Chasing Big Redfish in the Indian River Lagoon

Stalking redfish in the flats on the fly offers lessons in patience and perseverance.

October 22, 2025 By John Kumiski

This was written after a difficult and frustrating July morning, chasing redfish on very shallow flats in the Indian River Lagoon. The water at this spot ranges from a foot deep to too shallow to float my antique Ocean Kayak Drifter. The bottom is soft and dark, often covered with a wiry, filamentous alga. If the fish aren’t showing any body parts above the surface, they are nearly invisible, even in this skinny water. When the fish show themselves, they do so in one of four ways:

Tailing: The tail breaks the surface while they feed on or in the bottom.
Cruising: The fish are swimming in water shallow enough that they make a visible wake, letting the angler know their position, speed, and heading (which is subject to change, usually right as or just after you make your cast).
Crawling: A cruising fish in water too shallow to cover it, a glorious thing to see.
Busts: Fish blasting minnows, often against the shoreline, making a big splash and fairly loud noise. If you see a lot of minnows or shrimp jumping out of the water, there may be a fish or two there. A cast would be in order.

Redfish tails out of the water. — A group of redfish tailing, one morning in paradise.

Redfish Any Time of Year

On the morning in question, the boat hit the water just after sunrise. Would earlier have been better? Probably. We’re in the heat of the summer, after all.

At my age, starting in the dark by myself is neither particularly safe nor particularly appealing. But the following scenarios can happen any place shallow water fish swim, at any time of year.

The first several fish seen this day were found by running them over. This is not an effective fish-catching technique, but it does let you know there are fish around. Slow down! In this case, I was going very slowly and very silently (super important in inches-deep water) and still couldn’t see them. No body parts, no wakes. It’s part of the deal. You just have to put up with it.

Keep in mind that in inches-deep water, the fish tend to be nervous. I once saw one spook when a dragonfly flew over it. This was an extreme reaction, no doubt, but it pays to be stealthy.

The morning in question had a breeze. The fish tend to show less when it’s breezy than they do when it’s calm. I spend a lot of time just sitting and looking. In one case, I was pulled up against a mangrove, eating an orange, and a pair of fish swam up to the boat, almost close enough to touch. I just froze, hoping not to disturb them. Didn’t work. They blew out.

Happy angler holds a large redfish. — The writer hooked up to a shallow water redfish after a successful stalk.

Gear to Tackle Reds

Perhaps a quick rundown on the tackle is in order. The rod is a 9-foot 6-weight. You’ve heard of the manufacturer. The reel is a good match for the rod. It costs significantly less than $1,000. The line is a weight-forward 7-weight floater, that frequently does not actually float. It also does not rip my finger to shreds. The leader, about 12 feet long, is made of three sections of differing diameters of fluorocarbon that I tied together, ranging from 30 pounds at the butt to 15 pounds at the tip. The very simple and homely fly is tied on a number 4 Mustad 3406. The barb has been crushed down. The tail is tan craft fur, striped with a Sharpie. The body is tan chenille. A grizzly hackle feather is tied Palmer the length of the body. There are no eyes, but there is a double prong mono weedguard. This fly has fooled a lot of fish!

At one place I fished, the land can’t make up its mind if it wants to be dry or not. There are lots of grass hammocks and single mangrove trees popping out of the water. While working my way through this area, I spot a cruiser on the other side of a small grass hammock, going the opposite direction that I am. Rather than chase it around, I decide to turn around and ambush it at the far end of the hammock.

The plan was great. The execution, not so much. I made the cast. The fly landed about three feet in front of the fish. When the fish got close to where the fly was, I moved it. Seeing what I thought was the eat move, I set the hook. Minor problem—the fish had not eaten. I tossed the fly right back. It landed on top of the fish. You can fill in the blanks on that one.

Another shot happened in a similar place. I spotted a crawler in a tiny pondlet, connected to the larger waterway by a narrow neck. I put my kayak there, used my foot as an anchor, and took a cast at the fish. It spooked off the fly. Foolishly, I tried a second cast. Now terrified, the fish tried to escape the pondlet by running through the narrow neck, almost throwing up a roostertail on the way, and slammed into the bottom of the kayak as it forced its way through. The ensuing laughter did not spook any more fish, I don’t think. What else can you do?

Tailing Redfish Tactics

My thought is that with the water so shallow and the bottom covered with goo, even an unweighted fly with a weedguard picks up schmutz that puts off the fish. Another distinct possibility is that I suck. Most likely it’s a combination of the two. Having a sense of humor certainly helps when you’re blowing shot after shot!

A shoreline bust attracted my attention. The fish was crawling, just off the shoreline. After putting the boat in the best position possible, I made a cast. It was good, but the fish spooked off the fly and headed toward deeper water. It was pushing a wake, and before it got out of range I made a desperation cast. As the fish approached the fly, I just twitched it, and to my amazement the fish took. The line fairly sizzled through the water—that fish wanted out of there! A few minutes later, after kissing it, I released it, gently. You gotta love the skunk chaser.

A tail came up at the far end of a grass hammock. The fish was coming towards me, showing intermittently. Using my foot as an anchor, I waited until it was an easy cast, then let fly. The cast was good. Minor problem—it lined a fish I did not know was there. When that fish blew out it spooked my fish. No deal!

Creeping through shallow water, I spotted a slight surface disturbance about 25 feet away. It was a fish, swimming through some widgeon grass, slowly coming at me. I managed to get a cast off, but it went awry and the fish did not see the fly. At least it didn’t spook! Now it’s close enough that I can see its lips. Nothing else, just the lips! With the leader in the rod tip, I flopped the fly in front of the fish, and watched it eat. Setting the hook on a visual seldom works, but it did this time, and I got that fish, leader in the rod at the strike, the most satisfying moment of the morning. This stuff is what makes kayak fishing so fantastic.

A cruiser was lolligagging about 40 feet away, a longish cast from the kayak. That’s OK, I’m up for it. I make the cast, and the line tangles. My 40-foot cast only goes 30 feet. Hurry, John, he’s getting away! I try again, without untangling the line first. Of course, I get the same result! Fly line manufacturers could do a tremendous service to fly fishermen by making a line that never tangled. That fish was not disturbed by me in any way.

No mention has been made about the rest of the many bad casts I had, but some time should be spent discussing bad casts. There are different kinds! The worst bad cast spooks the fish, or worse, a school. The fly makes a head shot, or worse, the line slaps down hard, or even worse, the line lands on the fish. That fish is done, just from the cast. Go find another one.

A lesser evil is the cast that lands too far in front of (or behind) the fish. The fish never sees the fly. If you’re lucky, you can get another shot at the fish. If you’re really lucky, a different fish will take the fly. You know it’s a good day then!

Another doozy happens when you overshoot a shoreline fish and hang up in the grass or trees. You can also, very easily, forget what’s behind you and hang up your back-cast. None of these scenarios result in a hooked fish. Personally, I find hooking branches much less satisfying than hooking fish. If I wanted to hook branches, I wouldn’t have to drive anywhere. I could just go out in my yard. Not much challenge there, though.

Fly angler makes a cast for redfish. — The writer casts to shallow redfish in the Indian River Lagoon.

Boat Positioning

A word should be spent on the importance of putting the boat in the best possible position from which to make the cast. Sure, it’s exciting to see the fish, but it would be even more exciting to hook it. If you fling and hope, the chance of a bite is small. If you get in the best possible position, the chance of a bite goes way up. You should always be ahead of the fish so that it doesn’t see your line. Just show the fly, baby, just show the fly! Getting a bite is hard enough under good conditions. Take the time to give yourself the best possible chance.

We could go on with the rest of the failures experienced by me on this day, but you should get the idea. I had a dozen shots or so, and hooked two fish. This stuff ain’t easy (well, sometimes it is, but not most of the time). Approach every shot with optimism, but don’t be surprised if it fails.

Regardless of what happens, enjoy the day! Take delight in the birds, and the dragonflies, and the clouds, even when they rain on you. Enjoy your mistakes, and learn from them. Never stop learning! You will catch some fish. Enjoy that, too, although you probably don’t need me to tell you to do that. It’s not a bad day if you don’t need the first aid kit.

You’re out paddling on the best damn planet in the Universe, personally interacting with the fish and their mysterious environment. Never take that for granted, and always appreciate it.