This is just an average beachfront jack. Expect some fish to surpass the 35- to 40-pound class.

Pop, Crackle, Snap!

What originated as the sweet music of a 30-pound-plus jack crevalle sucking in a foam popper quickly transformed into the moan of graphite when a loop of fly line snagged on the reel handle. Mercifully, it was the 20-pound tippet that snapped, not the rod.

Given the usual set of circumstances, losing a fish of substance is a trying moment, one where the angler spends the next few days in retrospect, reliving each second from presentation to failure in an attempt to rescind any error. On this day, there was no need to reminisce, since there were three other pods of 20- to 40-pound jacks daisy chaining within plain view. So we had other shots, if I could keep my hands still enough to tie up another leader.

I leaned hard on the troller in an attempt to intercept one of the approaching schools, ideally ahead of and to the ocean side of the fish, where I could milk the onshore breeze for all its worth when making my fly cast. Tossing a big popper is no easy task, even with a 10-weight rod, and it becomes tougher when you know you need a little distance. The wind over my right shoulder was what I needed.

Everything fell into place and I shot the popper 10 feet ahead of the milling school. I waited for the group to close the gap, then gave the thing two sharp tugs. The lead fish effortlessly closed the distance with a single swipe of its tail, crunching down on the chartreuse noisemaker with reckless abandon. Fly line then backing burned off the reel

as the husky jack kept pace with the scampering school. I outlasted the beast, and exactly 43 trying minutes later, released the jumbo jack at the side of the boat.

Jack crevalle have always been the target of flyfishers seeking a little salvation to an otherwise unproductive day on the water. The jack represents a chance to make a cast, bend the rod, and fight a strong-running fish on fly tackle. A nice day-saver, nothing else. That is, until they exceed 10 pounds. Then, these brutes make the transformation from second-class day-savers to serious gamefish with the ability to break rods, strip reels and wear you out. And they’re willing participants, happy to clobber a fly, making them more desirable targets.

For years, I waited for spring to bring the yearly migration of jumbo jacks into the Indian River and seawalls adjacent to the St. Lucie Inlet. When I first took up fly fishing, these fish were among my favorite targets. This game required a second angler to tease the fish into striking, and then to run the boat as we chased the hooked jack around obstructions. It wasn’t until late one winter that I found a different group of fish, big jacks that were even more concentrated and so willing to jump on a fly that I could even go it alone on days when I couldn’t scare up a fishing partner.

The jacks arrived in Martin and St. Lucie counties in February that year, a bit ahead of their normal arrival time, likely due to unseasonably warm weather. The calm that reigned through the spring months was ideal for skiff anglers wanting to venture outside the inlets. Treasure Coast flyfishers had weeks at a time to fish the jacks—plenty of time to learn the patterns of these big ocean fish.

The fish travel in pods along the beaches well into May, gradually becoming less abundant, but not totally absent. By June, the majority of guides don’t count on finding the big jacks anymore, but do keep an eye peeled for the telltale wakes on the mornings when the tarpon aren’t moving. Many a tarpon trip has been salvaged by the jack schools, even though most of the late-season fish are under 15 or 20 pounds, still a serious jack on fly.

Mid March is when the fish really come on strong, although last year, the first trickles of fish, mostly 10- to 15-pounders, showed in Jan-uary, and became more dependable by February. Schools of 200 or more 25- to 40-pound jacks may be so common that most recreational anglers will turn their attention back to table species after tiring of tus-sling with jack crevalle, leaving them to the fly crowd. Let’s face it, big fish are not a daily occurrence in most areas, and the opportunities to battle big fish shouldn’t be passed up. Not that most folks would pass up huge jacks running up and down the coastline in multiple pods consisting of 50 to 500 fish.

To make the hunting part easier, jacks push massive surface wakes that can be seen for hundreds of yards. Many fish fin on top, daisy chaining like big tarpon. Tarpon daisy chaining in shallow water is a sight no angler can forget, and the big jacks are no different. In fact, they may do it more dramatically, with their bright yellow dorsal and tail fins completely out of the water. The trick is keeping your cool when you spot them. Hookup or not, it’s not something you’ll soon forget.

There’s no telling when the big jacks might daisy chain. One minute, they’re bunched up and pushing a V-wake the size of a flock of ducks, and the next, they’re packed in a tight ball, doing a surface dance. I’ve witnessed the finning and daisy chaining at all times of day, although they do it most early in the morning when glass-calm conditions prevail.