I’d already decided to fish, going alone, despite the weather. Challenge accepted. I am very experienced. Wise? Read on.
When I back my skiff in the water on my own, I unhook the trailer strap and tie a line from the boat to the trailer, letting the boat float loose into deep water—plug in— off the trailer. Then I scamper out of the truck, treading carefully on the slippery ramp, and tie the boat to the dock or pull it up on the beach. I pull the trailer out of the water, lock the truck and go back to board the boat. Simple.
Usually I’d stay home if the temperature is 48 degrees and the wind’s out of the northeast at 25. But today there’s a fly-club competition, and I might win the thing with a single fish. Plus, I have a few tricks for fishing in the wind.
This morning, imagine this: My own comic YouTube event. In the mirror, when the boat was nearly off the trailer, I saw waves coming over the transom. That’s never good. My, my, I hadn’t observed the angle of the ramp or height of the waves. The word, “careless,” doesn’t quite cover it.
Without the strap attached, I had no way to pull the boat back on the trailer. So, I backed the truck in farther, letting the boat do its floating thing, and all was well…until the wind caught it and drove the skiff under the dock that connects the main floating dock to the land. Bang, bang went the outboard motor under the dock, then scrape, scrape as the skeg of the motor hit the concrete ramp. After more scampering—wet now to my waist—and lucky boat handling, I managed to get the skiff on the trailer and back on dry land.
I was a bit discouraged and wondered if a smidgeon of Alzheimer’s had lodged itself somewhere. So I decided to pack it up and head home.
On the way back, I cheered myself up imagining how well my “fishing in high winds” tricks might have worked. I’d anchor so the boat would lie bow-into-the-wind, parallel to a channel’s edge. Then I’d cast a sinking fly line along the drop-off. Sinking lines are no fun to cast, but they work well in the wind. A short leader, say, four feet, would have been good, with a big yellow and red Clouser on the end down there where the pompano play. To move, I would have let out more anchor line. With my marine chart in hand, I could have found other likely channels to fish.
Thirty-foot shooting heads also work well in windy conditions, particularly the weighted ones. With only 15 feet or so out of the tip, a roll cast is all you need to toss a fly 40 feet or more. Give it more distance with a false cast, and you can cover a much wider area.
Or if fishing from the boat proved to be aggravating, I could have gone wading close along a mangrove shoreline protected from the wind. I’d start with a finger mullet imitation like a Rivet or other spun deer-hair, semi-floating pattern. My favorites have rabbit strip tails. Throwing tight loops is important close to the bushes. Not wanting to snap a rod trying to jerk a fly out of high shoreline limbs, I tie weedless flies. It’s a personal choice, based on lots of experience, if you get my drift.
I’ve been known to tie the boat’s bow line around my waist and pull the skiff along, with a small kayak anchor off the stern to keep the boat directly behind me as far back as I want. To keep boat noise down at anchor or while wading, a little weight in the bow reduces slapping… a cooler or fuel can maybe.
It can be hard not to resort to a spinning rod when the wind blows, but if there’s fly fishing competition, I’d have three choices: I could wade fish from the shore, or take a friend to help at the boat ramp. Or, I might stay in bed and show up for the picnic lunch.