One of those mornings

[eightweight]

Couple of weekends ago, I loaded the gear into the truck, slid the yak on top and lashed it down tight. Set the alarm for 2:30 AM. Tried to get some sleep, but you know how it is, the night before. Staring at the ceiling, playing through the next day in my head, strong tide coming in at dawn, I'll launch early, paddle up the cord grass, straight for the pass. The alarm goes off.

It's a quick two hour drive, feels more like one, the rhythm of the road in the dark, you know. It's dark at the launch, nothing but the moon, but the yak's in the water in twenty. I know every strap and buckle by feel. The fly rod takes a minute or two, but that I know well. Looking out across the dark water of the bay, soft wind, the water's flat, full moon overhead. This is good, very good. Fumble for my headlamp, tie on my favorite shrimp. Going big this morning, a 1/0 Gamakatsu, lead eyes, on a 16 lb fluorocarbon leader and my nine weight.

Paddled out in the dark, straight up the cordgrass. By the time I reach the pass, dawn's breaking on the horizon. I settle in, and wait. Favorite time of the morning, any morning. Mullet break the quiet, splashing in the distance. Sun's on the horizon. Rod's in my lap now, with thirty feet or so of line coiled loosely on the deck. Paddling slowly up the cordgrass toward the pass, watching the water for tails or backs or wakes, something more than annoying mullet. Water is flat, so flat. But I hear it before I see it. There ahead, maybe fifty yards. Something busting mullet on the surface. Must be a couple of dolphin, such commotion. No, it's not. Reds raking the cord grass. Big reds, tails bigger than my hand. I paddle hard, swing out so I'm not in their line. Close enough. Rod's in hand, fly's in the air, drop it in their line. Wait . . Wait . . . . . Wait. They're on it. Strip once, short strip, strip again. Two peel off, tail on the fly, water erupts, rod doubles over, and the reel sings. What ensues is a twenty minute slay ride. Had to drop anchor to bring her to hand. Lifting that big head out of the water, really don't want to heft her on deck, so I flip the fly loose from her lip and let her swim away. Shake my hands in the cool water, not so much to wash off the fish slime, but to shake off the nerves. And the pod's still there, just off the cordgrass, ahead. I'm thinking at this point, about the ten weight I keep in the hatch. This girl almost snapped my nine, I've had that happen before, and there are fish in there at least as big as her. But I'm onto fish, and after all it's only a fly rod. So we go around again, and again once more. One of those mornings you know, when you won't stop, can't stop, to take picture. No need, you'll remember.

But anyway, here's a picture of my favorite fly.
- Gamakatsu 1/0
- black lead or bead eyes
- rootbeer chenille for the body
- rootbeer rabbit strip for the tail
- calves tail as a week guard
- rootbeer krystal flash

[karstopo]

Very nice. I enjoyed your account. Thanks for letting us share your morning.

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[Cuervo Jones]

Yep. That'll do nicely.


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[kickingback]

Cool post...and fly!

[Drifting Yak]

Way cool and what a fantastic write-up!

[Texjbq85]

Awesome trip report!! Thanks for posting. I went to the coast this past weekend too. It was primarily a beach friends trip and not a fishing trip, but I managed to get on a flat for a couple hours. My report goes as follows: Walked around flat for 2 hours and saw some mullet. But hey you gotta put those days in to get to the good ones like yours.