As soon as we stepped into Captain Bailey Short’s truck, I knew it would be a good day on the water. Hardly messy, the interior wasn’t spotless either, with hand tied “prototype” flies laying on the center console. I’ve known enough fishing guides to recognize when someone lives and breathes fly fishing.
Captain Short
Betraying his own name, Captain Short stands well over six feet with a blonde ponytail down to his shoulders and a befitting goatee. We met at a gas station on the outskirts of New Orleans, where he wasn’t too busy for a pleasant greeting. We passed a moment comparing notes on the tide, wind and other weather factors we’d researched using the FishAngler app.
Better Weather
By seven thirty, the mass expanse of New Orleans was in the rear view mirror, giving way to rural Louisiana. For weeks, our home state of Montana was locked in one of the worst cold snaps in the country. Not only was there no open water to fish, but the temperatures would regularly drop into the negative teens at night.
As the sun began to rise over the cypress trees and agriculture fields, the temperature was already 40 degrees higher than anything we’d felt in months.
The sunrise at the boat launch was something you can only dream of in Montana. The warm light bathed the docks and reflected off the marsh water. Locals didn’t consider the 60 degree weather warm, but we pigheadedly wore shorts. As the engine fired and we left the no wake zone we were also too pigheaded to admit how surprisingly cold we were.
The Marshes
The salt marsh was like living a dream. The boat sped through a labyrinth of turns on its way out to the Gulf of Mexico. Captain Short pointed out breaching dolphins, which he referred to as his pets and weaved in and out of poles marking commercial oyster fields. My hopes of seeing an alligator were dashed, though, as most were still awaiting warmer temperatures before leaving their quasi hibernation in the mud.
Our boat pulled alongside a grass covered bank and as the sound of the engine died, our ears grew accustomed to the pure sound of nothing but the wind and shore birds. Our excitement to make our first cast in salt was at an all time high.
Then it fell again. Captain Short looked at the water and the term “un-fishable” escaped his mouth.
Louisiana produces more oysters than any other gulf state and after the deepwater horizon catastrophe in 2010, they are the only state producing oysters at the same level as before the disaster. Great news for the state, but it can present some challenges for the fishing guides.
The off colored water becomes especially brown, as local oyster boats troll the bottoms in search of the delicious mollusks. This makes sight fishing for red drum (or red fish) almost impossible.
Captain Short began rattling off a number of other code-worded fishing spots within the labyrinthian marsh and the brief break we had from the engines ended. We were humming across open water once more.
I’m always worried about proper conditions, but I felt a little relief. Now if I couldn’t figure out how to catch a saltwater fish at least I had the excuse of bad conditions.
Life was teeming in the marsh en route to the open gulf. Egrets, pelicans and pink spoonbills flew in the distance, while dolphins breached in front of us and rays glided beneath the boat.
The marsh finally opened into a giant mouth giving way to the Gulf of Mexico and the our own feelings of being miniscule.
First Time Saltwater Fishing on the Fly
Once again the engine died, near a bank. Marsh land and grass lies on our left, while the limitless ocean rolls on forever to our right.
The day was closing in on ten. The unobstructed sun was in full force, but the chill from the ocean wind keeps us in jackets, with buffs over our faces. We checked our FishAngler app Fish Forecast feature, and the conditions were highly favorable. For more, check out Solunar Theory and the Fish Forecast Feature.
My wife, Hannah, climbs onto the casting deck and Captain Short pols the skiff from an even higher position. It doesn’t take long for his well trained eyes to spot the first red fish of the day. He gets Hannah ready and starts naming numbers on a clock for her to cast at. Casting the 1-piece #9 saltwater fly fishing rod takes a little time to get used to. Especially for someone who’s never casted anything over a six weight. The two shoulder surgeries this year didn’t help either.
The first fish was uninterested in the crab imitation fly and several other fish felt the same way. None of the fish were as active as we wanted and we still hadn’t found a fish actively feeding yet. Finally Captain Short called out “11 o’clock!” A red fish was moving along the bank aggressively feeding on anything that got in its way.
The skiff stalked silently toward the fish, reminding me more of the last moment of a bow hunt than fishing.
Captain Short gave the word. Hannah made several false casts and let the fly go, landing it perfectly on the feeding red’s nose.
Strip! Strip! Strip the Line!
Now, I was worried. The structure and toughness of most saltwater fish’s mouths make them impervious to a standard trout hook set where you raise your rod to jam the hook through. I told Hannah this for weeks and now was the moment of truth to see how ingrained trout setting was.
In a zen-like, dream state Hannah stripped the line, felt her first take on a salt fly and produced the perfect set. The rod tip bent and the red went on a run. The only problem was, Hannah, not being used to fighting a fish over 24 inches, still had a handful of fly line. She was trying to horse him in like she would a smaller trout.
“Get him on the reel,” Captain Short repeated. Hannah was visibly nervous about giving the fish line, but her clenched fist full of line began to relax. The red took another run toward the open water and she finally had him on the reel. She couldn’t contain her smile and surprise every time the powerful fish took a run.
The captain called out orders on how to fight the fish with all the passion and excitement of someone who found their true calling. When the fish finally got to the side of the boat, he scooped it out and handed it to Hannah, who’d been wearing the same smile now for close to ten minutes. A dream created in the cold of Montana was now in her hands.
Not wanting to keep the red out of the water too long, we dipped the fish back into the salt and with a powerful tail thrash, it was gone again. Hands, still slick from handling fish, raised and high fived others.
My Turn
I stood on the casting platform and got used to the swaying of the skiff. Not long after we began slowly creeping through the water, the Captain called out to another feeding red on my nine.
I gave two false casts and let the line fly. I stripped the line as to the captain’s orders and then felt the adrenaline inducing tug. However, trout setting seems far more ingrained in my DNA then my wife’s. I set the hook and immediately raised my rod tip. The line came loose and I had to duck as the fly came out of the water and directly at me. “You trout set, bud,” Captain short said. I laughed it off. What else could I do? I was born a trout fisherman and apparently one afternoon wasn’t going to break almost thirty years of habit.
The skiff pressed on, alongside marsh grass and the captain gave me directions to look toward my ten this time. A sheepshead sat against the bank, barely visible. The captain explained exactly where to put the fly and I complied. I stripped the crab imitation right past the black and white striped fish and again felt the tug. I gave a much more composed strip set, but still moved the rod tip a little too much and missed the hook set.
The captain explained how hard sheepshead can be to hook because of their rows of human-looking teeth used for crunching muscles, oysters and crabs. He also explained they often don’t react much to a hook set because, due to their diet, they are used to pokes and pinches from shells and pinchers.
Second Time’s a Charm
During this biology lesson, however, my fly remained in the water and as I looked down again, the sheepshead, not satisfied with its first attempt at being hooked, came back for another go. I twitched the fly and gave two short strips. Again, I felt the tug, but this time with all the discipline I could muster I kept my tip low and gave one decisive strip. The rod tip bent and the pressure of a fish was immediate. We yelled with excitement and fish gave enough of a run to get it on the reel. The amount of power for a fish that size was amazing. Salt just breeds stronger fish.
The sheepshead gave two more runs before I had it at the boat. The captain reached in the water, avoiding the dorsal spines and handed me my first saltwater fish with a fly in its mouth. My buff betrayed the grin on my face, but I couldn’t have been more excited.
We studied the flat, molar-like teeth, and the captain told us again how tough redfish and sheepshead were. He even told us of a 20 pound red he once caught that didn’t seem to mind the stingray’s stinger lodged in its forehead.
With a powerful thrash of a tail the sheepshead was gone again.
Officially Perfect
The day was officially perfect, we think, as we motored into different sections of the gulf. But without much further luck, soon the motor fires again and we are headed back to land.
Louisiana marshes hold a solemn beauty. Before the trip I never thought I could live anywhere but Montana. But as we slowly roll into the boat launch area it is clear; Louisiana has much more to offer than I ever expected and it isn’t on Bourbon Street, or during Mardi Gras.
We dipped a toe into salt fly fishing, but now feel a powerful pull to immerse more of ourselves into the world of salt. Two fish in our hands and mission accomplished. Now onto the next adventure and the next body of water with the best fishing partner you could ask for!
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