Casey’s a freshie. No way around it. And while he’s a badass in the sweetwater, there’s a learning
curve that comes with transitioning to the saltier side of life. Doubling down on profanity seems to help. As does ass-whipping smack talk.
Make no mistake, resident tattooist and Bajío’s in-house artist, Casey Anderson, isn’t a neophyte. Life out west came with stints at guiding and plenty of parking lot or put-in casting lessons, so when he decided to make his move from Pyramid Lake to New Smyrna Beach, FL he brought along the giant trout A-game. But there’s a difference between freshwater and saltwater gamefish, and while trout are known for a gentle sipping of the fly, the salty chew is often much more aggressive and violent. You just don’t see that variety of full-on garbaging of the fly as often in trout town.
Casey’s certainly got the skills to make the long casts and direct the short, accurate placement of the fly, and he’s got the rhythm for the strip-strip-long strip-pause, long strip dance. It’s the air that cast into the wind, hard arm strip set, and the directly at you, full speed with reckless abandon carnage lunching of the bug that tends to bitch slap his game. But it’s fun to watch a big fish charge the boat with the fly in its mouth as Casey tries to strip fast enough to come tight before a projectile feathery ejection.
We were there for his first Training Day. It wasn’t so bueno, so to speak.The lessons were tough and abundant: Strip strike, don’t lift the rod; clear the line; that light leader shit ain’t gonna work; let go of the fly line; react; and many more. That’s fishing. You often have to see something first to learn from it. And if there’s one thing Casey can afford to do, it’s pay attention.
That first day in the salt was a learning experience. Shoot, even Jay learned a few curse words he’d never heard before. But Casey carries a big skill set, so now that’d he’d seen the action, he was ready for the big screen: Training Day II--Redemption Song.
As in many sports, there’s a brotherhood that thrives in the fly world, and Jay is the brother from
everyone’s other mother. So, he leaned on a couple of South Florida family members (Court Douthit and Mike Holliday) to bring the carnage. The game was going to be played in the open Atlantic a couple of hours south of New Smyrna Beach, and it came with a two-hour window.
Northwesterly winds at dawn would have the ocean calm and acre-sized schools of jumbo jack crevalle daisy-chaining on top. By 9am or so, that wind would shift north, directly down the beach, and those fun, glassy conditions would turn into a pounding ride in as we watched Jay lean over the side and do the technicolor yawn.
There’s a reason GT’s get the attention from the fly world they do—power, speed, size and the
full commit crushing of their meals. But for some reason, jack crevalle often don’t get that same respect. Kinda like Casey.
It’s easy to look at a guy with tattoos on his face and play him down a notch. But that’s a mistake, because like the jumbo jacks, this dude will step up the game in the house of pain.
Awesomeness, fist bumping and morning beers included.
“Won’t you help to sing,
These songs of freedom,
All I ever had,
Redemption Song…”
Check out the latest episode of Fishing With Jay.
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