I heard the pop a fraction of a second before I felt the strike. Had I waited for the line to come tight, I'm sure I would have missed another fish. I ran my stripping hand back to my hip, and the line slid out of my fingers like the leash of a bolting dog.

Man, I just love the sound of a fly reel, I thought. It's like a favorite song being played live, with a different rhythm each time. You know the basic tempo, but have to adapt your dance to the new tune. Hope this one ends better than the rest.

The fish took at least a hundred feet of backing, swinging in a wide arc before heading back to its original position on top of the bar. I strained to keep up with the fish on the little 6-weight reel, spinning the handle haphazardly in an effort to gain line.

One nice thing about fly lines is that the diameter of the line creates so much friction that there's never any real slack given to the fish. Had I made such a feeble attempt on monofilament, the fish would have probably spit the hook.

Fortunately, that wasn't the case, and the big trout came to my feet shaking its head on the surface in a last-ditch effort to rid its upper lip of the chartreuse Dahlberg Diver.

So big was the fish's girth that two tries to get my hand around its shoulders and maintain control so I could retrieve my fly left me with one fish-slimed finger. I made a mental note to bring along a landing net on future trips.

That's the way it works when you're fishing in complete darkness. It was also the sacrifice that needed to be made if I was going to get a shot at a big trout that morning. Sure, I could have waited for the false dawn to light the horizon and add a little depth of field to the background, but by then, I'd be lucky to have one or two shots at a decent trout before the rising sun allowed the fish a substantial look at the fly.

At five in the morning, the tide pushed enough water on top of the small Indian River spoil island that the largest trout in the river were now up in the shallows searching for a mullet meal. All I had to do was approach the fish quietly, and try to work the fly over the bar without being able to see any part of the operation.

Braille fishing I call it. Using the other five senses to work the fly out and back, without missing the attack of a feeding trout.

In the first hour, I blew two strikes from fish, one that yanked the fly line out of my hand at the beginning of a strip, and another that spit the fly before I could react with a long strip-strike. Both fish struck with authority, and I was determined not to lose another fish because of angler error.

This time, the hefty trout came to my feet on its side, and I was able to get my hand underneath its belly and maintain some semblance of control. After admiring the girth and depth of the obviously roe-laden fish, I removed the fly and set it free. It left with a slap of the tail, soaking my face and neck.

Back in the early '80s big trout were a common catch in the stretch of Indian River between Vero Beach and Stuart, but overfishing put a noticeable dent in the population in less than a decade, and trout anglers went from targeting the gators on a regular basis to counting these large trout as incidental catches when after the schoolies. The problem with grouping the two is that the juveniles and adults prefer their own habitats.

Juvenile seatrout are covered with dark spots which give them added camouflage over dense grassbeds. Gator trout, on the other hand, are sparsely mottled with light brown spots, a coloration that proves beneficial over sandy bottom like that found on the pothole-dotted flats. Both gather in their distinct hunting grounds, yet adult trout remain one of the largest predators of juvenile trout, so the two do mingle. That's possibly where the incidental catches of adult trout come in.

Anglers searching for school trout tend to work the flats in two to four feet of water, where they can present a small Clouser Deep Minnow or Borski Shrimp Fly, both of which have lead eyes to sink the fly through the water column and dance it like a jig.

Gator trout do the majority of their foraging in less than two feet of water, but when the food is scarce or the weather cool, they will move out to the deeper sections of the river to feed.

But things have changed for the better in the several short years since the implementation of the net-ban amendment. Juvenile trout are as abundant as ever, with anglers throughout the length of the historic river finding more 2- to 5-pound trout. Even the legendary Indian River gator trout population is on the rise.

That's not to say fishing is as good as it was in the late '70s and early '80s, but it's getting there. Between a 5-fish bag limit, 15- to 20-inch slot limit, with one trout allowed over 20 inches, the population of the species is starting a definite upswing.

I was fortunate to live on the river during the height of the seatrout's popularity, and for many years the species was my fish of choice. Sadly enough, I contributed to the decline of the species by eating most of the large trout I caught, but it wasn't long before the lack of fish and a little education taught me there were better food options out there and how a bit of conservation can vastly improve a large amount of fishing.

I still use all the tricks I learned when fishing for big trout, only I release all my trout, regardless of size these days, and it's nice to see the fish showing the same patterns as in the old days.

Two of the first things I learned about big seatrout was that the fish come into the shallows to feed during low-light conditions, and that they have an excellent sense of hearing. While it's easy to adjust your fishing schedule to accommodate the low light, remaining soundless in any boat is a work of art and a negligible proposition when fishing alone. Even with an angler poling the boat, the tip of a pushpole occasionally hitting rock or a portion of the platform sends enough noise through the water to put most large trout on their guard. That's why I prefer to wade after large trout.

Wading presents a low angler profile above the water line, and limits the noise factor. Wading also adds a spiritual communion with the water and all its inhabitants, joining the angler with his prey and heightening the senses. It seems like I see and hear more movement and catch more big trout when on foot than when fishing out of a boat. Of course, that equation only applies to shallow-water fishing during the warm months. When the trout move into their deeper winter lairs, it's the boating angler who finds the fish.

Since you're trying to decrease the amount of noise you make, be sure not to take long strides that splash the water around your ankles or legs. The sound of an approaching angler is much different from that of a scampering baitfish, and trout can tell from 40 yards or more just what is happening around them.