Salt Water Fly Fishing in the Keys

Rebel Raiser rose and fell in the gentle swell created by departing boats as I was given a hand aboard by the mate who quickly introduced herself as Cheryl Ann, and the Skipper John Robert as well.

“Well,” she said, “ah guess we all can scat under way now that you all are heah.”

“Wait a moment,” I replied hoping she’d understand a boy with a Way Downeast dialect. “There’s another one of me coming. Should be here shortly.”

“Oh, he’s already heah. Leastways we figured it must have been him. He was sound asleep on the deck so we moved him on to the settee so he could sleep some more.”

“Thanks,” I said. “His name’s Den, and we had a kind of late night. Den’s being longer than most, but by the time we’re wherever we’re going today, he should return to life. Least he always has.”

John Robert, leaning over the bridge rail and taking the conversation in, said. “Ookay Cheryl, Let’s go chase us some fishes.”

Thought entered my mind we’d have to be on our best behavior today or there’d be some fish types swimming free...probably with expensive lures traveling as well.

This was Salt Water Fly Fishing day. Den and I had talked about trying this for some time but never had the right opportunity come along. To catch a large pelagic fish from the stern of a sportfishing boat had always sounded like the nuts and understandably one (just one) of the reasons Den had managed to get there before anyone else that morning.

Cheryl Ann slipped lines free as Capt. John Robert eased Rebel Raiser from between pilings and performed as is every sportfishing Captain’s duty in Key West, putting the hammer down as he roared out “Sportfishing Alley” and down the harbor.

We’d just cleared the Sea Buoy off Key West Harbor. Ocean breeze was still trying to make up it’s mind how hard it planned to blow. It’s dilly-dallying state of mind was allowing for a gently rolling seascape. Rebel Raiser, a North Carolina “Buddy Davis” sportfisherman, was laying down a beautiful crisp wake as our captain eased the helm over and picked up a due south course. I’d taken the fighting chair, relishing the view, realizing it would be quite awhile before I’d be on the ocean again under these circumstances as I felt a hand grip my shoulder and squeeze. A squeeze full of tired excitement and a tad of unsteady bearing. I slowly rolled left as Den shifted his grip to the arm of the chair and looked down. Had all I could do to keep a straight face.

“You might want to wash your face and get rid of that cat’s grin,” I chuckled, “Maybe scrub some of that lipstick and perfume or whatever she was wearing off or you’ll drive every fish for the next hundred miles to Mexico or maybe even further. Goddam. You do smell wicked bad!!”

“Jeez pal,” with that lopsided grin spreading across his face, “I might but keep just a swipe or two. That was some evenin’. Didn’t know if I was gonna be able to make it. Lucky her house isn’t too far from the marina. Between the dancin’, the playin’ and Mrs. Bergstrom, this child is about worn out.”

Cheryl Ann’s grandmothertied all her charter boat captain husband’s flies. This was one of his favorites. He was taking charters before the Overseas Railway was paved in 1938 and became the Overseas Highway to Key West.

“Key West scene isn’t too shabby after all. What time’d you say we’ve got to leave tomorrow?”

“Around two sometime. Dependin’ if they’re on real time or Key West time. I’d suspect the latter. No matter, our flight out of Miami isn’t til later, around six if memory serves.”

Den took a step for the flybridge support pole and began working his way towards the head, using any measure of support available. He looked the part of someone who’d had a “good evening.”

Consignment store trousers rumpled, shirt torn in two places, and itself sporting some red dabs. Shoes missing. I could only hope for his sake his contact lenses were still in place. Cheryl Ann, steadying against the port rail, was doing all she could to hold back a comment, wearing instead a grin that bespoke of other trips and other fishchasing revelers short tripping in Key West.

Den, looking a measure better after a cup of coffee and a washup, had just settled into one of the side chairs as John Robert eased back on the throttles.

“The skippers were finding a lot of fish feeding in this area yesterday, mostly on shrimp and schools of cunner mackerel. Did real well. Hopefully they left a few for us to play with today.”

Salt water flyfishing, especially from the platform of a rolling sportfisherman is an entirely different sport than fishing a swift Maine stream with a dry fly. Rods are stiffer and longer. Flies, the size of a small hand are tied to resemble a large shrimp and look like an elderly prostitute’s white hair-do with sparkles and an occasional piece of yarn sewn in. Outriggers are left behind so the flyfisherman of the moment can cast with as clear an area as possible. Cheryl Ann would do the “chumming” if we weren’t able to find fish actually feeding. Chum of choice is some kind of packaged Menhaden juice that’s just about the most vile smelling liquid ever inhaled by mankind, hangovers aside, making it quite effective for luring fish which have, surprisingly, a most uncanny sense of smell.

Capt. John Robert worked Raiser around coordinates as we all scanned the horizon looking for birds feeding on the schools and byproducts. Wasn’t too long but what Den, who’d borrowed a pair of sunglasses from Cheryl Ann says, “What’s that?...just behind us...there!” as he pointed. “I can’t tell howfar, I’ve lost one of my contacts.”

John Robert juiced Rebel Raiser in a tight circle, keeping the throttles just above trolling speed as he aimed ahead of what appeared to be the direction of the school. Idea was to get just ahead, or alongside, and be able to cast the line in front to display the fly as a swimming shrimp, or one which had been struck by a feeding fish and trying to swim away.

In deference to my old fishing buddy, who’d made another heroic effort to leave a warm bed and be on time, I nodded to Cheryl Ann in Den’s direction, and she passed him the rigged rod along with a few suggestions.

Den stepped to the starboard rail, wedged himself into the corner where stern and side rail meet and started to strip out some line. Fish were no more than twenty to thirty feet away as John Robert kept the boat moving slow and tried to keep a steady noise factor as well to match the schools forward motion if it was moving at all. A feat which requires extreme focus, boat handling skill, and pounds of patience.

He was obviously good at all three.

Meanwhile, Den made a few false casts: albeit unsteady, before dropping the fly ahead of the school.

“Throw out about ten more feet,” she said, “You’re too close to the boat and not in the school.”

Den laid the next one just to the inside of the school and began pulling the line back in short quick jerks as Cheryl Ann had explained.

“Perfect,” she says, “Perfect.”

Two more casts, and beginning of retrieve, Den’s rod bent double down.

“Christ, I’ve got a whale on here. What in hell am I gonna do with it?” as Cheryl Ann moved quickly to his side.

“Lower your rod,” she said. “Don’t hold it with the tip so high. There’s more power and strength in the mid section. Now when you can, when you feel comfortable, try to get some of that stripped line in and use your reel. You’ve probably got about a 15-pounder on. Just play it slow, but bring it in. Probably sharks in the area chasing these schools and if they see a wounded or erratic fish they’ll be all over it.”

Den for once followed instructions and soon had line off the deck, on to his reel, with rod down and working schoolie towards the boat.

“This is workin’ great,” he says in my direction. I’m enjoying the comfort and vantage point of the fighting chair. “Bet this would work pretty well on Atlantic salmon.”

• R E C I P E •

I’m going to do a very simple recipe for this month.

Tomatoes and Turmeric
Slice enough tomatoes for each person as a side salad. Size as desired. (I like the mediums or Roma tomatoes. Especially the Romas because they are a meatier tomato with less seeds.)

Spoon out seeds and place tomato slices in a bowl.

Add seasoned Rice Vinegar, “NAKANO” is good.

Gently mix.

Dust with turmeric, add sea salt as desired, and gently mix again.

A great accompanying dish with pork or chicken.

Fair Winds and Good Fishing
– Lee Wilbur