Stalking Fish - by Jay Forrest

I began hunting fish when I was 12 years old. My father had taken a new teaching job and we moved into a frame farmhouse out in the country – across the road from a beautiful, clear stream. If you sat on the cliffs 20 or 30 feet above the water you could see bottom down to about eight feet.

Of course, 12 year olds don’t do much sitting so I spent lots of time watching fish dash for safety. I didn’t fly fish, but I did save up my money and buy one of the very first ultra-light spinning rigs available. I got a couple of tiny wooden plugs from my grandfather’s fly box and I was in business. I learned to sneak up on the pools and plop those tiny plugs in the riffles near the top of the pool where they wouldn’t spook the fish and began catching fish “on the surface” instead of on worms like my friends.

I spent the next three years living on that creek and it changed my whole perspective. It was frustrating – but I learned to slow down. I actually learned to sit and watch fish occasionally and began spotting fish – particularly cruising bass – and casting specifically to them. My fishing personality was set.

I started fly fishing for trout when I was 20. While I generally couldn’t see the fish, I knew where they should be and I fished to those spots – always with dry flies. It was almost like stalking. Eventually I learned to nymph – which will catch more fish – but I missed the hunt. I preferred fishing for trout on the surface where I could spot them. Eventually I teamed up with a couple of guides who like to sight-fish trout and learned to sight nymph when the water was clear – this was cool! And I began migrating to New Mexico and Colorado where the clear water made this kind of fishing more accessible. Older now, I learned to put on my waders and sit down and watch for a while rather than plunging into the water and spooking every fish in the pool with either my arrival or a wildly waving rod.

When I finally started fishing the flats about ten years ago it was love at first sight (of fish). Watching a swarm of 24 to 30 inch reds cruise up a shoreline, waves cresting over their backs took my breath away. Seeing fish was difficult. Wind was often a nightmare. It took a lot of work and practice. But when the god’s smile and a fish appears the result can be magical.

This past June I was on the flats with Ethan Wells. A lazy wake shows 150 yards away, heading toward us in a foot of water. Probably a redfish, but too far to tell. We ease out into deeper water to be in position to intercept it and cast. At 150 feet it moves over grass and gleams like a copper penny. Nice fish, about 26 inches. At 65 feet it stops to root in the grass. Still gleaming like a copper penny. The water is so clear we can count the scales. It begins to move again. One cast. Not great. . . wind blew it a bit. Two feet left and one foot past the fish. It turns toward the fly when it lands but doesn’t see it. One slow strip – about a foot. The fish pounces. The line goes tight. Yeah….. And the 12 year old that’s still inside of me is very happy!