The sea at night looks like candy. The surface rolls but does not ripple, a gentle curve bounces back the moon. The docks at night are bright and attractive, so we go there and find some small fish to work hard for. Certain flies get more attention than others, certain lights are more productive than others, and then we move on. Earlier that evening before the sun set, we floated through grass with a quick tide. We found fish but they were mysteries to us, unidentified tailers on an oyster bed. This was the maiden voyage of a newly retooled boat, and the senses of discovery and easy travel were thick, so the sunset was satisfying.
Before nightfall, my fishing partner suggested a well known warm water discharge that we suspected to hold some speckled trout, so we crept up and down a seam, drifting our flies for hard bites with no hookups. We fished another spot that was almost a sure thing, and chalked up some stripers. It was barely morning, a full two hours until last call; time to move. We wanted to go across the river to hit some dock lights on the glassy high tide. The smaller fish we found were difficult and rewarding, demanding tight casts and correct presentations. My first gray trout on a fly along with more specks and stripers for both of us validated the run across. I thought I heard music from an open door on shore, amplified by the space and water. Tom Petty was running down a dream.