Andy Dear | Sunday, 13 October 2019
Not long ago I was rummaging through a book of printed photographs that dated back to the mid/late 1990s. Digital camera technology hadn't yet matured to anything even remotely close to what we see today, so everything in my archives from that era were all taken on film. Mixed among the photos of various hunting and fishing trips was a photo of a singular Redfish lying in the marsh next to a fly rod.
The very second I saw this capture, I virtually drowned in a whole flood of memories. The photo was taken at a location "officially" known as Shamrock Cove but is known to the local contingent as Wilson's Cut. Wilson's was my fly fishing proving grounds for many years because it was one of the few places on the Texas Coast where a boatless angler could drive up, wade out and be almost guaranteed of driving the steel into somethings jaw. To say it's beautiful water is an understatement. On a good day, it rivals anything in the Florida Keys, and back then there was comparatively speaking, very little pressure as not many people knew about it.
Wilson's was, and probably still is an almost perfect fly fishing scenario. Most of Wilson's is covered in miles of ankle to knee deep flats, most of which were covered in grass. Spread throughout are several moderately deep channels dug years ago by the petroleum companies laying well pads. In the mornings the fish will ascend to the edges of the channels and filter out into the flats...tailing, waking and crashing shrimp and mullet as they go. It's a beautiful sight and one that I have had the privilege of witnessing on many occasions.
And, I am not the only one who feels this way about WIlson's. It seems like every time I share a skiff with my good friend Capt. Freddy Lynch, the subject of Wilson's Cut always comes up. Just a few weeks ago when reminescing about Wilson's he lamented "Man, remeber how good that used to be over there?" Yes I do, and I am so thankful to have been there to experience it.
I can't even begin to estimate how many memorable days I spent at Wilson's Cut. When my body and mind would still tolerate this type of "abuse", it wasn't unusual for me to wake up at 1 am, drive 130 miles south to Corpus Christi, sleep in my truck till dawn, fish all day till dusk then drive back that same evening.
One of my first REAL sight fishing experiences in saltwater happened at Wilson's 23 years ago this month. I had waded several miles of flats without so much as a glimpse of a fish when out of nowhere a school of 28" copper colored bulls appeared just off to my right. I did my best with a cheap Fenwick 8wt rod, and the skills I had at the time to put the red and white Seaducer in front of them. Immediately the lead fish broke from the school, and in one rush inhaled that fly and created a boil in the water about the size of a garbage can lid. It was an INCREDIBLE experience for a budding saltwater fly angler without much experience. About 75 yards to my left a fellow was doing some repair on a duck blind for the upcoming season and heard the commotion. "Get him?" he inquired..."No he spit the fly, but that was one helluva rush" I replied. "That's what it's all about isn't it?" he said.
Yes, my friend...it sure is, and 25 years later I am still as addicted as ever to that rush.
Hope you all have a great week,
Andy