When you think about it, the "game" in gamefish says a lot about a fish. It helps explain why one man's grunting and sweating aboard a drifting sportfisherman seems so far removed from another's grilled swordfish in a restaurant. Perhaps the lowly mullet deserves similar consideration. Once these shiny critters lose their bait shop image, what's left is a scrapper that's certainly more fun to catch on ultralight fly gear than it is to stack in a Cedar Key smokehouse. Anyway, before anyone contemplates such leaps in consciousness, they'll want to stock up on a few groceries. But this time, it won't be for dinner.

Okay, skeptics, let's look at mullet a little more sympathetically. Certainly these mid-sized dynamos don't have a reputation for destroying tackle but I suppose if you tallied all the soft-tissue injuries attributable to say, catching bonefish or seatrout on fly gear, you wouldn't have much of a list either. So if you intend to go after mullet with a drag-equipped reel, go easy. There's plenty of pinpoint casting involved and more than a few broken tippets, but what goes on beyond that transcends pure technology.

What's it like to catch mullet on flies? You won't hear that question asked very often but who among us hasn't watched these fish jump and wondered? 

For your information, catching mullet happens to be a hoot. Supposedly, fly fishermen in other countries pursue various mullets that strike flies aggressively but local anglers consider our domestic species lock-jawed due to some curious eating habits. Nonetheless, it's time to strip away the scales of ignorance since nowadays, thanks to the introduction of ummm..."vegetable nymphs," even beginning fly casters can catch mullet until they're sick and tired of it. Incidentally, I don't have to remind anyone that this is break-through stuff.

You'll find two mullet species in Florida. Both hit flies. The black variety grows slightly larger than its streamlined silver cousin and if you ask any Florida cracker, you'll learn that black mullet are for eating while silvers are bait. Personally, I like catching the bigger, hard-hitting blacks. That doesn't shed much light on the mystery, though.

In a word, mullet are weird. Their unique behavior discourages anglers from the get-go. If I'd had something fancier to fly fish for early on, I'd probably be doing it instead. Mullet are considered prey rather than predators. Something you catch in a net to catch something bigger and better. Let's face it-we think mullet jump because they're being chased, though at times, they seem to be having fun. Whatever the reason, nobody ever considers getting one to jump at the end of a fly line.

I've tried to learn more about the habits of these enigmatic fish. In the end, it hasn't amounted to much. Give it a chance. If you're still with me, let me set the scene. It's sunset in suburban Fort Lauderdale. The daytime horn honking and hustle are finally beginning to melt onto a morass that teeters visually between condominium stucco and the ersatz rainforest landscaping. The breeze puffs, sending leaves to the surface of my backyard canal, which happens to be one of the few natural drainages left behind by the developers. The ocean's a dozen miles away, but the water here is slightly salty. In spite of its tidal influence, my canal conjures visions of paddlewheels rather than counter-rotating props. Before I surrender to the daydream, a fish plucks a blossom from the film.

The Mulleting Hour has finally arrived.

Quietly, K.C. Smith tosses a handful of oatmeal in the canal after spitting in his palm so some will stick together and sink. Meanwhile, I tear bread slices into quarters. Swirls erupt as fish attack floating crusts. Then, a mullet free-jumps near the opposite seawall. Perhaps he's reconnoitering. No one knows exactly why mullet do this; perhaps it's pure whimsy or maybe just fun. We pick up our rods. Within minutes, mullet schools race around between crusts. We cast ahead of the splashes in an attempt to lead the school without success. Even in such syrupy settings, it seems frustration has its place. At first, the fish are too engrossed to pay heed to small flies, so we quit casting and wait. The bread will be gone soon and hopefully, the mullet will become more amenable to our offerings. The swirls finally subside, and we cast.

Tense seconds pass before K.C.'s strike indicator plunges beneath the surface. It's a powerful hit, by something legitimate. K.C.'s little rod bends, line slips through his fingers, his reel screeches and the mullet jumps. It's only then, while he remains oblivious to several dumbfounded gawkers, that K.C. finally laughs.

Mullet fishing with flies, at least with any hope of success, is a fairly recent preoccupation. According to rumor, several of fly fishing's early legends may have caught one here and there but since these catches were supposedly made with wet flies, I'd wager most were accidental. As a point of interest, I once nailed a monster black mullet squarely in the mouth with a 4-inch Phillips Multi-wing. No kidding, he completely swallowed the streamer. Yet if you managed to count the mullet that saw my flies over the years, that catch equates to a single confirmed strike out of ten million presentations. And tales of mullet banging big Deceivers meant for snook under bridges have bounced around, too. Accident or opportunism? Whatever, the secret to catching mullet is cutting to the chase by finding out what they eat then matching it.