Land is out of sight; the cobalt sea is one endless 360-degree horizon. Although the winds are calm, the boat gently rises and falls ten feet with each passing swell from the storm hundreds of miles away. The droning of the engines lulls you to sleep, as another hour passes without a bite. The abrupt click of the rigger clip is the only warning to come out of your trance before all hell breaks loose. A blue marlin has swiped the teaser on the left long rigger. The mate furiously winds the rod to bring the fish closer into the spread. The captain makes a slow turn to port to keep the fish in play. You grab the 14-weight rod with a fly as big as a songbird and as gaudy as a prom dress, step to the transom, and await your duel with a seamonster. Welcome to blue water fly fishing.
As the title alludes, I just put 600 yards of 60-pound hollow core spectra backing on a new fly reel almost as big around as a salad plate. What could I possibly need that for? Only the biggest fish in the sea – marlin, tuna, dolphin, and wahoo. I am blessed to live near a fertile oceanic playground. Hatteras Inlet provides the closest access north of Miami to the warm waters of the Gulf Stream, a mere twenty miles off the beach. An hour’s drive up the beach, Oregon Inlet provides access to the mixing bowl of nutrients and tropical species created by the meeting of the Gulf Stream and the Labrador Current. And another two hours drive to the north, Rudee Inlet and the Chesapeake Bay provide access to the warm eddies that spin off the stream and work their way inshore over ancient submarine canyons. The opportunity here is endless, and while it is already popular with conventional techniques, I believe it’s ripe for ambitious fly anglers.
It isn’t all rosy; fishing here is often complicated by the weather. After all, the Wright brothers picked this area to fly a heavier-than-air machine specifically because of the consistent wind. The coastline juts way out into the ocean, seemingly attracting every hurricane that heads north of Florida. Nonetheless, if fate allows free time, weather, and fish availability to align, the determined fly angler has an abundant menu to choose from. Famed springtime runs of yellowfin tuna at Oregon Inlet. Fabulous fall fishing for wahoo on the wrecks and seamounts at Hatteras. Endless weedlines that can hold hungry dolphin. Late summer hordes of white marlin balling bait from New Jersey down to North Carolina. It takes some creativity to get some of these fish to bite a fly, but that’s part of the fun.
I will go species by species and present gear, flies, tactics, some personal experience, and some hopeful conjecture. I will kick off the series first with tuna, and continue throughout the summer with the rest.