Fished this week. It was the only day of decent weather, so I took a quick peek at the forecast and hit one of my favorite flats off West Shore in Tampa.
Got there an hour or so after low tide, so there was sufficient water on the flat and the conditions were calm, a rarity in November.
I was patient and waited and waded quietly through thickets of turtle grass and oyster bars, scanning the surface for backs, tails or even a wake or two. After an hour or two of searching, I was ready to call it a day. So I started to make my way toward shore. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw a wake half the size of a football field come across the flat. Figured it was one of two things --- jacks or reds.
It was the latter. Not just two or three reds, but a school. Unfortunately, they were on the move. I tried to cut them off, but I felt as if I were trying to run in snowshoes. The faster I moved, the more noise I made --- I still couldn't overtake them --- and if I continued to play the stealth game, they could cruise all the way to Safety Harbor before I caught up and made a cast.
So all I could do was watch. So many fish. So little time. So much helplessness. Just one of those days that you have to tip your cap to the fish.
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