I admit it. I'm not the most talented fly fisherman in the world. Oh, I can get it out there where the fish are, but it's not always a pretty sight. I sort of take comfort in telling myself that except for maybe Ken Griffey Jr., or Michael Jordan, you have to be mediocre at something before you can be really good at it.

I also believe that the best way to get better at something is to hang around someone that already is. So, when my friend Tom Broderidge, a somewhat higher-caliber fly fisherman (sort of a Moe to my Curly) suggested we take a crack at catching Spanish mackerel with a new fly he had designed, I saw an opportunity to cop a free lesson or two.

Tom's level of interest in fly fishing can best be described this way; on the way to the boat ramp that morning he took note of my torn headliner flapping in the breeze over his head. Rather than telling me to fix the damn thing like everyone else who gets in my truck, he reached up, grabbed a frayed edge, examined it for a moment, and then ripped off a strip of the cloth.

"This might be good fly material," he explained, squirreling it away in some hidden pocket.

After launching our boat in East Slough in St. George Island State Park, we rounded Gap Point and ran out into the open water of St. George Sound. We had chosen East Pass for our testing grounds because it was likely there would be plenty of Spanish mackerel there.

After a 3-mile ride to the east, we pulled up at the end of St. George Island. There was already a line of boats and a line of anglers spread out along the shore. It was late March, and the water temperature had broken the 70-degree mark. Baitfish and warming water are all that's needed for the mackerel to show up at predictable locations along the Big Bend coast in the spring. Because of a mild winter, we had early spring conditions, and along with the net ban, we had all the ingredients in place.

Everyone there was fishing with the lure du jour for this spot, a bucktail jig with a live sand flea impaled on the hook. It's a combination best known for pompano fishing but also works well for Spanish mackerel. It's a good choice because most of the people who fish there are happy to catch either species. The water was alive. Schools of baitfish were sweeping by, and every few seconds a brief commotion would signal the end of a baitfish life and the continuation of the food chain.

We waded a few feet offshore and took our place at the end of the line. The fact that we were fly fishing on the beach in this part of the state made it novel enough. Spanish mackerel being the target made it even more so. The tidal current was running strong from our left to our right on its way into the Gulf. The white, sandy bottom was visible about 30 feet from shore where it dropped sharply into deeper, darker water. I started "windmilling" my line out, feeling a little like the one person on the dance floor that everyone is looking at and laughing at behind their back. After my second cast, I had stripped about half the line back in when a mackerel-driven V-wake appeared on the surface about 20 feet to my right and made a beeline for the end of my line.

I stripped the fly one more time, the mackerel corrected course, accelerated, and nailed it!

The hookup was immediate, and the silver fish began a slashing run in a panic. I could feel every bit of speed and energy as the fish ran downcurrent using the tide to its advantage.

I was stunned. I knew Tom was pretty good at the flytying table, but this was more than I could have hoped for. And it was no fluke; fish after fish brought the hammer down on those flies, striking with a careless ferocity normally reserved for real live, wounded baitfish in a strong field of competition.

It was great sport and another new way to fool an old adversary. Although we couldn't see the fish we were casting to, we had the right lure, and they were finding it just fine. We didn't have to move five feet the rest of the day. The most prominent feature of Tom's fly, which he calls the "Flasher," is a tiny spinner blade attached at the bend of the hook by a monofilament loop. The rest of the fly is basically a bucktail streamer that has a number of design characteristics to imitate baitfish. Among those are a two-tone wing material and a gold, Mylar body wrapped in a way that gives it a texture similar to the scales of a baitfish. Granted, mackerel will hit a lot of different flies, baitfish imitations and spoonflies in particular, especially if you put it right in front of their nose. But when they turn on a fly from a distance and race in for the kill, it means there must be some kind of prey response taking place.