Practice Your Saltwater Fly Cast Before Your Trip

Practice Your Saltwater Fly Cast Before Your Trip

We’ve all been there–it’s your first time on the bow of a saltwater skiff. The location and species are irrelevant. You’re clenching the cork handle of your fly rod with so much unnecessary pressure it might actually transform into a diamond. The wind is blowing sideways, and your brand-spanking-new UPF shirt and pants–bought to shield you from the sun’s brutal rays–are now flapping wildly in the breeze, sounding like a helicopter about to lift off from a helipad.

And then, the fish shows up.

An unhealthy dose of cortisol immediately dumps into your blood stream, your guide is speaking in clipped words that are hard to understand. Directions, distances, maybe you see the fish, but most likely you don’t.

At some point, you know intuitively that the time has come. You need to make the cast.

And most often that first saltwater cast to a new species that you’ve never seen in real life doesn’t go very well.

Bonefish, redfish, tarpon, roosterfish, permit–that first cast can go very, very wrong.

But here’s the thing: that’s okay. If you’re a serious angler and are prepared to put in the time, you’re going to get more shots. Here’s the other thing, we’ve all been there, especially if you didn’t have the opportunity to grow up fly fishing the salt as a kid.

There is other good news, as tough as that first cast may be, there is one thing you can do and think about before your first saltwater fly-fishing trip.

It’s called practice.

The biggest tip I always share with people who are going on their first saltwater trip begins long before you step on the boat. If you’re new to the saltwater game, but fancy yourself a decent caster when it comes to trout, well, sorry to say, a solid dry-fly cast is not going to cut it. I mean that very seriously–if you think your presentation of a size 20 Blue-winged Olive to a sipping trout on a western river is going to be effective in a long distance situation on a saltwater flat, you’re going to learn a hard lesson.

But don’t worry, many people have learned this lesson the hard way.

I was on one memorable trip where we had an opportunity to cast to a large school of juvenile tarpon. It was a big pod–60, maybe 80 fish. If you could put an accurate cast just outside the pod, or in front of a fish that strayed from the larger group, you were going to get tight on a fish. The requirement: you had to make (at minimum) a 65-foot cast in a moderate breeze. If you could make that cast, you were going to be successful, but if you could only cast 50 or 55 feet–no takers.

Okay, you’re thinking, just move the angler a bit closer with the stealth of a push pole. Answer: sorry, that’s not working. Every time the boat pushed in so that the angler could make the shot with a shorter cast, the school of fish would drop and disappear, only to pop back up a minute or two later a few hundred feet away.

The short version: it was extremely frustrating for the angler on the bow, the guide pushing the boat around and the other angler sitting in the boat, watching this series of events repeat over and over again.

Now, if that same angler had worked on his casting before the trip, the situation most likely would’ve been much different. So, here’s the hack: find a place to take your gear and start practicing your casting well before your trip. Put a small piece of tape at 40 feet, 50 feet, 65 feet and 75 feet to get familiar with what it takes to cast that much line in a stiff breeze. Also, do it on a pond or river where you get to load your fly line and simulate a real casting situation. And you don’t have to practice casting for 2 hours. Go out for short sessions: twenty minutes over six sessions spanning three weeks is way more effective than going out for an hour. Lastly, if you waited two days before your first saltwater trip to start practicing, you’ve likely set yourself up for a difficult and unprepared challenge.

“Dude, I made the sickest 100-foot cast to a rolling fish and it wrecked my fly…” said someone in a cantina with a palm thatched roof somewhere south of the border.

“Nah buddy, that was a 70-foot cast–max,” said the quiet voice in my head.

Just like the mythical western 22-inch brown trout (that’s really 17-inches), I think a lot of people overestimate distance when they’re fly fishing. If you can get deadly accurate with a 65 or even 75-foot cast, you’re going to be in great shape for most fishing situations. If you can bang out 100-foot casts consistently, more power to you and you’re going to be even better situated.

Lastly, understand that you won’t always have the luxury of making a perfect overhand cast with the wind at your back. Yes, most great guides are going to work their tails off, expending great effort to move the boat to get you in the best position to present that fly based on your casting skills. But there are going to be moments when you just have to take the shot from exactly where you are. Often, this requires a solid backhand cast–with a cross wind–so practice your backhand cast in a crosswind. Get comfortable throwing tight loops on your backhand side and other angles, especially when the wind is working against you.

Another idea: put your ego aside and seek professional help. Visit your local fly shop and inquire about paid casting lessons. They can check out your cast, see what you’re doing right and wrong, then help to take your casting to the next level.

And finally, put yourself in difficult situations when you’re practicing in an effort to sharpen your skills and get prepared under pressure–for that one brilliant-anxiety-triggering moment when you’re standing on the bow of a saltwater skiff…

And the fish shows up.