Lucky.

The wind is blowing so hard I can cast merely 15 feet. Walking down the beach, I move my body at a 45 degree angle just to gain another step. The sand is stinging my legs as it ricochets off my skin. I take a seat on the only rock for miles, it happens to be flat. I notice my ankle is starting to swell up. It has been hurting for three days now and running up and down the beach isn't helping.

This is ridiculous, I think as I look out for fish in the surf. The waves wash in at two and three feet, turning this normally calm sea into a furious ocean. The wind blocks every blind cast I make, sending it six feet left of me. The sun peeks in and out of clouds preventing clear visibility into the water. I must be an idiot. We could go to the other side of the bay here protected from the wind and catch fish. But here we are in hopes that the grande roosterfish will come in with these waves and grace us with their presence. Meanwhile, we can hardly cast our lines into the wind if they do arrive. Yeah, I am definitely an idiot.

Are those two shadows a foot off the shoreline? I squint as a wave crashes in and confirm those are indeed two of the biggest roosterfish I have seen to date. Ducking I lurch down the sandy cliff while feverously stripping line off my reel. I start running all the while crouched low. I begin casting. Dammit. My bimini freakin' twist is stuck in the tip. F%$#. Overhand and it shoots out of the tip, I cast out. Oh my god, there are dozens of grande roosters everywhere, and they are on shore! I ferociously yell at Justin and Brendan into the wind to start casting. The frenzy has begun.
Casting, Stripping, Running, Yelling. Three roosterfish chase my fly right into shore. To my feet! I cast again, as two more dart into the shallows and I miss them. Big roosters are scattering everywhere as a wave nearly topples me. I cast again only to watch three more roosters with combs up race one another for my fly. Quickly they spin away at the last second and head to the deep. I'm obviously not 'selling them' my fly and my mind is so jacked up I can't even think straight.

Instinctively I know just to keep running down and chasing them. Suddenly another wave full of roosters is rushing into shore. I cast. One is chasing my fly. Three, oh my god five, holy crap, there are at least seven fish on the tail of my fly and that little guy is swimming for its life. I am stripping it with all the selling ability I have, when a nice size rooster lurches and chomps down. I strip set and feel it shake and rattle on my fly. As I try to get the line on the reel, it goes limp. He's off. Without taking a second to cherish the moment, I am hurriedly running down the beach again. I nearly quarterback sack Justin who is hanging onto a grande rooster of fifty pounds. He is yelling something that I don't stop to hear and start scanning as I am running and casting. I can not see fish anywhere.

The pain comes shooting back into my ankle as I realize the frenzy is over, and look up to see Justin reeling in his line with no grande rooster on the other end. Defeated, we walk back up the beach to the rock where we can see out all hoping for another chance at such madness. Who knows if we even have a chance. Right now we feel like we just bought lottery tickets and are anxiously awaiting the numbers.

I think about those seven or eight fish chasing my one single fly into shore and feel like the luckiest person on the planet. But then again, I felt like that yesterday:


Blind casting into the sea, I picked up my first Jack Crevalle.


My first roosterfish of any brag-able size.



Brendan lending me a handing in landing it.


My second good sized roosterfish, man these suckers put up a great fight.