Double-striped snook caught in the surf.

It’s nearing noon on a Saturday. Kids chatter in a park nearby. I can see people walking on the pier, enjoying the sun. Pods of finger mullet ripple the surface, then scatter under the shadow of a tern.

I’ve been paddling my canoe for an hour or two, attempting to set up sight-fishing shots at snook and seatrout holding in skinny water. An algae bloom had made for tough visuals; I’d gotten a refusal from a flounder the diameter of a manhole cover, and landed one 24-inch snook blind-casting near a dock.

I’ve made dozens of probing casts, blown several fish I couldn’t see, and all in all had a thoroughly typical morning doing things the hard way, the way I like it when the only person I’m trying to entertain is myself.

One last cast, and I’m reeling up my fly line in preparation for leaving. My thoughts turn adulterously toward castnets and finger mullet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the wake, a wide 'V' right behind my tiny white Muddler Minnow. Before I can switch from reeling with my right hand to strip-striking with my left, there’s a loud Pop! and the wake turns hard left. I don’t have any line to clear; the spool whirs, and a yard-long composite of honey-colored fins, black lateral stripe and underslung jaw erupts from the surface.

My canoe surges with the pull of the fish. I drop the anchor, get out and finish the fight in knee-deep water.

Driving home, I’m tempted to enter the catch in my log as just another snooky surprise, but I sense it was more than random chance that impelled a wise old fish into singling my fly out of a soup of genuine prey—at midday, no less.

A snook’s makeup, reminiscent of a largemouth bass, suggests a lifestyle of eating super-size meals. Indeed, at certain times of the year, you’ll find them gulping foot-long mullet or Frisbee-size pogies. But there are also times when they tune into much smaller prey items. It can be a function of what’s most available and easiest to catch (glass minnows or shrimp, for instance), but sometimes—as on that bright Saturday morning—I’m convinced snook are simply responding to the offer of a snack, like how you’d happily chomp a pretzel, even if you weren’t hungry.

If you’re a diehard fly fisher, you can tie up burly mullet or pogy patterns and lob them on a 10-weight until you dislocate your elbow. As for me, I tend to divide my snooking between general tackle and fly, reserving the latter for special cases when it just seems more effective than anything else. Snack time, in other words.

When tiny minnows and shrimp ball up under the nocturnal glow of a dock light, that’s an ideal time to pick up a fly rod. You’ll know a good light by the bubbles drifting on the tide: foamy signatures of snook on the feed. But even in this apparent free-for-all, snook retain a selectivity that can be maddening. In areas where they’ve seen fishing pressure, they’re notorious for swimming right up to a lure or hooked live bait, nosing it, then flaring away.

Docklight success is a classic matter of matching the hatch. Small, translucent fly patterns, sizes 1/0 to as small as 6, excel as representatives of the tiny forage under a dock light. A lure of such proportions would be awfully hard to cast with a spinning or plug rod, and you might have buddies asking for flycasting lessons after fishing alongside you for a few nights. A white bucktail or marabou streamer, perhaps with a tiny bit of tinsel or Mylar, works wonders on docklight snook. Summer is a good time to fish the lights; darkness chases away that blazing heat, and closed seasons chase away “meat” fishermen. But it’s a year-round possibility, if you follow the fish on their basic migratory routes: Downriver in spring; near the inlets in summer; upriver in fall.

Don’t make the first cast right into the lighted zone. Start upcurrent somewhat, allow the fly to settle for a moment, then begin stripping in 6-inch intervals. A strike may be instantaneous—but if a fish pulls up behind your fly and scrutinizes it with an air of suspicion, keep stripping, perhaps a bit faster. Docklight snooking offers a classic example of the law of diminishing marginal returns. If you don’t hook up on the first few casts, the fish may be wising up to your presence. Good time to look for another light.

Last spring a buddy and I found a gold mine on the river near our office: a double-lighted dock, one at each end of a 40-foot “T.” We could pull a fish from one light, release it, hit the other light, release a fish, and return. Back and forth we went, giving just enough time for the fish to settle down.

The fly rod has long been accepted as a first-class snook-catching tool in mangrove country. You can put your bug where you want it, strip until you feel you’re out of the feeding zone, then pick up and in one quick shot move it a few feet down the line. A caster who’s donated a few pints of blood to the mosquitoes knows how to thread the tangles without getting snagged. He forms needle-tight loops on his cast and tucks a fly into the darkest recesses. The trick is giving about 50 percent more on your forward haul, and dropping the rodtip low to the water. Aim to land the terminus of your fly line outside the bushes first, and let the leader unfurl into the shadows quickly, low and fast. It’s almost a controlled slap—though done right makes little unnatural disturbance. Sometimes a fish will eat the fly the instant it splats in the shadows; other times one will ghost through the murky water, and the explosive strike next to the boat will make you jump out of your skin. A sidearm shot, low and fast, also works.

It’s hard to say what fly patterns work best in the bushes, as the strike is probably more opportunistic than targeted at some particular forage item. If you’re filling your first fly box, Deceivers or Sea-Ducers in white or yellow—soft, hackly “breathable” patterns—are good starts. Sizes 2/0 to 2 represent a useful range for bush snooking; no need to go chucking something the size of a Zara Spook. Deerhair sliders and other surface “bugs” no larger than your pinkie finger can provoke outrageous surface strikes. Clouser Deep Minnows and other sinking patterns are handy, as well, and can earn you a bonus redfish. Definitely hunt for flies with monofilament weedguards, or snag-reducing body configurations, like the Bendback.