“Red Sunrise”  by Peter DiNicola

It was still dark when I arrived at the access point to my favorite redfish flat.  Conditions were perfect – first light, rising tide, no wind — and I was anxious to walk into the marsh grass.  Rattling my keys to ward off any predators lurking around the retention pond that borders the path, I used a mini-mag light to find my way.  I pointed the tip of my trusty 8 weight fly rod through the bushes and weaved my way across the wooded threshold and into the tall grass.

An east wind had pushed the tide in faster than predicted, and only the tips of spartina dimpled the mirror like water.   As morning twilight arrived, a tail sliced through the water’s surface, and my heart rate jumped in response.  I stripped line and waded stealthily toward the fish, but he pulled a “Houdini” and vanished without a trace, as only a big red can.

With the sun about to rise, a tail popped up and then thrashed near a clump of grass in-shore of me, almost to the tree line where the huge tide had flooded a pocket that is normally dry.    Once again I stripped line as I waded toward the fish, my heart beating fast.   Now in casting position, about 30 feet from the fish, I was mesmerized by the hard working red, his tail emerging intermittently at various angles.   While I tried to get a “read” on the fish’s course, I pulled my camera from my shirt pocket and took some photos in the dim light.  I snapped several shots, torn between capturing images of the tail against the crimson backdrop of the rising sun and casting my fly to try and catch the fish.

After several attempts at photographing the tailing action of the erratic fish in the near dark conditions, I secured the camera and cast the homemade fly about 40 feet, crossing the path that I thought the fish would take, as he meandered through the grass.

My heart pounded as the fish neared the location of my fly, and I stripped gently to give the tan shrimp pattern some action.  The line went tight, and the fish exploded like a huge toilet flushing in the shallow water. The fly line zipped through the water’s surface like a glass cutter, tracing the fish’s path as he ran for deep water.   Quickly the big red consumed my slack line and was “on the reel,” its drag now screaming.  As I enjoyed one of my favorite sounds – whining reel drag — the fish made a long run, knocking over grass as he crossed the marsh flat.  The 8 weight rod throbbed, and I applied pressure and reeled against the angry red.  Especially vigorous in the cold autumn water, the fish made two strong runs, the second taking me well into the backing.

After a great fight, the beautiful specimen with two large spots on each side, submitted to the boga grip.  Barely visible in the growing light, the boga read between 8 and 9 lbs.  I marveled at the fish’s beauty, and released him as the red sun peaked over the horizon.

Photo 1:  Tail breaking water’s surface;

Photo 2:  Fighting the fish;

Photo 3:  The fish

All photos are of the same fish taken in sequence Saturday Oct 17, 2009 sometime before 7 AM