Yeah! Got him!”

The unsuspecting bonefish weighed at least six pounds, maybe seven. It was a fish capable of ripping an entire 8-weight fly line and 100 yards of backing line across the flat, the prize that sun-blasted saltwater anglers invest big money in time and travel to encounter.

I released the fly from the pinched fingers of my left hand and rolled the belly of fly line off the rod tip and into the air. A quick glance underfoot confirmed that the stripped coils on the deck were clear.

Two quick double hauls gained distance, and I drilled a tight loop about six feet ahead of the slowly moving fish. Looking good, I thought.

I failed to allow for the gusting side-angle wind—a rookie mistake. A billow caught the outgoing line, and the No. 4 bead-chain Mantis Shrimp hit the fish right between the eyes. The violated cruiser reacted as only a startled bonefish can, blasting away like a strobe of streaming light. All that remained of the plumbered opportunity were puffs and clouds of marl.  

My shrill epithets followed the blistering wake across the flat. The diplomatic Charles leaned on the push pole and shrugged. “Mon, you hit a little close on that one.”

That incident last December was a reinforcement that it’s difficult to outgrow the ability to screw up when sight casting on the flats. Maybe this is why it is so addictive. Bonefish launched the craze almost 75 years ago (Florida Keys and Bahamas), but our own redfish offer a similar high-stakes game. 

Reds lack the Corvette gearbox of bonefish, but they are plenty game, especially in mere inches of tide, and the shallow clear-water bays and back “lakes” of the lower and middle Texas coast are prime for sight casting. And, of course, the fabulous delta complex of Louisiana offers excellent potential. 

Reds “tail” like bonefish, inverting to root on bottom, and they cruise the shallows like bonefish, either as singles or in small pods. As a bonus, bold redfish in shallow water are easier for average eyes to spot, and they tend to be less spooky and more “grabby.” An aggressive red will snatch a variety of shrimp and crab patterns as well as baitfish streamers and surface poppers.  

Bonefish or redfish, the flats and shorelines are the ideal venue for the specialized drill of sight casting with a fly rod from a skiff. The disciplines are the same and the ability to choke in the clutch remains constant. Following decades of juggling the “thrill of victory” and the “agony of defeat” I feel qualified to offer a few pointers for improving the odds on the former.

First, don’t forget the polarized sunglasses —no, not your go-to pair. I’m talking about the backup pair that should be in your boat bag. Vision is critical in this game, so don’t gamble a big trip on a single pair.

Aborting a sure cast to a big fish by stepping on the outgoing fly line is one of the most infuriating blunders in all of fly fishing. Whenever possible, I fish barefoot, trusting to sensitive toes to feel for sifting coils on the deck. Clumping around in wading boots or beach sandals with Velcro straps is begging for a snagged double haul and a cackle of glee from your fishing partner.

Regarding stripped line, pile no more on the deck than necessary for a realistic cast. This minimizes potential windblown tangles, and when a hooked fish accelerates, a short surplus is quicker and easier to feed through the rod guides. A butt wrap or a handle wrap can be devastating. 

Remember the clock coordinates, with the bow being 12 o’clock. This sounds simple but it’s easy for a flustered caster to get confused. If you want to feel like a proper chump, listen to an impatient guide shout “No, no! Your other 2 o’clock!” Trust me, this is embarrassing. 

Keep in mind that the guide almost certainly is better at spotting fish by sifting through the moving tableau of sand and grass and rubble and chops on a shallow flat. This especially is true when the lights go out behind a cloud. 

If nothing else, the stern poling platform offers a higher vantage for looking down through the water ahead. Leave the long game to the professional and concentrate on scanning close, inside 30 feet, and be prepared for a quick draw on a fish that appears from nowhere. It happens often. A sidearm presentation from a predatory crouch should close the deal. 

Once you’re cocked and locked on the bow, with the fly in one hand and the rod in the other, enough weight-forward belly should be off the rod tip for a quick load. But not too much line. A long belly dragging alongside might snag floating grass or, worse, slide under the bow and hang on the hull. Naturally, that’s when a big fish waddles past.

Strive to minimize false casts. Frantically fanning the air eight or 10 times wastes time and might spook a skittish fish. Oh, yes, learn to double haul; your flats game will remain forever lame without this supercharger that increases line speed for extra shooting distance.

Once that tight loop delivers the fly, take up any slack and keep the rod tip low to the water—and do not “trout strike” by lifting the rod tip high. Always strip strike with a straight pull with the line hand.

And, bonefish or redfish, be prepared to experience the soaring highs and crushing lows that await on every flat.  

 

Email Joe Doggett at ContactUs@fishgame.com