What would drive a man to stare heavenward in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?

It isn’t a bird. It isn’t a plane. It is a mistake. But let me back up for a minute.

Sight casting for large fish on the flats does something to a guy. Not only are you fishing to the fish that you can see, but you’re also kind of fishing to the fish that you can’t see. Any given cast into the ocean could yield something spectacular. Any cast might turn into a situation where you’re quickly clearing your hand from a whizzing reel knob. That optimistic uncertainty is in the back of your mind. The forefront of your thoughts are dominated by the shadows and silhouettes that appear and disappear right in front of you.

Perhaps it is because I’m a simple trout fisherman at heart, but all of this gets to me. Rash decisions happen. Well-formed casts, aimed at 11 o’clock fall apart when something flashes  at 2 o’clock. The irrationality of it all is that there was a specific reason, a previously seen flash, at 11 o’clock. That is just one example. And it is significantly more reasonable than the situation that lead to my sky bound gaze.

I knew that the big fish was a barracuda. While I’m not a seasoned  flats angler, I could certainly identify the fish by the long, lean shape. There was even a moment after I spotted the fish and ascertained the species that I felt pretty good about myself.

It was a moment.

As I initiated my double haul, I thought to myself you don’t have a wire leader tied on. Another false cast, and you have wire leader in your pack. I made my presentation, watched the blue and white deceiver land a dozen feet beyond the fish, and it is just going to break you off.

After a few short strips the fish’s body language changed. The slow, meandering pace quickened as it pursued my fly. And then it turned. The line in my stripping hand went tight. I thought enough to repress all the trout fishing tendencies in me and gave the line a hard jerk to set the hook. Pulling my rod tip up, the big fish throbbed once twice at the end of my line.

Then nothing.

Honestly, there was a certain sense of satisfaction in knowing that what happened was precisely what I thought would happen. I told myself the ‘cuda would break me off, and the ‘cuda broke me off. Accurate predictions are a sign of competency.

Competency. That is a heck of a word. What word would best describe repeating the same exact mistake a second time in short order? Because that happened. Not even ten minutes later another long, barracuda-shaped fish cruised within casting distance.

You don’t have a wire leader tied on. You have wire leader in your pack. It is just going to break you off.

I laid down a perfect cast and the scene unfolded in perfect symmetry with the first lost fish. The moment got the better of me. My enthusiasm trumped my common sense. This happens in life, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that it happens in fly fishing. A minute to tie two knots is hardly an unreasonable price to pay for what would inevitably be  a different, more desirable outcome.

But that is a lesson I guess I’m still learning. And if you’re watching me fishing, don’t be surprised if you see me staring straight up as I lament not learning faster.