I have been guiding a lot lately, and this past weekend I had the privilege of guiding my old client Sam Fason from Austin for his 75th birthday. Our first day out was very windy--so what's new, right?-- but he did quite well considering. He landed two reds and two trout in weather conditions that kept most flyfishers in bed. At least that's where I assume they were, because they weren't on the water!

But the second day was phenomenal. We found birding in three different areas, and it was still "on" when we headed home at 4 pm.

I will be preparing a video of some of the best footage I've ever recorded of birding. I was able to video close-in groups of 20-30 reds tailing en mass and snapping at shrimp while laughing gulls were going nuts overhead, trying to intercept fleeing shrimp. It's a sight that few anglers have ever  witnessed, and so I look forward to putting this video together for all to see.

May has been expecially windy, so the clarity of the water has suffered. On Wednesday, though, the wind decreased to a mere 15 mph, which resulted in clear water everywhere. It was a fitting way to celebrate Sam's 75th year, and the eight reds he landed while wading attested to his angling prowess. He apologized for not doing better, which says something about the kind of day we had. I've never seen so many happy redfish tailing under happier gulls.

I hadn't planned to fish. My nephew Spencer from Denver and his buddy Micah from Houston had come down for three days of flyfishing with Chip, and a fourth angler on the Stilt can be an official "crowd." But when I tried to turn down the invitation to join them, they made it clear that they wanted me along. "Hell, I've never seen you just fish. You're always guiding," Micah said. So I went down and launched the boat so they guys would be able to hit the water at daybreak after driving from Weslaco.

I was elected to drive the Stilt, which was fine with me. We decided to fish south rather than to go north for birding action. When I'm fishing for fun, I usually leave the pods alone, preferring to go after the larger reds in the back lagoons and shorelines. So we headed into the first lagoon south of the Arroyo, and shut down and started wading toward the south shoreline where the water became progressively shallow until it was only bootie deep. There weren't many reds, and when they tailed, it was only briefly. I finally landed one, and headed further west hoping to find the big reds that feed only on finfish along the far west shoreline of this most favorite lagoon. I finally had one shot at an incoming monster, but I blew the cast.

We headed much further south, hoping to find big trout mingled with redfish, and succeeded, even though the sight casting was tough. Staking the boat 300 yards from the west shoreline of south Cullens, we all waded toward the shallower and clearer water along the mangrove-lined ridge that runs north and south. We didn't see much until we were within 100 yards of the shoreline. I spotted a tailing red and caught him, and then saw two larger reds tailing along the shoreline, and landed one of them--a 26-inch fish. I was feeling in the zone. I headed further south, leaving the guys behind me, and noticed that they were starting to make the long wade back to the boat. I fought the inclination to wade back, finally deciding that they could come pick me up. It's hard for me to let others do that after years of doing the "boat chores" as a guide. Looking further south, I saw only clear foot-deep water stretching out for another 600 yards before the shoreline of Stover's point rose abruptly out of the shallow lagoon. Then suddenly, I heard the explosion of a huge redfish or trout. A reddish egret was dancing around the  area, where a large school of mullet was circling slowly in the glassy water. I couldn't see the remnants of the fish's surface break, but I took a bead on the sound and headed slowly toward it.

I was happy that I'd worn my new polaroids. I'd ordered a special pair, and installed side shades that I'd made out of leather. (If you want to order incredibly cheap, high-quality prescription polaroids, go to www.zenni.com. You can get single lens prescription glasses for $45, and progressive trifocals for about $90, depending on the frame.) They broke the glare that normally streams in from the side, and I could see over 60 yards ahead of me. Wading very slowly, I scanned the water for the signs of the mystery fish until I spotted a large pink shape moving slowly from left to right. It turned sideways, and I saw that it was a huge redfish, probably 30 inches or more.

I waded into position, and luckily it turned and headed toward me. Casting my Mother's Day Fly on my TFO six weight, I dropped the fly just beyond and ahead of the fish's head. Not wanting to spook it with an approaching fly, I let it sink and twitched it slowly along the bottom, hoping for the best. The red spotted it after it had passed, and shot forward to inhale it. It was on! But it ran toward me, and the fly popped out. I stripped the slack in, and laid the fly ahead of it as it came within 25 feet. Alas, a mature redfish rarely falls for the same trick twice, and he shrugged off my effort. Turning sideways only 20 feet from me, he stopped and eyed me before lumbering off. I was happy, even though I didn't land him. It was a compliment that he'd accepted my presentation and taken an MDF that I'd tied while watching TV only a few days ago.

We headed onto the sand, which is my favorite place to fish. We put Chip and Micah out, and Spencer and I headed 1/2 mile further north and staked the boat. The conditions were perfect: not a cloud in the sky, and the sun at a slight western angle. Spence and I spotted several reds and a couple of trout before Chip and Micah picked us up. I managed to pick up one red on my MDF before we headed further north. We had intended to head in, but we ran over a passel of reds, and several big trout. So we shut down one last time and slipped overboard. While Spencer and Micah didn't seem much, I found a line where I spotted continuous reds for half an hour. They were spooky given the high-vis conditions, but I managed to hook two before Chip poled up behind us and officially pulled the plug on a perfect day.

You may want to consider this: When I wade fish with others, we all experience different things. I can wade beside someone who doesn't see one fish in an hour, and I can see 30 reds in the same period of time. This may sound like boasting, but I'm just stating the facts. What makes the difference? It has to with three things: experience on the water, stopping, and seeing. Obviously, the more experience on the water you have, the easier your eyes and brain can separate information from the background noise. But beyond sheer hours on the water, you can increase your chances of success by stopping from time to time while you are wading and observing very carefully. If you observe herons, you will see them move forward, then freeze, move forward, then freeze. You can perceive movement when your head is stationary far better than when it is movingl. Also, don't cast unless you see something. If you cast, the movement of your head will keep you from perceiving movement in the water. Further, get the best glasses you can find. Don't scrimp on polaroids. Your vision is the most important ally on the water, and if you scrimp on your eyeware, you won't see half of what's there.

I just posted a new video on YouTube, and embedded the html here. I hope to be putting some more videos up soon.

Birding is "on" right now, as it always is this time of year. Randy and his son Truett went out yesterday and got into birding, but didn't land a single red. Why's that, you might ask? The reasons that most people fail to catch fish under birds are all related to a single problem
--getting the redfish to see your fly. There are variations on this theme:
1) They start casting too soon, and the fish have time to move or disperse;
2) By casting too soon, they catch grass, catfish, small trout, or ladyfish––all of which accompany the redfish, and encircle them––which gives the reds even more time to move on or disperse;
3) They cast a fly that sinks so slowly that the reds, which have their heads down, never see it.

Randy and Truett are expert Laguna Madre anglers, so I had to wonder how they, of all people, came up empty-handed (not that I have :). Sometimes it's simply the weight of the fly. Indeed, Randy admitted that they had used ultra-lightweight Kingfisher spoons, which are usually a very fine redfish fly. But in deeper water (meaning calf-to-knee-deep), a lightweight spoon like the KF Spoon will flutter slowly to the bottom, giving opportunistic ladyfish and trout time to snatch the fly before the reds (which have their heads in the sand) from seeing the fly.

So, to succeed...Cast a fly that will get to the level of the redfish immediately. A Clouser works best in more than a foot of relatively grass-free water. Also, cast slightly beyond the pod. The fly typically swings toward the angler on the drop, so to get the fly in front of the fish, you need to overcast the pod by a foot or so.

Also, you need to assess where the redfish are going. Typically, they move in the same direction, sweeping the grass as a group. If you cast behind them, they'll never see it. So look at the direction the tail is pointing, and you'll be able to discern the direction of the pod's movement (the other direction). Or if you can't see the tails clearly, look at the birds, and see which way they are moving against the horizon. The birds are always oriented upwind, but the fish may be going in the opposite direction, or sideways.

And above all, get there quickly! Observe the principle of early arrival, for otherwise, the fish will move away, or explode in a cloud of mud, leaving you wishing you hadn't allowed yourself to be mesmerized by the sight of dozens of waving tails in the early morning sunlight.

On one occasion, I guided two experienced fly fishers who were stalking large pods of redfish surrounded by small trout. I said, "Don't cast before you can reach the tails. Otherwise you will catch a small trout." Well, eight trout later, the guys hadn't been patient, and every cast fell short. They walked back to boat with that hangdog look, knowing what they'd done.

Remember Omar Kyam's words, Tis many a slip twixt the cup and the lip, and maybe you will exercise the patience and discipline to make an easy play an easy play.

I am guiding three days this weekend, and hope to get some good video of birding. I will let you know.

Good luck!

If you haven't reviewed my list of fly fishing articles recently, I have just posted a new article that will appear in the next issue of Tide Magazine on fly fishing for trophy speckled trout. Most of our new clients are interested in redfish, which are not only tough fighters, but usually willing to take a well-presented fly. Trout can be a bit more difficult. But as I've said before, if you target big trout, you are raising the bar on the angling challenge. Consequently, your angling skills will increase, and your ability to catch other species--including redfish--will be significantly enhanced.

The article can be found here: http://www.lagunamadreflyfishing.com/offsite-4/styled-5/index.html

Another thing: I will be spending much of the month of May on the water--guiding, writing, and fishing for fun. Consider coming down and fishing with me. May is a magical fly fishing month overall.

Yesterday, I had the privilege of guiding Tony Woodward and his buddy Jim from Colorado. We could see that a cold front was forecast to pass through on early Sunday, and that they would only have one good weather day. Usually, I recommend rescheduling under such conditions, but Tony had fished the lower Laguna on many occasions, and wasn't into numbers, anyway. So I left it up to him and Jim. They came.

I suggested that we do a dawn-to-dusk trip on Saturday, to which they wholly agreed. I had a plan, and would have bet big money on it; but the day turned out to be difficult. I left the dock at the Arroyo City RV Park and picked them up near the county park. We left the dock earlier than most guides would have, in order to take advantage of early "birding" action. In fact, I navigated with a q-beam down the Arroyo, and found it harder and harder to see. Unbenownst to us, we were driving into fog. By the time we reached the Intracoastal, we couldn't see more than 75 yards ahead. Shining the q-beam through the fog was as useless as driving with a car with your brights on in a thick fog--not very effective, and blinding. After a while, the sun finally rose and transformed near-inpenetrable darkness into a dim white haze. The birding wasn't on, so we headed south to check out some other west-side venues. The fog was so thick, however, that when I finally had to leave the sight of land, I got a bit turned around. Finally, I finally managed to find my way to our destination--a back lagoon that is virtually landlocked. I was relieved that I could only get so lost before running into a familiar shoreline.


Tony caught a fine trout  from the bow, but the redfish action was spotty. We had a few shots here and there, but the lighting was pretty poor, given the fog. When the clouds finally burned off, we could see that pods of redfish were moving into the area, so the guys got out and waded. Alas, they weren't tailing or doing much of anything. Perhaps it was the near-full moon, but I think it was unstable conditions ahead of the cold front. The winds kept changing, and sometimes the fish just don't do much until the front passes. After a while, we headed east onto the sand, hoping for what Tony (and I) like best--fishing the crystal clear water for cruising reds and trout. Yes, the big trout were up on the sand--not in numbers, but they were a steady presence as we planed north toward Mansfield. The tides were high, having recently surged due to the solar effects. So while we found reds, they were in deeper water than we could fish sight casting.

When we got in, Tony spoke with some fly fishers from Houston, who had fished way south, where I'd been fishing for big trout during January and February. Tony learned that the big trout were still there, but they weren't eating, according to the anglers.

So it's not always great fly fishing on the Lower Laguna. If I told you it was, I'm sure you would think me a liar. It doesn't give me much pleasure to tell you about a one-fish day. But then again, we had a very good day. Sharing stories, eating chips and sauza, and smoking the rare cigar. As Sparse Gray Hackle once said, "Sometimes I think the least important thing about fishing is catching fish."

Julie and I went to the Arroyo this past Saturday, to get a break from school and taxes and therapy and such. I thought that the conditions could be right for big trout, but this time of year the water begins to rise and then the big trout action moves from Stover's Point onto the sand. I wasn't sure if the change had begun or not, but thought that the only way to find out was to show up and see. We took Rosie for the outing, which is a separate source of pleasure for both Julie and me, as we've come to love her enthusiasm for the water. She is the perfect companion: she joins me as soon as I'm off the boat, and walks just behind me, sometimes touching my leg with her nose, but never getting ahead of me or making any noise whatsoever.

We headed for the far west side of Cullens Bay between Cullens House and Stover's Point, knowing that shallow clear water could be found near the mangrove covered islands. It's often the only place to see fish during the windy day of early March, when the water clarity is reduced by the combination of wind and the flow of water into the bay. The water was off color elsewhere, but not brown and orange as it would be if brown tide had possessed it, but a subtle tint of blue that bespoke of the incoming Gulf water that would effectively replace the winter bay water with new blood.

We poled into the clear water with the 10 knot East wind, and saw almost nothing. A few signs of nervous water alerted me to the presence of a very few game fish that were prowling the shallows. Knowing that one or two good shots might be all the day had to offer, I staked the boat and grabbed my six weight. Rosie joined me while Julie stayed on the boat, looking like a tiny Eskimo in the Frog Togs and layering. It was only 65, but the breeze on the bay can take the warmth from your body like a pickpocket; so better to wear more than less in the early spring.

I waded slowly, enjoying the clear water. It affects me deeply, and it really doesn't matter if there's any fish at all. After about 20 minutes, however, I saw a huge fish push away from the shoreline and make way toward me. Hoping that it would keep moving and pushing a wake, I slid sideways to intersect what I was certain was a 8+ pound trout. The wake came within casting distance, probably 80 feet out, and then disappeared as the big fish settled into a slower mode. I casted my Mother's Day fly ahead of the wake, not sure any more exactly where the fish had gone. After driving 65 miles,  sleeping overnight in the trailer, driving 20 miles by boat, taking great care to prepare my gear and terminal tackle, and finally making a fine cast in the area of a great fish, I still needed some luck. The fish still needed to see it, and as luck would have it, the big trout certainly did not see the fly. She disappeared and that was all.

We then headed east onto the sand, which was crystal clear. We ran for miles without seeing much, then angled back toward the mouth of the Arroyo and headed west toward home. We both felt cleansed by the time on the water, happy and "good tired." There's something about the Laguna Madre that takes care of the loose ends and the regrets.

My son Ryan and I went out for trophy trout on Saturday morning. I had pitched an article to Tide magazine, and the editor took me up on it immediately. In fact, he wanted it much sooner than I'd planned to do it. So...I decided to go for the long shot--catching a trophy trout on demand.

We headed to South Cullens Bay, where there are often lots of big trout during the winter. I was pleased to see that the tides were about as low as they get, forcing us to go around the spoil islands and enter Cullens opposite Stover's Point. The water was off color in the deeper water, but as we approached the shoreline, it gradually cleared up. We began seeing wakes, but could not identify the fish in the early morning light.

We'd arrived far too early to sight cast using the sun, but the wind was almost calm, so we were able to see breaks and wakes all around us. We decided to wade toward the shoreline, hoping that the shallower and clearer water would hold trout that were avoiding the boat traffic.

Almost immediately, we began spotting game fish breaking and driving dramatic wakes ahead of us. Hoping that they weren't sheepshead, I decided not to blind cast, but to remained cocked and ready for any surface disturbance within casting distance.

About that time, two boats headed toward us from the south, giving the shoreline a "haircut." Annoyed, I watched and listened to them yelling back and forth between themselves. Suddenly, they all started yelling. "Trout, they're all trout!" I heard one guy scream. As they approached, I waved my arms, hoping they'd run to deeper water before they gave all the fish a severe case of PTSD. As they turned away from the shoreline, I could see a dozen big wakes slowly heading toward us. Big trout tend to spook straightaway, rather than zig zagging, and these wakes were slow and straight and had a stately, even slow-motion quality. They were trout, all right.

They all settled down and disappeared, but I knew they were all around us, so I watched for the inimitable signs of fish snaking across the surface. Reds do it, too, in South Cullens, since the turtle grass forces the fish into the upper water column. But trout behave slightly differently when snaking on top. Within a few minutes, I spotted a few fish snaking toward me, wagging their tails. Casting just ahead of them, a wake sped forward and took the Mother's Day Fly, The trout's head came out of the water, thrashing; and the fly popped out. I knew that it had been a pretty big fish, and even though I'd lost it, the experience told me two things: most of the fish were trout, and they were willing to eat.

Ryan and I took a break on the boat a bit later, then headed westward into an area where the surface was glassy. We'd be able to spot fish a long way off, as long as the wind stayed low.

We began to see incoming pairs and small groups, and I got a nip from one of them. But big trout are exceedingly demanding when it comes to presentation. As long as they are heading toward you, you have a chance, but once they turn, it's very hard to get them to eat, because the fly is usually crossing their path.

Wondering if all of our luck had played out, I suddenly spotted a group of fish--probably a dozen or more--heading toward me in the glass. I yelled, "They're probably reds," but I hoped otherwise. As they approached my casting distance, I laid the Mother's Day Fly out ahead of them, and began stripping slowly. The wakes overtook the fly, but frustratingly did not take it. I felt some resistance and pulled only to find that the fly was fouled with grass! A big trout that had been dogging it suddenly went head down, perhaps to take a look at the unnatural acting fly, and a black tail the size of my hand waved at me. I knew they were all trout at that point. I stripped the fly in, tore the grass off, and looked up only to see that the group had broken up. A couple of singles had spooked and were breaking off, while the remnants of the pod were swimming slowly away. Desparate, I quickly stripped more line off and casted ahead of where I thought they were. It was a low percentage play, but there was a swirl, and one was on! It jumped out of the water on hookup and shot away. I could see that it was 26-27 inches and knew that there was a good chance I'd lose it.

But a few minutes later I landed her, got some photos for the article and released her. We fished a while longer, but didn't catch any more trout. Perhaps it's needless for me to say it, but...we're going back soon!

Fishermen often ask me where I've been fishing.  I always answer with conviction that finding fish has little to do with "where," and more to do with "when" and "why." The fish move from place to place based on tidal flow, depth, and, of course, the availability of food sources. Knowing when these factors converge in a particular area is far more important than knowing where the fish were yesterday. But then again, a place will hold fish day after day if the conditions are right...and if anglers and boats don't destroy the peace that sustains their presence.

For about a month now, the fish have been in a particular shallow venue that is so hard to access that even the Stilt can barely float when it comes off plane. Given the extreme shallowness, I have to make sure the fish are present before coming off of plane, because it will take me a good hour and 1000 calories to push the Stilt back into water deep enough for a hole shot.

If there is one fly fishing secret that was more precious than any other, I would say that it's about this one area on the Lower Laguna. Only a couple of people know about it -- Randy, a buddy from Austin, and that's about it. I would tell you, but you probably wouldn't believe it, nor have a boat that would take you there.

When Doug Daman arrived last Thursday, it was after almost cancelling his three-day visit due to wind forecasts of 15-25 knots without any slowdown during the night. Indeed, small craft advisories were forecast for Sunday, and with a skiff that weighs only 475 pounds without the motor, the Stilt qualifies for an extremely small craft! We conferred on Wednesday by email before he left Austin, and decided that we'd go ahead and do our best, hoping for birding to save us from a blow-out.
I picked Doug up on the dock before daybreak on Friday, and headed for our best birding area. There wasn't a boat in the entire back lagoon, and the birds were working over large pods of reds. Doug was able to land six reds and a trout before the action subsided. Then I headed south to check out a westside venue that held an abundance of redfish only a week before. But the tides had fallen, and except for a few shots in deeper areas on the edge of the back lagoon, there was nothing to be caught there. The wind was above 15 knots, and we needed the sunlight before heading for the secret place. The time was ripe, so I cranked up and headed the 10 miles or so before arriving in six inches of water. Running the Stilt slowly through the vast area, I started seeing large reds blowing up. I took a deep breath and came off plane, bouncing along the sand as the motor died. We were going to be there for a while. With only Doug and myself aboard, I found I could pole the Stilt, so we stayed aboard the boat for 100 yards or more, until it became clear that the area was full of feeding reds. Doug got off and waded toward even shallower water, since we could see reds blowing up and feeding in critically shallow water.

Afraid that an outgoing tide would strand us in the shallows, I pushed the boat into deeper water while Doug fished so we'd be able to leave whenever the action was over. But it only got better. Doug had almost constant action for about five hours. When I finally poled the boat down to him, I could see redfish feeding everywhere--some quite large--filling in behind him as he stalked other fish. It was as good as I've seen it in a good while. I believe he landed 13 reds before we headed in. If you'd seen the weather and felt the wind, you would have sworn he would have caught none. Indeed, we didn't see a single boat anywhere. We had it to ourselves while everyone else had "wisely" stayed home.

Doug had come down with a friend, who had stayed landside the first day due to stomach problems. But on the second day, Jason joined us. He had never fly fished before, and opted to fish with his casting rod the first day. As you know, fly fishing isn't easy anywhere, but on the Lower Laguna, it's especially punishing for beginners, who face the daunting task of casting fairly long distances in windy conditions, and having to manage their line in the meantime. So Jason stuck with conventional tackle for the first part of the day, since it was his first time fishing for redfish.

After landing two or three reds apiece, Jason put his conventional tackle away and picked up the fly rod. For the next two days, he stuck with it and by the end of the third day, he declared that he was "hooked."

Instead of fooling around exploring elsewhere, we went directly to the secret place, and spent the next 8-9 hours stalking reds in ankle deep water. There weren't as many reds as there were the previous day, but there were enough to keep the guys on their feet til 4:30 when I finally pulled the plug.

We found birding action at daybreak again on the third morning. Jason still hadn't caught his first redfish on a fly, so while Doug slipped overboard and waded to nearby pods, I poled Jason toward the largest group of reds in the area. It took him a while to hook up on his first redfish, but after two missed strikes, he finally hooked a red on his Kingfisher spoon and brought it to the boat. Meanwhile, Doug was almost constantly hooked up 100 yards from the boat. It was a great start to another fabulous day. We headed again for the secret place and found that the reds were there; but the guys had to go in early, so we spent less than an hour in the area before heading in.

In three days, we saw fewer than six boats. The weather was, by objective standards, rather poor for fly fishing. But we managed to find birding and feeding reds in ankle deep, clear water. That combination usually trumps the problems caused by high winds. While most of the fly fishing community was at home watching football games, Doug and Jason were enjoying "storybook" by fishing on the mother lagoon. You learn so much more about the bay and about yourself as an angler and a person when you have to fish in difficult conditions. However, few people will do it, so they never know what they don't know, and can go all their lives blithely unaware that there are secret places that produce on the most difficult of days. Like life.

Pics and a new video to follow.

Some of my favorite clients are fishing guides who live in Alaska. For the past three years, I have had the privilege of guiding Rich Rogers and Kirk Anietsch, as well as their southern California buddy Riz Sheitch.  Fortunately, we had almost three near-perfect weather days before a cold front passed through Saturday midday.