The water flows off the
flat as the tide drops and the sun rises in the sky. It’s a never ending dance,
a continuous symphony of light and water and color. I carefully pick my way through
the white-water around a rock garden I’ve been fishing and think of the music
lessons and band practices from a lifetime ago. Words like allegro, espirando, bellicoso
and poco a poco fill my mind with the same definition, just a different
meaning.
I follow a trough running
across the flat to where it narrows before opening to the outside and deeper
water. I move from waist deep water to knee deep in one step where I can see
down into a natural choke-point and watch for cruising fish. The breeze
creates ripples on the water’s surface that cast shadows on the sand below. If
you stare at these shadows long enough, they look like fish; if you wait long
enough, fish will move through them. Sometimes.
A striped bass on
the flats is a chameleon. Its stripes and body coloration allow it to blend in with
its surroundings and virtually disappear to avoid detection from above. There
are times I have seen a fish only at the last second as it swims by my feet and
spooks from my reaction. When I have other anglers with me in these conditions
I tell them to look for a rock or a shadow that seems out of place. If you look
for a fish, you’re likely not to see them.
Flats fishing is
frustrating, especially if you’re wading. There are very few “first cast” or “third
cast” fish. They come after thousands of casts. Hours can turn into days and days
into weeks without a catch. I’ve spent a lot of time on different flats inside
and outside of Cape Cod Bay. Each flat is different, each tide is different.
Some days I catch multiple fish, some days I don’t. Some fish are big, most are
not. Each outing, catch or no catch, teaches me a little more about the place
and the fish.
It’s a process.
Poco a poco.
On the flats
24 July 2016
