It’s 90 F in the shade; humidity also in the 90’s; I’m on a barrier island, coastal Gulf of Mexico, fly fishing the bayside; the calm side; the flat water side; I’m angling on foot in a foot of water; searching the clear sandy shallow flats for Redfish; my dog, Harper has been roasting in the heat in her fur coat; the panting has never stopped since the heat wave hit; after 3 weeks out here I can tell she wants to go home; she is not enjoying our outings like before; chasing shore birds, minnows, dueling with crabs is getting old; the giant cicada like insects that hang-out in the shoreline sea weed and jump on her when she walks by are bothering her; as are the early and late day horseflies; she barks at them; I’ll have to return home soon; I don’t want to leave; I’m good in the heat; when I lived in Montreal and fished with a friend, Ray in the Adirondacks on sweltering July and August days he’d often say, ” I think you’re a Camel, you walk all day and I never see you drink water!”; on this trip I’m constantly hydrating.

The island I’m on is busy on weekends; there’s a giant Rocket blast-off in a few days; preparation for an eventual trip to Mars; people are in town to witness the launch; the occasional futuristic cyber truck roams main street; it’s also beach season here and locals from the nearby valley/mainland are here for the ocean breeze and to party; they drive up and down the beach all day and night; I hear ground shaking Hispanic Rap, traditional Mexican music with a lot of Horns and the Accordion and regular Country blasting from vehicles; each truck passing competes with the other to be King of Decibels; at night they do donuts in the sand and spin their tires; I’m beach camping; after a night or two of witnessing it all I purchase several garden solar lights and stick them in the sand around my truck camper; I want the night-time riders to see me; I don’t want someone high or drunk in a oversized big-wheeled pick-up to plow into me in the dark; weekdays are quieter; after a few days I drive the beach much further north away from town where there’s less sand traffic; but there’s still some.

Sometimes vehicles get stuck in the sand; I’ll offer to help push or dig-out but I will not tow; I’m 2300 miles away from home; I know no one; my vehicle is my home; it’s my space capsule; my ticket back from Mars to Alberta; I won’t gamble with that; when asked I explain that I don’t tow; they understand and they know someone will eventually come along and pull them out; County police patrol the beach night and day and will call a tow truck if requested.

When beach camping I pay attention to the tides; the moon phase and the wind; the high water mark; these details help me park a safe distance from the surf; I often tuck myself back-up against the dunes to be furthest from the water; the sand tends to be softer there and I have to be careful that I don’ t get stuck; I always exit the same way I drive in; I tell myself, “if I got in, I can get out”; I can also air-down my tires if in a jam; most of the night prowling trucks tend to stay closer to the surf on the hardened sand.

It’s turtle nesting season here; I feel the poor creatures don’t have a chance with the beach traffic and night-time shenanigans; the nearby turtle rescue center volunteers place small florescent flags in the sand to mark the egg laying locations when found; I see them checking the beach at night with flashlights and head lamps; sadly the beach traffic seems oblivious to their markers.

Coyotes often prowl the sand dunes and mud flats where I fish on the bayside; they call out to my dog; she stays close to me but is wary of them; they are persistent, bold and annoying; one day I chase three back onto the flats; I know they’ll come back; they do but keep their distance; eventually they get bored and leave; as they slink away I yell “I fish in grizzly bear country back home and you simply don’t measure-up”; the heat can affect you in funny ways!

There are a lot of nasty creatures around here. One day after stepping out of my truck my feet felt like they were burning; they felt on fire; inadvertently I had stepped on a colony of fire ants; my efforts to knock them off were futile; I ended up sprinting to the bay and drowning them; aggressive horse flies also stalk Harper and I in the morning and evening when walking to and from the bay; there are even wild boar; once I’m out on the bay all is good; all is tranquil; no rattlesnakes; no coyotes; no ants; no horseflies; if it’s not windy I pump-up my paddle board and anchor it in the shallows; in a foot or two of water; after a cooling dunk I place Harper on it, and a backpack with our water, food and fishing gear; the board is our floating island where the coyotes won’t bother us and the biting insects are left behind; I search for Redfish within eye-shot of the board and if I see nothing paddle parallel to the coast, anchor and search the new spot; I’m rarely successful angling on the board; I spook a lot of fish that way; I do much better when I leave it and slow walk the shallows.

On a windy day, which there were many, my medium-sized bead chain eye fly strikes my rod tip on the forward cast; the tip folds over then breaks off; I have a back up but I want a back up for my back up!; I know that the new fly shop in town that opened last year unfortunately closed; I call a large outdoor store on the mainland; to my surprise they don’t sell fly rods; I check the internet and the nearest place that supposedly has fly rods is in Corpus Christi three hours north; it’s call Roy’s Bait and Tackle; it sounds like a place where I could probably buy squid and shrimp bait, some 100 lbs test line, a fish gaff hook and an outboard motor but I’m not convinced they sell fly rods. I call to check and I am informed they do; they have all the brands; they open at 9 am; the next morning I hit the road at 6 am; it a cooler day and therefore good travelling weather; it’s also suppose to be cloudy and rainy with the possibility of some severe thunderstorms; on the way up to Corpus I pass through several what seem to be world ending electrical storms and heavy rain; windshield wipers need to be on high speed; I travel at 80 km as any faster and I’m hydroplaning; I find Roy’s; they have a huge fly fishing section; one of the best I’ve ever seen; a Disneyland for a fly angler; I buy a back up for my back up; I can now cast again in the west Texas wind with authority; with no fear; I learned long ago when fly fishing Baja beaches for Roosterfish that you have to be aggressive when casting, even in the wind; opportunity only comes a long every so often in the Salt; and when it does you have to be quick and you have to go for it.

At Roy’s I ask several questions about the National park on the north end of he barrier island that I’ve been on; they are extremely helpful and inform me of wade fishing access spots on the bayside; from past research the names sound familiar; the park is pristine; it’s a different scene than the carnival in the south; I camp on the beach and then 2 nights in a basic campground with showers; it’s quiet here; on the bay I find Black Drum on the sand flats every afternoon; big guys; I’ve caught them before; I catch several mid-sized ones but are stumped by the large ones tailing in the afternoon light; I hit them with everything I’ve got; many fly patterns are tried but I can’t seem to “match the hatch”.

A few says later I decide to return home; it’s a four day drive; first night-time stop, Lubbock, Tx, and it’s 100F; I grab a KOA cabin with Air Conditioning; the next night it’s Fort Collins, CO. and it’s 46F and Harper’s panting stops. While driving I think about the coyotes; the ants; the horse flies; the heat wave; the west Texas wind; the weekend beach spectacle and traffic; the mission to Mars; the challenging Black Drum; Roy’s Bait and Tackle fly fishing wonderland; and camping for over three weeks on the World’s longest barrier island. I stood in the middle of it all with Harper, fished with my eyes and caught and released some wonderful Redfish in the slightest of water…a great angling adventure.