The morning was perfect; to the West the moon slipped under the palms, while to the East the sun lit the Gulf of Mexico on fire. The water on the bay was as smooth as glass. I slowly waded onto the flat, unsure of what to expect. As a budding saltwater fly-rodder, this was my first time fishing “flats”. These were not the turquoise bonefish flats of the Bahamas, but the grass flats of the Florida Panhandle. I waded out on the firm sand bottom as far as I felt comfortable, stripped my floating line from the reel, and cast a small Clouser at a random spot. I have to admit that I looked over my shoulder a few times, wondering if I could beat a gator back to shore. As I packed my bags for this trip, I watched winter tighten its grip on Maine. I was looking forward to the warm sand beaches of the Gulf, and to wetting my fly again. Since I arrived, the beaches had been great, but where were the fish? I stopped by the local tackle shops and was consistently told that I was a month too early for fly fishing. That wasn’t going to stop me, so I set out for a spot that had produced well on my last visit. To my surprise, the fishing spot was gone! How does a fishing spot disappear, you might ask? A lovely little operation known as dredging had buried it in sand. From there I headed to a normally productive Jetty. I beat the water here morning and night for three days before I gave up. The fruits of my labor consisted of one “snapper” bluefish, a cut fly line, and lots of frustration as I watched the bait guys pull countless Sheepshead (a fish as willing to hit a fly as a catfish) from the rocks. I tried everything; streamers, poppers, shrimp, crabs, floating line, sinking line, long leaders, longer leaders, you name it I tried it! “Wait a month and this place will be full of fish”, I had been told, but I was heading north in two days. I started using my head. The fish were scarce because the water was too cold. Shallow water is usually warmer…..I headed for the flats. My fly hit the water and I began to strip. I didn’t except anything to happen, and it didn’t – at first. Then I heard a splash as something broke the water and seemed to be heading my way. I threw a cast in its direction, striped twice and felt the pull I had been after all week. The fish fought well, though I could tell it was relatively small. I felt like a child unwrapping a Christmas gift as I brought my catch closer. It was a Spotted Sea Trout, and this was my first encounter with the species. I am always amazed when I land a new species on the fly. Spotted Sea Trout are not really a trout, but are similar in size and appearance except for two large fang-like teeth that protrude from the front of their mouths. I studied my catch, snapped a photo and released the fish. Over the next two hours I hooked fish after fish up to 3lbs. The morning was passing into day as I waded out of the water. I walked down the beach back to my car with a wonderful sense of accomplishment. Over the last two days of my trip, I visited the flats three more times and was rewarded with similar results. I guess that when it comes to fly fishing, where there is a will, there is a way. Don’t give up and don’t be afraid to go against the grain and try something different. You never know what you’ll find at the end of your line.