Redfish on top | Hatch Magazine

Fly fishers thrive on degrees of difficulty. If we didn’t, we might not pursue the craft at all. Many of us consider our chosen angling method a calling with a higher purpose — an admittedly snooty characterization of what just really amounts to a different way to fool fish. That it’s generally more difficult (and that, in most situations, it’s less successful) than baitcasting and spin-fishing is simple proof that we’re all a little odd.

It’s true. We assign more value to any fishing feat accomplished with a fly rod and an artificial fly. Caught a trophy pike? Great. On a fly? Even better. But let’s take it one step further, because it’s not enough that we’ve accomplished an already challenging endeavor. Did you catch that massive pike … on top?

It’s just where our heads go. Fly fishing can be difficult. But a fish visibly fooled by a fly floating — or being popped, skated, or gurgled — on the water? That’s the ultimate game, baby. That’s the cat’s meow. And we’re not shy about it, either. Just take a look at our social media feeds that show trout haplessly cajoled into eating a Chernobyl, or a bass with a popper hooked perfectly in the corner of its mouth. It’s proof that we think we’re just more awesome than the fly fisher who resorted to a Girdle Bug or an articulated streamer pulled deep with the aid of a sinking line.

I contemplated this purposeful flirtation with difficulty recently, and I came to the giggling conclusion that, while we do it to challenge ourselves, the real reason might actually be a bit more basic. As I put a Gurgler over a pair of tailing redfish in Texas’ expansive San Antonio Bay and watched as the fish immediately switched from nosing shrimp out of the sea grass to busting a topwater fly on the surface, I realized that this was, more than anything, just more fun.

The ideal top-water quarry

In the salt, there might not be a better fish than redfish to chase on top (well, maybe a geeked-up barracuda). Redfish are very likely the most-prized quarry for the majority of inshore anglers from the Gulf Coast of Texas to the Carolina Low Country. They’re generally plentiful. They can get really big. On good days, they’re fairly forgiving of an errant cast. And, of course, under the right set of circumstances, they won’t hesitate to look up for food.

After 20 years spent flirting with reds along the Gulf, I’d never thrown a popper or a Gurgler at these charismatic predators. But, after sliding into a perfectly calm south Texas flat on a foggy December morning, and seeing nothing but tails, Capt. Dane Scott, my guide for the day, suggested we give it a try.

“It’s pretty cool,” he warned me, as we switched away from the purple Tarpon Toad that worked without fail for two straight days spent plying the inches-deep flats of this vast, fishy paradise. “When they’re in the mood, they absolutely love to eat on top.”

Scott tied a simple foam Gurgler — grayish green, meant, I suspect, to mimic the shrimp that’ll bust through the surface as the try to escape the reds that nose along the bottom in pursuit of them — to a 20-pound stretch of bite tippet, and, before handing the me rod, he offered up a few tips.

Reds on top: how to do it

Scott is a displaced Coloradan. He and fellow Texas redfish guide Mike Gaglianese, own a fly shop in Gunnison, but are now spending winters in Rockport guiding clients. After a day spent with each of these guides, I totally understand why. Sure, it can get a bit salty on the Texas coast in December and January, but for these Gunnison transplants used to sub-zero temps, the weather along the coastal plain is about as perfect as can be.

Scott tested the tippet knot on the Gurgler while, all around us, pairs and trios of perfectly happy redfish nosed through the sea grass in search of shrimp and crabs, he was quick to temper my expectations.

“It may not work,” he said. “But if they’re into it, it’ll be epic.”

The advice Scott gave me for fishing reds on top:

• Yes, you’ll be fishing a Gurgler, he told me. But you don’t want to “pop” it. Instead, he said, the fish respond better to short, constant tugs that create just a bit of top-water chaos. “Leave a wake,” he said, “but don’t go crazy.”
• Put the fly right in their face. As a bonefish angler, this might seem counterintuitive, where it’s almost always better to lead the wary “gray ghost” with the fly cast, sometimes by as much as 10 feet or more, depending on just how spooky the fish might be on any given day. And this “put it in their face” advice isn’t just for Gurglers. It’s the same advice a good guide might offer up to an angler casting a fast-sinking crap pattern or a swimmy shrimp fly. “They aren’t leader shy,” Scott said, “and if they spook, sometimes they’ll come right back looking for the fly.”
• It’s okay to put the leader over the fish. Again, they’re not terribly leader-shy. But, Scott told me, “Don’t put the fly line over them.” Even happy reds have their breaking point, he said.
• Don’t expect to have to make an 80-foot hero cast. That time will come, with a stiff Gulf Coast breeze and fish that aren’t quite in the zone. But, if a guide suggests a Gurgler, there are reasons for it — conditions are right, fish are hungry and aggressive, and they’re actively looking to eat. And he was right. Most of the casts I threw at sight-fished reds were less than 40 feet long (which makes redfish a totally approachable fish for new saltwater anglers).
• Wait on the fish. When redfish come to the top, their eyes come out of the water first. Keep the fly moving and wait for it. Sometimes, they’ll follow it for several feet before deciding whether or not to gobble the top-water fly down. When they do eat, I swear you can hear their lips smack as they prepare to dine. The closest comparison, in my book? The wolf fish of the Amazon. It’s a very similar eat, and that lip-smacking attack is very similar.
• Don’t rush the strip set (but, like most saltwater fish, you do want to strip-set the line). Give the fish a half-second or so before you make that fateful tug. You’ll miss fewer fish, and you’ll hook more fish inside the lips, which is preferable.

As I stood atop the casting platform on Scott’s boat, it was clear in mere minutes why he suggested the Gurgler. Couple sight-casting in fairly clear water with a fish that’ll charge a top-water fly, and the visual aspect of the endeavor is undeniable. I’ll be honest — having never played the topwater game with redfish, I was skeptical. I think the only reason I readily agreed to tie on a top-water fly was because I’d already watched these hungry Texas reds chase the crabby patterns I’d thrown their way. And, if they ignored the Gurgler, I knew I could go back to the Tarpon Toad.

But there was no need. The Gurgler was a hit, and as I giggled like a schoolkid, catching one redifish after another, all gloriously “on top,” I knew that fly fishing for reds would never be the same for me. I was ruined. Absolutely spoiled, and never willing to return to flies that dove deep.

So, as we selfishly argue the merits of presenting flies on top for any number of worthy fly-rod quarry, take note. Yes, I took the photo with the Gurgler firmly planted in the jaws of a nice redfish, just to show my fishing buddies that it could be done, and that I could do it. (I’m also convinced that any redfish angler with a halfway reasonable fly cast can do it, too).

But, as we can likely all agree, it was just so much fun. God praise the redfish for being perhaps the ideal saltwater fly-rod fish. And praise the red for the fun it offers to us voyeuristic long-rodders who like to watch it all happen. Redfish on top. What fun.