Mention fly fishing for redfish in Everglades National Park waters, and indoctrinated South Florida fly fishers automatically think Flamingo, at the Park’s southern end on the shores of Florida Bay. Good reason for that—there may be more tailing redfish per acre there than anywhere else in the backcountry. Yet there is a lot more ’Glades redfish water to be plied, and much of it presents more challenging and diversified redfish habitat than your garden variety Florida Bay mud flat.

Schoolie reds prowl both shallow and deep-cut mangrove shorelines.

The Chokoloskee region of the Ten Thousand Islands is a prime example, where veterans long in the tooth normally think of the redfish run that takes place each fall along the oyster bars and islands of the “outside.” Not as much attention is paid to the labyrinth of mud bays, islands, rivers and creeks on the inside waters that harbor the lion’s share of the reds come winter. The reds move inland and back to the Gulf again like clockwork, so it’s a matter of knowing when and where to fish for them.

Capt. Kevin Mihailoff has prospected this neck of the Glades year-round for almost 20 years. One day in spring, while poling along 30 feet or so from the shoreline, a big wake materialized about 100 feet off the bow. “Snook? Red? Otter?” he recalls wondering.

“This looks to me like it might be a really big red,” Mihailoff said, angling the bow to give his angler a clear back cast, should the chance come. The wake closed in, and was soon in casting range. Mihailoff said calmly, “Robert, that is definitely a big redfish. Get the fly to him when you can.”

Though the air temperature was barely 70 degrees, there was a bead or two of sweat on Robert’s brow as he stripped out an extra few feet of fly line and checked his trailing loop alongside the hull of the skiff.

The enormous red drum glowed crimson and gold, standing out like a stop sign against the mottled bottom. Each thrust of its 9-inch broom tail brought it a foot closer, and without a word Robert roll cast the brown Muddler fly from his hand and got his line in motion.

Mihailoff quietly stuck the foot of the pushpole into the soft, muddy bottom and directed Robert to lead the fish by a few feet and let the fly sit. As the fly landed, the fish slowed, having detected it. The wake dissipated and Mihailoff whispered, “Hop it. Now stop it. Wait.” The fish rose in the water column.

“Now hop it again.” In response the giant fish flared its massive gills and inhaled the fly.

“You got him!” Mihailoff crowed. The fly line ripped across the surface and the water boiled like someone had hit the throttle of a 200 outboard.

“I’ve got him alright,” Robert said. “Now what am I going to do with him?”

Mihailoff spun the bow of the boat and the fish took off—luckily, not toward the mangroves. The fish plowed on, now well off the shoreline in open water where it wallowed and thrashed like a green cobia on a gaff. After 20 minutes of tug-of-war and photographs, the guide and angler released the red in great shape. At 39 inches and nearly 23 pounds, it was a big red for Everglades waters, where things are basically cyclic.

Snook season opens, snook season closes. The tarpon show up and the tarpon disappear. The only constant in the complex Everglades fishing equation is redfish. As stated, the problem is, if you’re fishing anywhere in the Park north of Flamingo, these bronze bombers are not always easy to find and they can often be even harder to catch, no matter what time of year it is. During the winter, water temperatures in the Everglades can dip into the 50s. During the summer months, surface temperatures can soar into the 90s. And in spring and fall, drastic temperature changes can confuse even the most seasoned angler when it comes to staying on top of the reds.

“Catching redfish in southern Everglades National Park is something that can easily be taken for granted,” said Mihailoff. “But, I’ve found that it takes a lot more effort to find reds than snook or tarpon in the northern regions where I fish most.”

Unlike Flamingo, where you find reds tailing on large grassflats when the tide allows, then hunkering in channels when it bottoms out, the northern region of this pristine environment actually offers very little typical redfish habitat, forcing anglers and guides, like Mihailoff, to improvise when trying to locate and catch them. The place looks more “snooky” if nothing else. Mihailoff is acutely aware of even the earliest and most subtle climate changes and how they affect the movements and feeding habits of redfish. During the fall months, as water temperatures drop, he finds that the best opportunities to catch redfish usually unfold along the oyster-lined shorelines of the barrier islands of the Gulf, but also in shallow backcountry bays. Although distinct environments, they both attract redfish due to good populations of finger mullet, a year-round staple in the redfish’s diet, augmented by plenty of shrimp and crabs.