We asked our Orvis Saltwater Fly Fishing Guides about their best moments of the fishing season this year. Whether it's chasing Roosterfish in Baja, catching elusive golden grey mullet in the Isle of Wight, or battling powerful tarpon in the Cuban sun, these stories highlight the best days on the water.
Join us as we explore the most memorable moments from this season, one cast at a time.
Rodney Wevill
“One of the biggest highlights of 2024 on the saltwater and in life itself was a long trip to Baja Mexico in May. This was a trip of all things new, catching the elusive Roosterfish, casting the New Orvis Helios rods and making some incredible new friends, it doesn't matter where in the world you travel the fly fishing community always remains the same, the best of the bests.”
Philip Spratt
“Well, that was the season that wasn’t in many respects. It was very late starting due to the weather and never really got going. Some anglers have done well but many have struggled, and this list includes some very good anglers.
So what is my (modest) highlight? Let me start by saying the scout motto: Be Prepared. For the record, I grew up and was a sea scout. I was about to go on holiday to the Isle of Wight with my daughter and grandsons. I wasn’t going to take my fly rod but my wife persuaded me and my thought was you never know. So, a 6# and some mullet flies were loaded into the boot and off we trundled to the ferry.
We were blessed with great weather all week. Such was our summer that this meagre information will probably enable everyone to identify the week. There was a potential trump card; the eldest grandson who wanted to go crabbing. Now crabbing locations aren’t necessarily good fishing locations. We turned up at the mark (if there is such a thing as a crabbing mark). At this point, I had no thoughts of fishing.
The crabbing started in earnest. And then I saw swirls. Just near the crabbing were some feeding golden grey mullet. Well, the temptation was too much. A quick dash to the car, rod set up, a trace made up and time to introduce the flies. The was no flow so I fished with static flies, which is a relatively new innovation developed in the Thames. With children running around, my hopes were not high. But to my surprise, the indicator started moving, a quick strip strick and I was attached to a feisty golden grey. Suddenly, there were adults and children fascinated by the creature that had emerged. A couple of quick photos and the fish was set free. The other mullet had spooked but that didn’t matter.
The following day (our last day before returning home) I asked my grandson whether he wanted to go crabbing again (it was a rhetorical question as I knew what the answer would be). So off we went to the mullet…er, crabbing mark. In my enthusiasm, I had got there a little too early in the tide. I wandered to the mouth of the bay as the tide was flooding and there were the distinctive swirls of more golden greys. Try as I might, I couldn’t temp them. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be my day.
By this stage, the tide was right inside the bay so it was back to the crabbing mark. Could lightning strike twice? Again, I fished static flies. This time as I was lifting off to re-cast, I felt solid resistance and was attached to another feisty golden grey that was safely landed. Even greater numbers of children appeared, and with a rod and three flies lying on the floor there was no time to pose for a photo or two, it was time for a rapid release.
So, lightning did strike twice. And the scout motto was the main reason - and a gently persuasive wife!”
Colin Macleod
“Rather perversely, my highlight of the season occurred on its very first day. Having made the long and arduous trip from a cold and wet Hampshire in March, it was an utter joy to stand at the front of a skiff, bathed in hot Cuban sunshine.
It had been several years since I dedicated fishing time in the pursuit of catching tarpon and it was time to rectify that error. Sadly, not a fish was to be seen, until my guide Marco steered the boat beneath a setting sun towards the mouth of his 'secret lagoon'. Immediately tarpon could be seen rolling on the surface. On just my third cast the fly received a violent hit as a 40lb tarpon jumped twice to throw the hook.
With adrenaline now coursing uncontrollably through my body, I cast towards the next visible fish. Again, the fly was instantly smashed as a 20lb tarpon unleashed incredible energy to make its escape.
It really was a case of third time lucky as the next cast saw the fly seized by an extremely energetic tarpon of 13lb. Fortunately, this fish stayed on despite its amazing power and repeated jumps and following several anxious moments, the season had begun.”
Andrew Miller
“A couple of highlights for me took place at this year’s Orvis Saltwater Fly Fishing Festival. Sitting next to some guy called ‘Pete’ at the Ship Inn on the Thursday evening before the festival without realising it was the mighty Pete Kutzer from Orvis Vermont! I have watched his videos many times and never twigged, although I did think he looked vaguely familiar. Also, seeing Ray Kelly awarded the ‘Shirley Bassey’ trophy. I helped Ray catch his first small bass at last years festival and it was great to see him catch a couple of fine bass and win an award this year.”
Joe Walker
“Summer season? What summer season?”
That’s a phrase that’s been knocking around a lot in the UK saltwater scene this year. And as we stare down the long, dark barrel of the winter with a degree of melancholy, we begin the whole sad process of packing away our UK saltwater gear for its annual hibernation.
Reflecting on this woeful year of thwarted opportunities and woeful weather, it’s been one to forget... Except for what might actually have turned out to be the very last day!
Last Wednesday something remarkable happened, at least by this year’s standards. It was like rolling 5 die on a table and hoping for perfect sixes across the board; The weather was perfect (a westerly easing and swinging round to blow off-shore for a day or two). The tides were bang on. Remarkably, my work diary was empty. And the local surfers’ webcam showed a text-book sea-state of steady, well-spaced, rolling waves. That meant seizing the chance, dropping everything, grabbing my surf mullet gear and heading to my mark for, hopefully, ‘One Last Hurrah’!
The beach was truly in the ‘Goldilocks zone’ when I arrived. Conditions looked perfect.
Now the observant amongst you will be saying “Hang on Joe… you said five die, but you’ve only thrown four sixes… what’s happened to the other one?”
Ah, well that’s the one that’s shot off the table, sending you scrabbling urgently under the chairs on your hands and knees only to see it spinning frantically on one corner as you hold your breath and wait to see how it finally falls. And there, in the perfectly measured tables of water being pushed up the autumn-sun-soaked sand by the lazily tumbling breakers, fins and tails glinted and flashed. Six!
For added spice, I’d also picked up on some interesting reports from a couple of local anglers who’d noted that some mullet had recently taken sandeel pattern flies intended for bass, and feeling recklessly optimistic on what could well be the last trip of the saltwater season, I switched out my usual, reliable shrimp on the point for a 3-inch size 8 sandeel pattern I’d actually tided for this year’s Orvis Saltwater Fly Fishing Festival. In the interests of science though, I left the usual tagged green shrimp on the dropper. It would be a contest!
Only a few casts in, the flies ceased their gentle back and forth in the surf tables, and the line tightened abruptly – the first fish was on! But on what? The powerful mullet turned hard and tried to power out to sea in characteristic fashion. I played it out in the margins, peering into the foamy water to try and see which fly it had taken. Finally lifting the rod high enough, I got a glimpse of a fishless shrimp on the dropper – the mullet had taken the sandeel on the point! Seconds later the wave retreated and the beautiful, silver thin-lipped mullet flopped on the sand, the glittering sandeel lodged firmly in the scissors.
Well, well, well, I thought. Every day’s a school day! But was it a fluke? You can’t objectively claim a definitive result from a single statistic.
I carried on pursuing the swiftly moving shoals. The next fish consolidated the score, making it 2-0 to the sandeel. Now this was getting interesting!
Further down the vast, expansive beach, fish number three thrashed and scrapped for some time before I could ascertain that it had pulled one back for the shrimp; 2-1. This was turning out to be an exciting afternoon and just what the doctor ordered!
After a bit of a lull spent carefully stalking and scanning the margins and breakers for signs of activity, I spotted a flash of movement, and within minutes the water was once again disrupted by the irregular, nervous pattern of fish activity just below the surface, before tails sliced through into the sunlight and I launched my flies forth again.
Almost instantly the line was almost ripped through my fingers and the fish shot-off against pressure, whipping away the slack and engaging the clutch. The sheer speed and urgency of this bid for freedom said ‘Golden Grey’ to me, and with a sense of expectation, I played the fish out to have my suspicions confirmed; this most predatory of our three mullet species had indeed taken the sandeel… and with some gusto! 3-1 to the sandeel!
Low tide slowed the activity. I took a break and sat in the October sunshine, the only person on several kilometres of unbroken sand, and I revelled in the dramatic solitude.
Eventually the tide turned, and the languid wavelets of slack-water were gradually replaced by bigger, more urgent breakers as the flood tide pushed more energy toward the shore.
It took a while for fish to reappear, and on the flood it’s only for a limited time, so the window of opportunity to push up my tally was short.
Fast moving shoals erratically materialised and rapidly melted away, keeping me constantly moving and scanning for dark shapes. Eventually I got ahead of a shoal and managed an ambush, placing the flies just as the fish surged forwards. A pause, a flurry of busy bodies in the shallows, then another was on the line! It was a spirited one too, resolutely powering away every time I thought I’d be able to gently beach it. But eventually, it was mine, and the shiny shrimp was clearly visible in its jaws. 3-2.
But try as I might, I couldn’t convert a 6th. The tide rose, and the fish quietly vanished, leaving me happy and intrigued at the results of my experiment. It was, at the 11th hour of the season, the best session I could have hoped for. When you have nothing to lose, it’s always worth a final roll of the dice… just don’t bet on the outcome!
