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Reel of the Week: Catching A Duck, On A Fly Rod

 

Catch and release, duck-style. Whether it’s bats, birds, dragonflies, or salmon flies, this one’s a bit different… What’s the most unusual thing you’ve hooked with a fly rod? Share your story in the comments below.

Reel of the Week from Levi Watson, be sure to follow Levi on Instagram @levitwatson

Check out the articles below:

Enter the Cast and Blast Giveaway!

Best Google Earth Screenshots of People Fly Fishing

2024 Behind the Lens: A Line in the Sand

The 2024 F3T is underway – click here to find a local showing and purchase tickets.

Next up in the 2024 F3T Behind the Lens lineup, we head to the pristine island of Andros in the Bahamas. The bone-fishing is world class, but how could a proposed 5,000-acre limestone mine change that? Flylords was lucky enough to catch up with the filmmakers Harrison Hughes and Steve Schwartz, to learn more about what went into the making of this film. Check out the full interview below.

Flylords: Harrison and Steve, tell us a little bit about yourselves. Also, what were your individual roles in creating this film? 

Harrison: I’m a freelance filmmaker & photographer who has been shooting professionally since 2011. I picked up a fly rod in 2017, started shooting for some outdoor brands and never turned back. I am the camera operator & editor for the film.

Steve: Oddly enough, I’m a writer by trade. I’ve been working in and around the fly-fishing industry for a while now, but never as a producer. I handled a lot of random stuff, from coordinating the story at the beginning, interviewing on-camera talent, naming the film, taking some photos, booking flights, and pretending like I knew what I was doing. Oh, and I couldn’t forget offering feedback to Harry in the editing process. I’m sure he loved that part.

Flylords: How did you decide to make bone fishing in Andros the subject of your film, and how did you go about capturing the unique features that make Andros such a pristine ecosystem?

Interview, Bahamas, Andros, F3t Behind the Lens

Harrison: Funny enough, we were actually planning to go to Mexico for this trip. It was supposed to be a promo trip for a fly fishing company we were working for. After speaking with Gabby and her husband John, they said the fishing was amazing on Andros so we shifted this trip. Andros truly feels untouched. There were multiple times while we were on the West side that I thought to myself “I’ve got to be the first human who has tossed a fly here.” Capturing the scenery was super easy, just had to make sure to bring multiple drone batteries.

Steve: Yeah, I remember we pivoted the entire trip in real time during our first call with Gabby and John. You could just tell that they were in love with this place, and the mention of double-digit bonefish didn’t hurt, so we rolled the dice and decided to go with them. Obviously, it turned out to be the right move. And, to piggyback on Harry’s point, it wasn’t hard to make Andros look great. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.

Flylords: How did you initially learn about the proposed 5,000-acre limestone mine? Can you break down some of the potential environmental threats associated with such a mine?

Drone, Bahamas, Andros, F3t Behind the Lens

Steve: That was actually the biggest reason we pivoted to go to Andros on our initial call. Harry and I knew we were looking for some kind of story—an interesting person or whatever—and when Gabby mentioned that there was a proposed limestone mine, it piqued our interest. I did a little research and it seemed a thread worth following. 

As for the threat of the mine, the risk outweighs the need. From a human standpoint, Andros holds the largest source of fresh water in the Bahamas, and it’s crucial for the country. Any sort of negligence or mishap (which seems to be a “when” not an “if” for most mining projects) could harm that water source beyond repair. Also, the economy on Andros and the Bahamas lives and dies on tourism, and a mine would only harm those prospects as well. The entity vying for the mine would argue that they’re bringing jobs to the island, but there’s no real evidence that it would move the needle for the economy in any meaningful way and most sources we spoke with said that other mines in the Bahamas have proven that any wealth leaves the Bahamas and doesn’t benefit its citizens.

To me, there’s also a deeper issue. In most cases, modern culture is trying to reverse the damage done by mines, dams, and other impediments. We’re continually trying to reconcile past sins. This situation, much like the Pebble Mine, is an opportunity to stop a mistake before it happens. There’s no question that humanity needs resources, but there are places where we need to make a stand and say, “No, not here,” which is where the title for the film came from. 

Pebble Mine, rightfully so, got a massive amount of coverage and press. For some reason, this issue has not, but I think we would both agree that Andros is not any less beautiful or important to the people of the Bahamas, as well as those of us in the fly-fishing community. And, let’s be honest, a few people are going to get rich off of a mine like this—don’t let them tell you any different. To me, that’s never a good reason to make a fragile ecosystem even more vulnerable.

Flylords: As the Culinary Editor at Flylords, I’m always interested in learning about the role fishing plays in food culture around the world. What fish species, if any, are commonly consumed in Andros? Did you enjoy any particularly memorable meals during the trip?

Flats, Fly Fishing, Bahamas, Andros, F3t Behind the Lens

Harrison: I went down to shoot for this film twice, and I looked forward to every meal. The Conch and crab were absolutely unreal, I’m drooling as I type this. 

Steve: I just ate bonefish the whole time. Just kidding. I don’t have too much to add here, other than Bahamian cooking is incredible, and Andros Island Bonefish Club had the best of it. 

Flylords: Balancing storytelling while conveying environmental issues can be complex. How did you make sure your film engaged audiences while still effectively addressing the potential threats to the area?

Beer, Cheers, Bahamas, Andros, F3t Behind the Lens

Harrison: The mine was originally just going to be a side story to a fun fishing promo, but as we conducted more interviews and spoke with locals, we knew the mine needed to drive this, and the fishing partnered as it would be directly affected by the mine. 

Steve: In this case, it wasn’t too difficult because the target species is a direct reflection of the health of its ecosystem. Anglers hooking into bonefish is just a small way of pointing out why this place is special, and also what’s at risk. Prescott Smith and Shawn Leadon are as committed to the health of their home as they are to running kick ass fishing lodges. I was blown away by both of those guys—two of the most passionate, intelligent, and humble people you’d ever meet. It just made sense to connect their cause with their lifestyle.

Lastly, Gabby and John were the perfect conduit for the audience, a way to bridge the gap between the U.S. and the Bahamas. Those two are fully committed to protecting and serving Andros, even though they don’t live there anymore. They can fish, too. Gabby’s an incredible guide in her own right. Her service is called Lady Luck Adventures in Destin and after seeing her fish, I’d strongly suggest booking a charter. And no, she didn’t pay me to say this—but she’s welcome to. 

Flylords: What was the best, worst, or weirdest moment of the trip? Take your pick.

Bonefish, Bahamas, Andros, F3t Behind the Lens

Harrison: Best part for me was one morning our guide wanted to commit to finding flamingos. He said local Bahamians go their entire life not ever seeing them or not even know they live on the island. We searched for about two hours and as we gave up hope, we saw a pink cloud on the horizon feeding on thousands of shrimp. My hands were shaking as I got the drone up, and then embarked on the greatest drone footage I have ever captured. I flew with hundreds of wild flamingos that most likely have never seen a human in their life. It was absolutely unreal.

Steve: Easy. My casting was the worst part. 

Flylords: Filmmaking inevitably comes with challenges. Can you share some memorable moments or obstacles encountered during the actual filming process?

Fly casting, Bahamas, Andros, F3t Behind the Lens

Harrison: Apart from the mosquitos and doctor flies eating us alive during evening interviews, there was a looming risk in filming the documentary because of the issues we were highlighting. There are BILLIONS of dollars going into the push for limestone mining, and the locals and public officials fighting them have been bribed with over $100,000, framed and put in jail, and there was even car bomb attempt on one of the most prominent fighters of the mine. 

Steve: This definitely can’t top a car bomb, but simply getting all of the coverage we needed in such a short amount of time was really tough. In fact, Harry went back for another quick trip because we needed to fill some gaps—and he just happened to bring a fly rod along…

Flylords: I’m headed to Mexico to target bonefish for the first time in about a month. Any tips, fly pattern recommendations, or anything else you think I ought to know before heading south?

All Smiles, Bahamas, Andros, F3t Behind the Lens

Harrison: I wish we touched on this more in the film, but we actually stayed and fished with Crazy Charlie’s kids. His son guided us and his daughter cooked some of the most incredible meals for us. Saying that, I stand by the crazy Charlie and Gotcha being the two best bonefish patterns on the planet. That’s all we used, and we lost count of the fish we caught.

Steve: Man, I learned so many hard lessons. First, practice casting to moving targets if you’re a little rusty like I was. I can hit a dime at 70 feet at a stationary target, but when it’s cruising across the bow with a stiff crosswind, that’s a different ballgame. It took me a while to get back into the swing of things. Second, listen to your guide. These guys are the best of the best, so when they say, “strip, strip, strip, strip, stop, strip, strip, stop, set the hook,” just do what they say, even if you can’t see the fish. They can see it, and know exactly how to hook ‘em.

Flylords: What is the overarching message you hope viewers take home after watching this film? How do you see the film making a tangible impact on viewers, and what specific actions do you hope your audience will take after watching?

Bonefish, Underwater, Bahamas, Andros, F3t Behind the Lens

Harrison: My biggest hope is that this film highlights an issue that could destroy the island and fishery forever, and we somehow have a part in stopping that from happening.

Steve: I’m with Harry on this one. When we asked Prescott what could be done to stop this mine from happening, his answer kind of broke my heart: “We need people like you to notice.” There are entities out there who are taking advantage of people who, for whatever reason, don’t have the collective voice and influence to stand in their way. The majority of Bahamians don’t want this mine, but that doesn’t seem to matter. I hate that. I’m sure there’s plenty of limestone in other places but this island with a small, rural population is an easy target. If we can stop this one, maybe we can start setting a precedent and make the next target not so easy. 

Flylords: What can we expect next from you? Any film ideas or adventures down the pipeline?

Beer, Fly Fishing, Bahamas, Andros, F3t Behind the Lens

Harrison: My mind has been racing ever since we got word that we made F3T. 2024 Cicada hatch, Michigan smallies, brown trout of Italy, or New Zealand trout after doing a Hobbit tour, I’m gonna do it all. I’m all in on making more fly fishing films.

Steve: Between our two families, we have five kids under the age of six, so that’s generally enough insanity. That being said, I have a feeling 2024 is going to be a solid year. Now that we’ve checked F3T off of our bucket lists, it’s time to skip the Golden Globes and go for the big one. Yep, the Oscars. 

Flylords: Lastly, is there anything else you’d like to share that I haven’t asked about already? 

Harrison: I’ll be in Dallas, Destin, Nashville and Knoxville for the tour. Would love to meet up and talk shop with anglers and filmmakers attending!

Steve: Watch out, Harry’s a hugger.

A Line in the Sand, Bahamas, Andros, F3t Behind the Lens

Special thanks to Harrison Hughes and Steve Schwartz for taking the time for an interview. Stay tuned for more iterations of the Fly Fishing Film Tour, F3T Behind the Lens series by clicking here.

The 2024 F3T is underway – click here to find a local showing and purchase tickets.

2024 F3T Behind The Lens: RIO DE GIGANTES

2024 F3T Behind the Lens: Triple Trouble

Drawdown Begins–Klamath River Restoration Continues

A couple weeks back, Klamath River restoration hit another pivotal milestone: initiating drawdown at Iron Gate Dam. And just in the last week, crews blasted an opening at the Copco 1 and JC Boyle Dams, allowing water to flow and drain the reservoir. Klamath River restoration is in full stride. This news comes after complete removal of the Copco 2, the first of 4 dams removed on the Klamath, late last year. In an interview with NPR, Amy Cordalis, a Yurok tribal member, attorney, Trout Unlimited Board Member, and long-time Klamath restoration advocate, said “This is historic and life-changing!”

The mechanics of dam removal are complex and involve many moving pieces. Drawdown, where the reservoirs upstream of the remaining three dams are strategically lowered, is a critical component to facilitate complete removal later this year. The sediment buildup behind dams can be massive–there’s an estimated 17-20 million cubic yards of sediment behind the three remaining Klamath dams, and roughly a third of that sediment is expected to flow downstream. In the short-term, the sediment transport could have adverse effects, such as small fish kills and dust build up, but testing determined the sediment is non-toxic. In the long-term, however, this sediment transport is critical for recharging habitats and allowing nutrients to flow through the system like they used to.

 

 
 
 
 
 
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A post shared by Swiftwater Films (@swiftwaterfilms)

“Witnessing the beginning of drawdown at Iron Gate dam was both celebration of an important moment in the story of Klamath dam removal, and a source of pride for the exceptional work done by so many people to arrive at this day,” said Mark Bransom, CEO of Klamath River Renewal Corporation.“Iron Gate’s drawdown strategy is different than what people may have seen in the past with other dam removals,” noted Bransom. “There was no blast at this dam, instead we had the opportunity to use existing infrastructure, which allows us to precisely control the volume of water going down river, limiting downstream impacts.”

 

 
 
 
 
 
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A post shared by Trout Unlimited (@troutunlimited)

As drawdown continues and new riverbeds are uncovered, TU and many other partners will be on-site ensuring restoration work continues. Natives plants are being planted. All the work necessary to afford salmon, steelhead, and other species the opportunity to fully take advantage of nearly 400 miles of restored Klamath River–prime spawning and rearing habitat, too–for the first time in decades. 

Rest assured, we’ll be sharing any and all updates for this historic effort to restore the Klamath River. I mean, the world’s largest dam removal project doesn’t happen all the time. But more importantly, there has never been more hope and opportunity to rebuild decimated salmon and steelhead runs in this country, and, hopefully, that momentum can translate to continued success in other watersheds. 

Cover image of Iron Gate Dam courtesy of Jason Hartwick of Swiftwater Films and KRCC. 

Cover

Fishing Tips: Understanding Fly Retrieves

According to Kelly Galloup, understanding fly retrieves is everything when it comes to streamer fishing. Check out this master class in streamer fishing from Anchored with April Vokey.

Don Green, Founder of Sage Fly Fishing Passes

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From Sage:

It is with a heavy heart that we share the passing of Don Green, our legendary founder of Sage.

Among many things, Don was a man of immense integrity, a passionate angler, and a pioneer of modern fly rod design. Don’s influence on fly rod performance stretches well before Sage came to be, dating back to the 1950’s – his innovation using graphite material revolutionized fly rod design forever. Through all of his accolades, Don remained a humble man, never seeking the spotlight, driven by the simple goal of making the finest casting rods for anglers around the world. He empowered those in the field to be the spokespeople for his work. Those he tasked with this responsibility were, and are, some of the finest the fly fishing world has ever seen. This organically created a sense of ownership with Sage, and a belonging to a community and culture that his rods were creating – everybody wanted to be a part of it, it was infectious. Don’s legacy lies in that culture, which lives strong to this day, and will continue well into the future.

“Sage is a small company with our stated goal to build high performance, well-balanced aesthetically pleasing rods that will give years and years of enjoyment and will perform in a way that will enhance the fishing experience. I can guarantee that Sage will continue to research new materials as they are developed and will continue to search out new ways to build a better fly rod.” – Don Green, 1984.

Check out the articles below:

Sage Introduces Spey R8 and New Spey Reels

Sage Presents: “Dry Fly Applications | Sage R8 CORE”

Teen Accused of Taping Fish to ATMs in Utah Faces Charges

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A teenager is facing trouble for reportedly attaching fish to ATMs and capturing the antics on social media (@fish_bandit84). One online post showcased a video of three trout affixed to a police car. The account was created in August of 2023 and now has over 102k followers. The Instagram account bio says, “Live, laugh, tape fish on ATMs 🐠🏧 No fish were harmed in the process…”

To check out the full story, be sure to check out this publication from ABC 4 News by clicking HERE

Check out the articles below:

Casting for Cashback

Gear Up for Spring Fishing: Tips and Gear Picks

Reel of the Week: Argentinian Trout Eat Beef

A note from Iñaki Larrea:

“At Estancia Tecka Lodge, we love hosting our weekly barbecue at noon to keep our guests happy. Before we dive into the BBQ, you’ll find us hanging out with Chef @peto.cocinero, stirring up some fun. Oh, and say hi to our trout pals who always seem to escape our hooks – they’re our unofficial Estancia Tecka BBQ mascots!” – Iñaki Larrea

Reel of the Week from Iñaki Larrea, be sure to follow him on Instagram at @larrea_inaki as well as the @estanciateckalodge

Check out the articles below: 

Lodge Spotlight: Tecka Lodge

After You’ve Gone: Full Film Now Live

Incredible Opportunity to Protect Millions of Acres Throughout Alaska

Across much of the country, millions of acres of public lands are managed by the Bureau of Land Management, which comes out to 1/10th of America’s surface area. But no other state comes close to Alaska’s acreage. Today these public lands which have kept much of Alaska wild, and home to some of the best fishing, hunting, and outdoor recreation opportunities in the nation, face a threat. BLM is considering opening up some 28 million acres of protected BLM (D-1) lands to industrial activities, such as mining and oil and gas development. The withdrawal process would strip the lands of D-1 protections, which are all the unreserved federal lands in Alaska that were withdrawn from mineral entry under the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act. The Wild Salmon Center developed an action alert to encourage the BLM to maintain these D-1 protections to ensure these portions of Alaska remain wild and continue providing critical habitats for so many species of fish and wildlife. Be sure to check it out before the February 14th comment deadline!

“D-1 protection is arguably more important than ever, given the pressures of climate change on Alaska’s natural systems, fish and wildlife populations, and human communities,” said Alaska Program Director Emily Anderson. 

BLM is considering removing these protections from 28 million acres in western Alaska for five management plans.

These proposals include lakes, streams, and more than 5,000 miles of rivers critical to salmon.

“Alaska’s BLM-managed D-1 lands cover roughly 13 percent of the state: unfragmented habitat that represents some of the nation’s largest remaining intact ecosystems,” added WSC’s Anderson. “We absolutely cannot afford to pass up this historic opportunity to secure a huge win for Alaska’s fish, wildlife and human communities.”

Be sure to head to WSC and fill out the Action Alert to protect these parts of Alaska from industrial, extractive activities. 

Maps and photos courtesy of WSC and Dave McCoy.

The Guide Test: Evaluating River Quiver Performance through Mako Shark Fishing

Welcome to a new Flylords Series: The Guide Test. No one beats up gear like the guides who are on the water day in and day out. In this series, we will get a full look into some badass guides, their programs, and a full gear review of products we send to them for testing.

Initial Background

Meet the maestro of Mako sharks: Conway Bowman. In our exclusive feature, “The Guide Test,” we delve into a conversation with Bowman. Explore the intricacies of fly fishing for Makos as we uncover Conway’s pre-sail ritual, and hear about his thoughts on the Riversmith River Quiver.

I was born and raised in San Diego, California, and my journey into fishing began at the age of three, marking the beginning of a lifelong connection with the water. By the time I was six, I was already delving into the world of fly fishing during our summers in Stanley, Idaho, with my father. Those were formative years where I learned the art of fishing on the great western rivers like the Henry’s Fork, the Madison, the Salmon River, and of course, Silver Creek.

My father, an early saltwater fly angler from the 1960s, also introduced me to the world of saltwater fishing off the San Diego Coast. Guiding has been a significant part of my life since the mid-90s, and even today, I’m still guiding. Along the way, I’ve explored the world through fly fishing and also worked for the San Diego Water Authority until my retirement in June 2023. Now, I live in Encinitas, California, with my wife, Michelle, and our two boys, Max and Jackson.

When I started guiding, there were very few saltwater fly fishing guides in Southern California, and none in San Diego – so I relied on information from commercial fishermen. They initially thought I was a total goofball for fly fishing in the saltwater, specifically for Mako sharks. However, they brought me into their community and taught me so much about the fishery. In terms of my guiding, I was kind of winging it the whole time. There was no standard or approach, so I had to set my own – which I believe made me a better guide. I always say, “Don’t listen to people who say you can’t do it, just go for it!” If you have a passion and think the fishery is unique, put in the effort, put in the time to figure it out, and if the fishery is good enough, you will build a wonderful business around it.

I’m very much a creature of habit. Every day starts with waking up at 5:30 AM, reading the paper, checking the weather, and loading my gear. Once the gear is dialed in, it’s off to the landing where my boat is. My routine is somewhat unique because my boat is always on the water, and I depart from the same spot each day, unlike most trout fishing guides or saltwater flat captains that trailer in. I typically fish 1 to 6 miles offshore, covering 10 to 20 miles north or south.

Mako sharks are certainly fascinating, as is fishing for them; however, I have a deep fascination with Tarpon and Steelhead and love pursuing them. Even though I’ve had success catching them on the fly, their mystery and allure continue to captivate me. Surprisingly, I also enjoy fishing for big bluegill. You might be wondering why I mention bluegill since giant Makos are my forte; however, pound for pound, they are among the hardest-fighting fish in any body of water. Whether fly fishing with poppers or using ultralight tackle, each bluegill excursion brings back fond memories of fishing with my father in our local lakes in San Diego.

Initial Impressions – The River Quiver

Everything I use seems to be super-sized – from the rods and reels to the flies and, of course, the fish! The only small thing is the boat, which clients sometimes question, but it has proven itself in the waters we fish.

Amidst the over-sized gear, safeguarding critical equipment becomes paramount. One of the biggest takeaways I’ve learned through guiding is how precious time is. Efficient organization is key to starting and finishing each day smoothly. The River Quiver from Riversmith has been instrumental in protecting what matters most: time, possessions, and my clients’ experiences. Its impeccable design, safety features, and ability to keep rods rigged and ready have been a game-changer for my program, ensuring I can focus on clients without worrying about gear. The Quiver was easy to assemble, thanks to clear instructions, and the quality of materials used is unmatched. Its durability provides peace of mind, making it essential for maximizing efficiency and readiness.

Field Testing

The best thing about fishing for multi-species, freshwater to salt, bluegill to giant mako sharks, is not only how you can adapt to be a better angler in various conditions, but also being prepared for those situations and keeping different rods for different outings.

Conway with his Silver 4-Banger River Quiver with Quick Release Mounts

The Riversmith River Quiver has helped me save that time and allowed me to travel with a number of rods for different applications. The reel box fits big reels for bigger game fish I target, and the length of the tubes holds rods up to 10’6″. I should also mention, it’s pretty nice that I don’t have rod tips dangling in between myself and the passenger in my truck; my rigs are fully protected inside the River Quiver to and from the landing where I keep my boat.

The best part about the River Quiver is the unique mounting options and different lengths and styles of the Quiver. Riversmith offers four different mounting options: standard, low-profile mounts, quick release, and lastly the new truck bed mounts. I utilize a standard silver 4-Banger River Quiver with the quick release mounts. I am able to keep four rods rigged up, locked, and ready for the next day on the water without any problems. When I decide to take the Quiver off, it’s such an easy process with the quick release mounts, I just unlock them from the cross bars, lift the lever and can take the whole unit off.

Final Review

With upcoming redfish trips in January, followed by a busy fishing season from May to October, including a Permit fishing expedition in September in the Yucatán, my gear will undoubtedly see plenty of action. And when I’m not fishing, I’ll be enjoying beach time, surfing, spearfishing, and embarking on a road trip to Montana with my wife and two boys. The River Quiver will be indispensable throughout, proving its versatility and reliability in various adventures.

Ease of Installation:

5 star rating

Looks:

5 star rating

Practicality:

5 star rating

Security:

5 star rating

Durability:

5 star rating

Price:

4 star rating (MSRP: $379.99-$1,275.99)

Conway Bowman, a seasoned saltwater fishing guide and Riversmith Ambassador, calls Encinitas, California, home, where he can often be found pursuing large Mako sharks offshore. To discover more about Conway, his fishing program, or to schedule a trip with him, click HERE. For further information about Riversmith, click HERE.

Check out the articles below:

The Rundown: An All Encompassing Look at the Riversmith Product Lineup

Behind the Brand: Riversmith

Omens: The Bad, The Ugly

Florida 

The hollow thrum of tires racing against concrete echoed beneath the bridge that led to Port St. Joe. I was hastily peeling 01x off my spool in a feverish attempt to beat the ensuing darkness and create a makeshift euro-shrimping leader. On a previous cast, dead drifting a tan shrimp pattern finally got a take. In an act of complete desperation, I was (much to the chagrin of the elderly man across the inlet, who had caught fish after fish while lobbing actual shrimp) trying to yield a 9 foot 8 wt as if it were a tall, sensitive euro noodle. Needless to say, they are not the same. I looked more like someone swatting bugs or relieving a cramped elbow than the angler I hoped to be. The final nail in the coffin came when I felt the familiar vibration of an incoming text: It was from the shop I had originally been in touch with before my arrival here, who’s store subsequently closed for the three days I had planned to fish. The message they left surmised why I had now found myself under a bridge, blind casting in the fading light to no avail: The message said, “The island is the best, but this weather is a killer.”

I like to think that modern-day superstitions are wasted on me. I like to think that I don’t read into random occurrences too much, or try to connect them in some way that would signify the universe is trying to communicate with me. Hence, when my truck’s odometer displayed 666 for the better part of the drive to the airport, I shrugged it off. When the weather abruptly shifted, I told myself to embrace the challenge. Even when bright tines of lightning lit the sky fluorescent pink as I arrived at the parking lot on the first day’s attempted fishing– I told myself it was all good and decided to do some recon from the car.

Looking back on the trip, the needlefish, the dead eels, the barnacled net, the pelican man, atrocious weather, fish skeletons, and straight-to-voicemail calls to the fly shop began on my trip began to form into what I can only prescribe as omens: Bad omens.

The original plan was to spend three days wading and sight-fishing redfish, sheepshead, and whatever else might show itself along the bay-side flats of St. George State Park. As mentioned, day one was off to an ominous start. The radar showed a large swath of severe weather slowly working northwest, so I decided to check out Cape San Blas State Park, another area with promising-looking flats about an hour’s drive and potentially on the edge of the storm. The gate attendant at the park looked at me quizzically, as I must have been the only one they had seen that day, given the weather. I geared up in case the weather broke and drove around the island. By Mid-afternoon, the lightning ceased long enough to wade a flat close to the road, and while the visibility was poor, there were some disturbances on the surface – so I threw a few casts and felt a decent eat. I set the hook, and the line came tight. The fight wasn’t very strong, so I expected maybe a sea trout or some other smaller fish. What I didn’t expect was a three-foot-long, foul-hooked needlefish.    

Maybe it was the threat of lightning, the ‘Beware of Alligators’ sign leading to the flat, or the fact that this iridescent awl of a fish repeatedly attempted to bite me as I tried to remove the hook – which could only be described as an entertaining dance. Had someone seen this debacle from shore, they would have noted my many movements, attempting to dodge winging jaws, and several “NO NO NO’s” and “STOP IT’S (I often talk to fish as though they might understand me).

Somewhere in the melee, the built-in scissors on my forceps sniped the tippet, and the needlefish swam away bejeweled with a chartreuse and white clouser minnow. Needless to say, this was not how I had envisioned the trip starting. Shortly after the chaos, lurid cracks split the sky… a sign for me to head out. Tomorrow was going to be a new day.

 

The palms outside my Airstream trailer Airbnb swayed heavily in the chilly breeze the following morning. It was 41 degrees outside, and the wind was unfortunately blowing offshore, which meant it was going directly into where I was headed. What is fishing without a bit of adversity, I thought, and at least it was sunny. I headed over to the island and began a twelve-mile expedition in futility. I walked from the last parking lot out to the point and back, much of it spent practicing the stingray shuffle and looking for even the slightest shadow. All in all, I saw one small shark, which I did cast at (thankfully, it could have cared less), and a pod of dolphins, which was spectacular. There were some signs along the beach, findings that would only later be realized as (bad) omens. Firstly, there were several dead snake eels. So many, that by the time I was headed back, I could easily discern their shape from a reasonable distance to avoid nearly stepping on them, which was how I discovered the first one. Then, there was the net, covered in barnacles and filled with sea grass. At the time, I thought nothing of it.

Defeated and exhausted, the adrenaline of seeing dolphins so close having long worn off, I packed up and found my way to a Mexican restaurant and drowned my sorrows with birria tacos and flan. Researching the weather between courses, I saw that the following day looked even worse for wind and visibility. Having called the fly shop and texted my contact several times with no reply, I was left with no alternative. In an effort to salvage what would be, I looked for potential spots to, dare I even say it, blind-cast.

As someone whose preferred target is carp, blind-casting, especially in something as big and humbling as the Gulf Of Mexico, is akin to throwing darts at a moving target after spinning around a Wiffle ball bat multiple times. That night, I poured over Google Maps, finding a few select places to go the following day. I told myself that while a redfish and sheepshead might be out of the picture, a sea trout (honestly, any fish) would offer salvation, and I went to sleep with a new sense of hope.

I wish I could tell you that the next day went splendidly. I wish I could tell you that it went so well that I began to reframe my ideas of blind-casting. What occurred was a bit different. It started with a small jetty where, for the first time on this trip, I ran into other anglers. I hadn’t really thought of this until that day, how the lack of other anglers was somewhat foreboding. As I scoped out the jetty, I saw a series of figures, each with a bucket near their feet, winging assorted bait casters and spin rods. I thought what the hell, and went to grab my rod, as I turned to walk back to the car, an angler hooked up with something that put a good bend in his rod. My pace quickened, and I thought to myself, here we go! I began casting and retrieving and repeating this for some time to no avail. I watched as the angler, whom I would later call the Pelican Man, would catch and throw fish after fish to a swarm of hungry pelicans. Frustrated, I changed flies, watched his technique, and slowed my retrieve. I even inched closer as if somehow his spot was fishier than my own. The fact that no one else was catching anything could have provided some solace had the two previous days not been so abysmal. Eventually, tail tucked between my legs, I headed out to another spot that looked like it might hold some hope.

I did this several times, my arm growing increasingly tired, my brain slipping into that same feeling you get swinging flies for salmon – questioning not only which pattern to use, but life choices in general. With the sun well on its evening trajectory, I headed to my proverbial last chance ranch: a spot below a hulking bridge where the tides would be filling the river with bait and, hopefully, a few fish to target. Walking down to the apron of riprap that would serve as my precarious footing, I stumbled across several fish carcasses, fileted and well-withered from several days ashore. This looks promising, I mocked. Somewhere in the many fruitless casts that day, self-deprecation had replaced hope, as it often does when an angler finds themselves in a biblical drought. The seeds of a theory had been sewn.

After reeling in my unpatented and, moreover, ineffective euro-shrimping leader, I clambered up the loose rock to the car and asked myself if this was a new low point. We all want to capture and tell stories of the great ones. The 20-plus-inch trout, the carp that tipped the scales, a 6-pound smallie that fought like hell. Yet, the foundation upon which these tales can be told is filled with lackluster moments, hours, days, and in this case -  trips where we have nothing but a sunburn to show for our efforts.

On the way to the airport the following day, there was a pair of shorts in a local gas station covered with Warholian bananas, and I thought– maybe I should have worn those the whole time. After checking in and waiting for my flight, I thought of the shorts and the old superstition regarding bananas and fishing. As I looked back on my trip, I began to formulate connections and link seemingly meaningless occurrences. The signs had all been there. I just hadn’t seen them. I was doomed from the start – the omens never lie. The eels, the odometer, the net, the Pelican Man, and the fish skeletons all made sense. Even though I knew it was just bad fishing, I accepted my latest tale as fact, and was happy to have an alibi. 

Several days after getting home, a friend and I decided to take advantage of a milder day and meet at a local trout river. On the way to the river, I drove past a graveyard. Needless to say, I held my breath.

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