A while back I wrote about the steelhead style indicator and it's superiority to all other strike indicators. This is still true, but there is another strategy that you can use. This one is a pain to prepare, but absolutely effective and amusing to boot. It is the double strike indicator, and uses two indicators placed strategically on the leader to detect the most subtle takes.
1.Get a package of those Rio Kahuna indicators. This is essentially a blaze orange section of fly line. Break off two pieces, each about 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch long. Snap them off with your fingers, and do not cut them to length because they have a mono core that must be pulled out to create a hollow tube so you can thread them on the leader.
2. Get a 9 foot tapered leader. For trout, I like Orvis super-strong leaders, for bass and salt I like the Scientific anglers bonefish ones. Although any tapered leader will work.
3. Thread both indicators on the leader. For trout tippets this will be easy, but for thicker tippets you may need to carefully thread them on to a needle. The hollow core is teeny ...After you get them on slide them up to the butt so they are out of the way.
4. Cut the leader about 4 or 5 feet down from the butt end, and tie it back together with a blood knot. Slide the first indicator down to the knot which will hold it in place.
5. Cut the leader again about 2 feet below the butt, knot it back together, and slide the second indicator down to the knot. You now have a ruined tapered leader with two indicators about 2 or 3 feet apart.
The fun comes in fishing this rig, and it is a hoot. What you are doing is watching not only the movement of the lower indicator, but the relative position between them. Any time the distance between them or their relative position changes, it is likely a fish. One of my favorites is when the lower one starts moving upstream while the upper continues down. There are all sorts of crazy ways to detect fish, and it is surprising how many takes you perceive that would be missed with a single indicator near the leader butt. So you have to buy indicators, and it sort of trashes a perfectly good knotless leader, but the education and fun are worth it. Try one sometime.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Tampa Bay redfish
The blog has been pretty quiet for some time because a) readers can only take so many smallmouth stories, and b) some people have to work for a living and can't fly fish every day. Last week found me within spitting distance of Tampa Bay, and a block of time with no appointments, talks, workshops, meetings, socials, fundraisers, or other jiggery-pokery. Mostly because of a mis-communication with the ticket booking that got me there a day early, and on a Sunday. Nothing left to do but fish.
This was exciting because I had lived in Tampa a while back, and had taken up saltwater fly fishing during the last year I lived there. It was fun, but I sucked at it. Could not double haul, did not know the right flies or techniques, and never had much time anyway. So I had never caught a redfish. I did a google search and found my old friend Leigh, and he graciously set up a trip for us to wade some flats. After a breakfast of begnettes and other cajun stuff we headed out. I won't talk about the spot or the techniques we used (it was a popular place mentioned in guidebooks and we threw clousers). Although I learned a great deal, that was not what struck me.
First, Tampa Bay sits smack in the middle of one of the most urbanized areas of Florida, and what lies just inside most of the shoreline with high density development and lots of concrete. Back in the day I recall many areas with sparse seagrass and a lot of mud. That is no longer the case. We fished on seagrass flats that were lush and green over sandy bottom that did not pull off my "one size too large but that was all they had" flats boots. Mangroves grew in profusion along the shoreline, and there were thousands of birds ranging from a loggerhead shrike to roseate spoonbills. A manatee swam by. Minnows by the millions swarmed at low tide and predators crashed them right in front of us. Tampa is doing something right, and they should be commended for their efforts. Environmental regulations and environmental restoration work. A lot of it is due to the efforts of Tampa Baywatch. Send them money, or if you live there volunteer for some of their many hands-on projects. And also Florida anglers, who increasingly practice catch and release.
The other thing is that Tampa Bay has one of the coolest fisheries ever because you never really know what is going to eat your fly. My friend Leigh outfished me with reds, seatrout, hardhead catfish, ladyfish, and a snook. I was king of the flounder, but also ladyfish and my first redfish ever on a fly. It was probably best described as a little rat red, but I thought it was glorious and darn near the prettiest fish ever caught in the ocean. We also saw some bluefish crashing bait, and many other species are possible (although some are seasonal). And unlike the keys where flats fishing gets tough during the winter and you need a boat, Tampa Bay has year round wade fishing with many easy public access points. I even started thinking that the traffic wasn't so bad after all, and the real estate was rather attractively priced. If they had deer hunting close by I would retire there tomorrow. And may think about it anyway because I know of few other places where you can target that many species depending on your mood that day.
Tampa Bay is better than ever, and if you are ever within striking distance you would be a fool not to try it.
This was exciting because I had lived in Tampa a while back, and had taken up saltwater fly fishing during the last year I lived there. It was fun, but I sucked at it. Could not double haul, did not know the right flies or techniques, and never had much time anyway. So I had never caught a redfish. I did a google search and found my old friend Leigh, and he graciously set up a trip for us to wade some flats. After a breakfast of begnettes and other cajun stuff we headed out. I won't talk about the spot or the techniques we used (it was a popular place mentioned in guidebooks and we threw clousers). Although I learned a great deal, that was not what struck me.
First, Tampa Bay sits smack in the middle of one of the most urbanized areas of Florida, and what lies just inside most of the shoreline with high density development and lots of concrete. Back in the day I recall many areas with sparse seagrass and a lot of mud. That is no longer the case. We fished on seagrass flats that were lush and green over sandy bottom that did not pull off my "one size too large but that was all they had" flats boots. Mangroves grew in profusion along the shoreline, and there were thousands of birds ranging from a loggerhead shrike to roseate spoonbills. A manatee swam by. Minnows by the millions swarmed at low tide and predators crashed them right in front of us. Tampa is doing something right, and they should be commended for their efforts. Environmental regulations and environmental restoration work. A lot of it is due to the efforts of Tampa Baywatch. Send them money, or if you live there volunteer for some of their many hands-on projects. And also Florida anglers, who increasingly practice catch and release.
The other thing is that Tampa Bay has one of the coolest fisheries ever because you never really know what is going to eat your fly. My friend Leigh outfished me with reds, seatrout, hardhead catfish, ladyfish, and a snook. I was king of the flounder, but also ladyfish and my first redfish ever on a fly. It was probably best described as a little rat red, but I thought it was glorious and darn near the prettiest fish ever caught in the ocean. We also saw some bluefish crashing bait, and many other species are possible (although some are seasonal). And unlike the keys where flats fishing gets tough during the winter and you need a boat, Tampa Bay has year round wade fishing with many easy public access points. I even started thinking that the traffic wasn't so bad after all, and the real estate was rather attractively priced. If they had deer hunting close by I would retire there tomorrow. And may think about it anyway because I know of few other places where you can target that many species depending on your mood that day.
Tampa Bay is better than ever, and if you are ever within striking distance you would be a fool not to try it.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
The Forgotten 7 weight
Of all the fly rods sold in the U.S., fewer 7 weights are purchased than any other. Think about this- fewer 7 weights sold than 11 or 12 weight tarpon rods? Ridiculous, but I have heard this three distinct times from people who are very knowledgable in the fly fishing business. This is a shame, because you are missing out on one of the perfect line sizes for freshwater fishing, and here is why.
The 7 weight is an oddball, but its oddity is that it sits right in the sweet spot that is the compromise between finesse weights and the big dogs. I want to explain why, but first you have to understand line weights.
Back in the day, manufacturers had no standards for fly lines, and each brand was a bit different. They also had labels that were weird letter designations. A was the heaviest, and G and H were fine. A double taper line might have a GCG designations, while a heavy weight forward might have GBH. No one could understand it, and it got to be a problem once glass fly rods became common and everyone could fly fish. The manufacturers standardized lines in the 1970's to the numerical system used today that includes line type (DT or WF), a line weight based on weight in grains of the first 30 feet, and an F or S designation for floating or sinking. It is still in use.
The problem is that most anglers think that, because the line numbers are classed arithmetically, the line weights are as well. They are not. Look at the curve above, and you will see my point. From 3 to 6 weights, line weight does increase in a straight line with 20 grain increments. A 3 weight weighs 100 grains, a 4 weight 120, with a six weight topping out at 160. Jumping to 7 and 8 weights line weight increases by 25 grain increments, and each line weight after than has an even larger progression in terms of adding more weight.
The bottom line is that 7 weights sit right on the inflection point of the curve, and are the heaviest line weight you can get just before things really start to get heavy. To me, they are the heaviest line weight that one can cast all day, and they are the perfect size for casting large dries and big weighted streamers. An 8 weight will handle the big stuff even better, but there is no finesse and try casting one all day. They are a great western trout rod, especially when the wind comes up, and you can cast into the mangroves with streamers all day without your arm falling off. Eight weights and above are nearly always designed for fighting large fish, but that comes with extra weight that does not translate into lightness in the hand.
Another problem with 7 weights is that they really need to be designed like saltwater rods. I see quite a few with wee little cigar grips or the like, and you really need a full wells grip and two stripping guides for them to reach their full potential. That is a rod you can root around with in Tampa Bay, but it can fish large dries quite effectively. The same thing is true for steelheading where you can expect big fish, but only if you do a couple hundred perfect drifts for hours at a time. I use a 10 foot 7 weight, and wish I had one six inches longer. I think that enough poorly furnished rods are out there such that anglers got spooked years ago and no longer long for them.
I use 7 weights for a lot of fishing, and it is my freshwater go to line size just about any time I am not fishing dry flies for snooty trout and for those guys I am usually fishing much shorter cane rods. They are much more versatile than you think, and ideal for any freshwater situation that requires all day casting with medium or large flies. For smallmouth, they are perfect.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
A cure for the summer doldrums
Sort of lapse for the past few weeks, for one simple reason: it has been hot as hell here in Michigan. We have shattered multiple daily highs (this has gotten monotonous) as well as several never been hotter at this place ever records. No rain for 6 weeks, and I have been watering yard trees to keep them alive.
This has had an insane effect on Michigan Rivers. Ultra low water, hardly any flows, and the quiet stretches have become so weed-filled that fishing is more like gardening. You hook a fish, it dives into the salad, and you wade over to clear the morass of junk on the leader and are rewarded by a green fish on the other end of the tippet. Surprisingly, water temps are warm but not like you would think because most of our rivers get some groundwater. Anyway, people do not like to read about skunk trips and a couple in a row were close. We were in the doldrums, and I was starting to dream of September and salmon.
But ...
Last weekend we found a river. A little one that was like fishing two rivers at once. The upstream portion was small and tight, and so shaded that it was cool and dark. But downstream, it made a sudden transition into a mile wide and an inch deep with all the salad fixings. The water was so low and clear that I decided to fish upstream. This turned out to be an eye opener. Mind you, smallmouth bass on the fly is not a finesse sport. Trout fishing is figure skating, smallmouth fishing is roller derby. You fling big flies, and it does not matter if you are six inches from the big rock or 6 feet because the next cast will be closer and the sloppy cast is likely to catch a fish anyway. Down and across, move down, repeat until satiated or you have just enough energy to slog back up to the access. But in a tiny stream this was an anathema. The first few casts ended up in trees until I remembered how to actually cast. I then moved along quietly, and put a small white bluegill popper close to any cover I could find. A limb sticking out from the bank, a tiny knee deep cut in an ankle-deep run, a weird deep pool the size of a bathtub that was almost isolated from all flow by the low water. Most casts were less than 30 feet, and many placed the fly in the water on the opposite side of dry exposed ground.
I took a tip from my friend Ron. He likes to fish slowly to the point where he often lags behind us as we run and gun. My approach is that if they do not want it in two or three casts then the hell with them and I will go find someone who does. He moseys along, and just keeps putting in front of them until they all decide that this must be a bugger hatch and commence feeding. Earlier that day we watched him snake half a dozen fish out of a hole that everyone else considered fishless, so I decided that this was an interesting trick and tried to emulate his approach.
I floated the popper past each cover at least 20 times, and every damned time fish would start to whack it on the 10th or 15th float. But only if it was fished on a dragless float with teeny twitches that moved the rubber legs but made no real noise. I tried a couple of pops, and constant movement but never got a hit that way. It was dead drift with a twitch or two or nothing (there is an earlier post about this technique). This was a small stream, and I expected rock bass with the occasional 6 to 10 inch fish, but was surprised by both the number and size of the smallmouth lurking in the reach. And how they could still be invisible in a foot of water. A couple of 10-12 inches, then a couple that you had to grab by the lip to land. Go figure. It was an amazing day that was more like dry fly fishing for trout, and after a while I realized that the number of fish was up there to a point where there were some bragging rights to be claimed.
This is where it gets weird. I began to wonder what had happened to my friends who had disappeared downstream, and got to the point where I thought I had better find them. I expected them to be back at the car with heat stroke, but nothing doing. So I went downstream for a big garden fest. I expected nothing because the habitat was barren, it was now hitting 90 degrees, brilliant sunshine, and they had already fished through not an hour before. Came to a place that looked like it might be worth a cast. A trench had formed along the bank, and it was at least knee deep with the rest of the river channel being barely over your boot soles. Better yet, the afternoon sun was low enough to cast a shadow line that put it in the dark. Popper goes out, and what followed was strange to say the least. There was a hit on every cast for 30 minutes, I never moved, and every fish came from an area the size of a pool table. No master angler fish, but no dinks, and the largest fish was an honest 15 inches (measured). It was as if the entire bass population of the watershed decided to gather for mass suicide. The catch rate was governed entirely by how fast you could land them on a 3x tippet and get them unhooked and back in the water. At some point, you no longer wanted or needed to catch another fish, but you had to keep fishing just to see how long this could possibly go on. It finally slowed down, but moving downstream still produced fish until I met my partners on their way back up. I asked them if they had fished that run and they had, but it only produced a few dinks because at that point it was still in the sun. Even weirder, I was darned glad I was fishing a 7 weight. Fish were fighting hard, and there was more leaping that I had seen in quite some time.Actually, one hell of a lot of leaping. I have no idea of the final tally of fish released, but it was large enough that I actually considered staying home the following weekend to paint exterior door trims. At least for a couple of minutes.
A new river, a new technique, and it was glorious. One of the best things about fly fishing is that rare moment when you just can't explain anything and simply have to accept that something worked. And the doldrums were cured. Especially after the previous trip the night beforethat ended with no fish and being lost in a buckthorn thicket while wearing shorts.
More about 7 weights next time, and why you should fish them more often than you do.And I am working on a salmon primer for those who must.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Yet another one fly disaster
I have to stop entering these things. They end quickly, and they end badly. For readers not familiar with the concept, one-flies are tournaments run for charity, and each angler gets one fly, and on fly only. Not one pattern, but one fly. If it goes in a tree, falls apart, or has the hook break on a bad backcast that ticks a rock, you are done. The object is to get the most points before something bad happens, and you get points by catching fish, with bigger fish usually worth more.
This one was organized by Schultz outfitters in Ypsilanti, MI as a benefit for the Huron River watershed council (HWRC). This is one of the most progressive watershed councils in the Nation, and they do things that range from stonefly searches (stones are good environmental indicators) to helping the cities of the watershed adapt to climate change. They have real scientists and everything.
So we went to a fun party, and got up next morning to win, and win big. My fishing partner was my wife, and we had long discussions about strategy. We decided that since we were a team, I would go low and slow with an indestructible kevlar tied crayfish pattern, and she would go on top with a surface fly- a gartside gurgler. After mayhem, photographs, and getting acquainted with some new Huron River anglers, we set off bound for glory. I decided to fish in downtown Ypsilanti, where we used to joke that there was bass under every shopping cart. In part thanks to HRWC this is no longer the case, at least the shopping cart part.
Fishing sucked, at least where we were. First spot produced one rock bass and teeny tiny long release smallmouth. Departed for greener pastures at a honey hole that had given up, on average, a dozen prize winning bass each trip every time I had fished there. This was not to be the case that day, and after an hour and a half I was surprised by a single 9 inch bass that was a full inch above the minimum size for entry.. Feeling good about not finishing dead last, I worked down to the first deep run of the morning (the water was record low and pretty clear) and dead drifted Mr. indestructible crayfish down a slot. The line stopped, and I thought I was snagged up until the snag tried to jump and throw the fly. Not a 20 incher, but big enough so that when he jumped he could not get completely out of the water. Two runs, got him on the reel, and then of all things, the line goes slack. I reel in only to find a flyless leader with the telltale curlicue of a knot that has pulled free. I was done. I thought back to that knot, and had stopped mid-tie when someone asked me a question. The improved clinch knot turned out to be only a clinch, and a bad one at that.
I was disheartened and had to think hard about the real purpose of the day which was to benefit the river. HWRC is unusual in that they are an "environmental" group that interacts successfully with anglers. Very few environmental groups get along well with the "hook and bullet" crowd, but everyone I know loves them. That is saying something. Despondent, I reviewed the rules that allowed teams to share rods. I made my wife give me her rod and fly, and proceeded to be vindicated with a 12 incher, thereby securing me another step up from dead last. However, she figured out my strategy quickly and I was called out. We gave it our best shot, and after an hour in the 90 degree plus sunshine with only rare and desultory nosing of the topwater flies it boiled down to two choices: 1) drive 20 miles upriver to really good spot where they were sure to be biting and have a shot at placing, or 2) go to an air conditioned bar within sight of the fly shop HQ just down the street. Bar won, unanimous decision achieved in seconds.
Just wait until next year.
This one was organized by Schultz outfitters in Ypsilanti, MI as a benefit for the Huron River watershed council (HWRC). This is one of the most progressive watershed councils in the Nation, and they do things that range from stonefly searches (stones are good environmental indicators) to helping the cities of the watershed adapt to climate change. They have real scientists and everything.
So we went to a fun party, and got up next morning to win, and win big. My fishing partner was my wife, and we had long discussions about strategy. We decided that since we were a team, I would go low and slow with an indestructible kevlar tied crayfish pattern, and she would go on top with a surface fly- a gartside gurgler. After mayhem, photographs, and getting acquainted with some new Huron River anglers, we set off bound for glory. I decided to fish in downtown Ypsilanti, where we used to joke that there was bass under every shopping cart. In part thanks to HRWC this is no longer the case, at least the shopping cart part.
Fishing sucked, at least where we were. First spot produced one rock bass and teeny tiny long release smallmouth. Departed for greener pastures at a honey hole that had given up, on average, a dozen prize winning bass each trip every time I had fished there. This was not to be the case that day, and after an hour and a half I was surprised by a single 9 inch bass that was a full inch above the minimum size for entry.. Feeling good about not finishing dead last, I worked down to the first deep run of the morning (the water was record low and pretty clear) and dead drifted Mr. indestructible crayfish down a slot. The line stopped, and I thought I was snagged up until the snag tried to jump and throw the fly. Not a 20 incher, but big enough so that when he jumped he could not get completely out of the water. Two runs, got him on the reel, and then of all things, the line goes slack. I reel in only to find a flyless leader with the telltale curlicue of a knot that has pulled free. I was done. I thought back to that knot, and had stopped mid-tie when someone asked me a question. The improved clinch knot turned out to be only a clinch, and a bad one at that.
I was disheartened and had to think hard about the real purpose of the day which was to benefit the river. HWRC is unusual in that they are an "environmental" group that interacts successfully with anglers. Very few environmental groups get along well with the "hook and bullet" crowd, but everyone I know loves them. That is saying something. Despondent, I reviewed the rules that allowed teams to share rods. I made my wife give me her rod and fly, and proceeded to be vindicated with a 12 incher, thereby securing me another step up from dead last. However, she figured out my strategy quickly and I was called out. We gave it our best shot, and after an hour in the 90 degree plus sunshine with only rare and desultory nosing of the topwater flies it boiled down to two choices: 1) drive 20 miles upriver to really good spot where they were sure to be biting and have a shot at placing, or 2) go to an air conditioned bar within sight of the fly shop HQ just down the street. Bar won, unanimous decision achieved in seconds.
Just wait until next year.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Mr. Gar says "hello!"
We need a break from fly fishing. This week's trip was canned at noon due to unseasonable heat and malaise, and it wasn't worth talking about.
I once collected a gar for an ichthyology class, and the preservation went bad, except for the head which got sort of mummified. This became "Mr. Gar" and he became a family tradition. Mr. Gar had a knack for showing up anywhere and everywhere: my mom's floral centerpieces during formal dinners for stodgy relatives, looking out of the ice ring in the punch bowl, as a Christmas ornament, and even a wedding cake where his little jaws embraced the bride. That appearance didn't last long, but he was moved to a place of honor looking out over the crowd from a champagne glass placed on the bridal party table. My favorite part of this was that my mom became wise to his appearances, and would try to find him before her dinners. But he always found a way to join the party. When my mom would spy him peaking out of the flowers, we kids would all shout in unision "Mr. Gar says Hello"! She would get royally pissed off at us, which was the main point. However, she changed her mind and started including him in the arrangements herself, and would usually place him looking out at whatever family member had given her a hard time recently. Let this record reflect that his wasn't ALWAYS pointed at me. Over the years, Mr. Gar became part of the family, and was included in many venues. He would travel to reunions, weddings and the like ensconced in his own travel box, or later hanging from the rear view mirror in a fine Christmas ribbon, shown above. Once he was lost for over a year, and everyone felt sad until he was rediscovered hiding among the christmas ornaments.
Mr. Gar has appeared at four weddings (OK, like only two were mine): Two marriages ended in divorce, the others are happy. The unhappy marriages were typified by horrified reactions to Mr. Gar, subsequent banishment, and forcing him to live in a box in the basement. The happy ones occurred when the new spouse greeted Mr. Gar with affection and subsequently included him in family gatherings. I have long thought about the divination powers of Mr. Gar, and have considered renting him out to recently engaged individuals who have secret reservations about their husband/wife to be. But to exploit such a noble species for profit would be wrong. And if word got out, a serious trade in gar could ensue and contribute to their decline.
Mr. gar is quite worn, and had a bad encounter with the little Hiatus (the rat terrier puppy introduced in an older post) but I have such respect for gars I have been reluctant to kill another. He is, however, somewhat worse for the wear as is any object smaller than a bus that has spent more than five minutes alone with a rat
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Carl Hansen and the glass minnow
Carl Hansen was a fly angler from St. Petersburg, FL. He is known nationally as the inventor of the glass minnow pattern. Carl fished the saltwater flats near Tampa Bay, and had a unique approach. Envision a Tampa Bay fly fishing club outing. O dark thirty, and about 50 guys with the latest incarnation of graphite rods, Abel reels galore, and flats boats warming up at the launch ramp. Everyone up the night before tying the latest trendy fly patterns. Madness and mayhem as everyone headed out to be the first one on "big snook flat" or wherever they thought they needed to go given the tide, temperature, barometer, season, and latest guide reports.
Carl would sit there at the picnic area, wait for the sun to come up so he could tie up a few bend back glass minnows. Aluminum foil, mono overwrap for the bodies, a bit of bucktail, and red thread for the heads. No cement, a cheap vise that probably came from Herters in 1955, and I think he did own one pair of sewing scissors. He would then string up a 7 foot cane rod (a three weight, no less) with a reel that I believe was made in 1917- the year may not be right but it was given to him as a kid and he was about 80 years old when I knew him.
He would then wade out in front of the picnic tables up to his knees, and no deeper. He would then cast back to shore. Although he could cast like no one else, most of his casts might be 30 feet. Each cast would last a couple minutes and he would move the fly continuously in little twitches or with a hand twist retrieve. In 2 or 3 hours he might move 30 feet. About noon, all the young guns would come flying back to the launch ramp for the picnic, and you know how this ends. Carl would have caught more fish than the rest of the club combined. His explanation was simple: his fly was in the water, and the glass minnow moves exactly like a real baitfish. Predators move, so most of the snook, seatrout, and redfish in Tampa Bay would pass by him at some point in the morning, and would encounter a fly that looked and moved naturally that was actually in the water when they cruised by.
Carl was an amazing guy- he and his wife Esther had a casting clinic that met once a week at their house for over 30 years, and historians will correct me that its tenure may have been much longer. He did get some recognition of his skills, and was often asked to tie flies at Florida heritage festivals. He could put a fly in a teacup at 30 feet every time you asked him to do it. No BS, every time, and none of this false casting to get the distance right. And this was not hyperbole. The club had casting contests, one of which was a teacup at 30 feet. I saw it. He fished until the very end of his life, and when the end came he went out like the man he was. He told his family and friends that he did not want a funeral. He said that anyone who gave a damn about him should take a child fishing.
The glass minnow:
Use a pliers to bend a hook bendback style. Most people bend it too far. Don't.
Wrap a bit of foil around the hook shank below the bend.
Take a piece of 8 to 12 lb. mono, and wrap it over itself using a snell knot. It takes some practice, but you will end up with shiny foil body protected by mono wraps.
Tie in a sparse bucktail wing. I think that white over greenish blue was Carl's favorite, but he also felt that any color would work. It has to be sparse. Carl would have corrected my wing as resembling a feather duster.
That is it.
Fish the fly over any seagrass bed, bottom discontinuity, or structure. Move it slowly so it crawls along through the water column just above the grass. Expect the unexpected.
Carl would sit there at the picnic area, wait for the sun to come up so he could tie up a few bend back glass minnows. Aluminum foil, mono overwrap for the bodies, a bit of bucktail, and red thread for the heads. No cement, a cheap vise that probably came from Herters in 1955, and I think he did own one pair of sewing scissors. He would then string up a 7 foot cane rod (a three weight, no less) with a reel that I believe was made in 1917- the year may not be right but it was given to him as a kid and he was about 80 years old when I knew him.
He would then wade out in front of the picnic tables up to his knees, and no deeper. He would then cast back to shore. Although he could cast like no one else, most of his casts might be 30 feet. Each cast would last a couple minutes and he would move the fly continuously in little twitches or with a hand twist retrieve. In 2 or 3 hours he might move 30 feet. About noon, all the young guns would come flying back to the launch ramp for the picnic, and you know how this ends. Carl would have caught more fish than the rest of the club combined. His explanation was simple: his fly was in the water, and the glass minnow moves exactly like a real baitfish. Predators move, so most of the snook, seatrout, and redfish in Tampa Bay would pass by him at some point in the morning, and would encounter a fly that looked and moved naturally that was actually in the water when they cruised by.
Carl was an amazing guy- he and his wife Esther had a casting clinic that met once a week at their house for over 30 years, and historians will correct me that its tenure may have been much longer. He did get some recognition of his skills, and was often asked to tie flies at Florida heritage festivals. He could put a fly in a teacup at 30 feet every time you asked him to do it. No BS, every time, and none of this false casting to get the distance right. And this was not hyperbole. The club had casting contests, one of which was a teacup at 30 feet. I saw it. He fished until the very end of his life, and when the end came he went out like the man he was. He told his family and friends that he did not want a funeral. He said that anyone who gave a damn about him should take a child fishing.
The glass minnow:
Use a pliers to bend a hook bendback style. Most people bend it too far. Don't.
Wrap a bit of foil around the hook shank below the bend.
Take a piece of 8 to 12 lb. mono, and wrap it over itself using a snell knot. It takes some practice, but you will end up with shiny foil body protected by mono wraps.
Tie in a sparse bucktail wing. I think that white over greenish blue was Carl's favorite, but he also felt that any color would work. It has to be sparse. Carl would have corrected my wing as resembling a feather duster.
That is it.
Fish the fly over any seagrass bed, bottom discontinuity, or structure. Move it slowly so it crawls along through the water column just above the grass. Expect the unexpected.
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