There’s nothing like waking up at 4:30am after a restless night’s sleep in anticipation of a day filled with heart throbbing saltwater fly fishing action.  Feverishly stumbling out of bed to grab a cup of coffee, you drive like Burt Reynolds to the boat ramp and load up your gear.  Then it’s a short run at a cool 45 mph, in only a couple feet of water, to search out tailing reds, pelagic torpedoes, finicky pompano, or perhaps even giant tarpon.  Oddly enough, the other boats all seem to be passing in the opposite direction, and most are offshore charter boats loaded to capacity with more beer and Dramamine than tackle. You put up your hand to salute as you cross in each other’s wake, chuckling to yourself a bit, but it’s all just part of the local flavor.  

Soon you reach the back country and begin scanning the horizon to locate a promising spot and formulate an approach. From a poling platform, you quietly slide the boat into position:  “Look, over there!” you say, pointing out a school of feeding reds to your buddy who’s standing off the bow.  “Drop it right out in front of ‘em.” Then it’s strip, strip, pause…strip, strip, pause…Fish on!  This is saltwater fly fishing—the basis for many an obsessed angler. 

I read somewhere that saltwater is the last frontier for fly fishermen.  While that sounds very poetic and everything, I think it’s safe to say that ship has sailed.  Lefty and his crew charted those waters long years ago.  A far more accurate statement would be to say, sadly, saltwater is the last frontier for some fly fishermen.   

I give full credit to all the dedicated anglers out there who passionately stalk wary trout season after season on heavily pressured streams—that said, I find that fly fishing enthusiasts often place needless limits on the application and query of this sport.  In my experience, fly fishing by nature begs to be multidimensional.  

If you ever hope to be a well rounded angler, you must be willing to break through the stigmatic routine.  Ever caught a 30lb carp on a fly rod?  How about an 8lb largemouth?  What about slab sized bream or even catfish?  With every new species and venue, you find a different and exciting challenge.  

One of the best examples for me is fly fishing in saltwater.  The gear and tactics always seem to break the rules of convention once the water turns hot and salty.  Trade out those prized bamboo rods and silk lines for a 10wt stick of rebar, forget the trout net, basket creel, cute pocket vest, neoprene waders, and boxes of size 14 – 20’s.  No dinky line hangers either—stout drag systems are mandatory to withstand the abuse of fish capable of getting into backing in a matter of seconds. 

Saltwater is a real break from the routine, not to mention a shot-in-the-arm adrenaline rush every bug slinging junky
should attempt at least once.  But just a word of warning: saltwater can be crazy addictive.  Once you get a taste of it, you might have better luck eating just one Lay’s Potato Chip.   

Just a few weekends back, I was down at Mobile Bay, AL for the annual Dauphin Island Race.  As usual, I was packing my 4pc inshore rod.  With high hopes of squeezing in a little fly fishing action, much to my dismay, a huge storm system moved in and the wind made it difficult to stand upright—

“Seek refuge in the unconventional.”

casting would be nearly impossible. In the middle of the night, once the storm passed, a buddy of mine walks out to the dock at about 2:00am and knocks on the forward cabin hatch of the boat to wake me—“Hey man, fish are out here smacking glass minnows under the lights around the dock.  Grab your rod!” And why the heck would he do this without fear of getting punched in the face for it?  Because he knew the depth of the obsession; he knew I’d rather be fly fishing than sleeping.

The point is, as much as I love fly fishing, it surprises me how with so many wonderful ways to pursue the sport, it remains stubbornly synonymous with mountain streams, trout, and dry flies.  The stigma is so deeply entrenched that most people outside of our sport don’t even realize fly fishing can be applicable in any other way.  It doesn’t help that ideologues tout their traditionalism in hopes of compelling newcomers to adopt their narrow minded view—namely snubbing certain styles, venues, gear, or species. “Real fly fishermen don’t use sinking lines, weighted flies, or graphite rods”—they might say.

While I can appreciate the lofty dogma, the truth of the matter is “all the romance of trout fishing exists in the mind of the angler and is in no way shared by the fish.”* Any limits on the application of fly fishing are your own unfortunate delusion.  Those who can successfully target fish of any species, in any condition, at any time of year are the real purists in my book.  Leave anything that detracts from this essence to the elitist yuppies.

Seek refuge in the unconventional. Saltwater isn’t the last frontier for fly fishing, but it might be for you.  When the water turns hot and salty, so does the action!  I have a bloodline running down my backbone and my beard has salt crystals forming in it. Some of the hooks in my box still have a barb and I’m not above chumming while casting flies to spanish and sharks.  I throw sinking lines and flies that might otherwise be used as an anchor for small craft.  I’ve probably broken all the rules and you know something?  I’m looking for new rules to break, because that’s what makes a hot and salty fly fisherman. 

* Quoted from Harold F. Blaisdell