I’ve known who Alan Caolo was for years. But it wasn’t until I started doing the Fly Fishing Show circuit that I got to meet him and get to know him a little. (He’s a swell guy, pleasant company, and he knows his stuff.) For those of you who don’t know who he is, Alan Caolo (pronounced KAY-lo) is an author and instructor and all-round master of many things salt. He’d been wanting me to go shore fishing with him for False Alabacore and Bonito for a few years now. Last year we missed our connection (and I suspect I was hyper-focused on the book). About ten days ago, the planets aligned, and we were able to meet up.

I’d been fishing for these critters once before, a long time ago, when I was just getting into fly fishing, and had no idea what I was doing in the salt. It wasn’t really my bag; I couldn’t quite yet cast well, and the hit-or-miss nature of the fishing didn’t appeal to me (honestly, it still doesn’t). But now I can cast, and I’ve never caught one of these fish. Plus, I’ve got an expert instructor who wants to get me into fish. Giddyup!

We arrived at the jetty and secured our spot by 7:30am, with fishing commencing around 15 minutes later. If you’ve never fished for these speedsters from shore, there’s a lot of waiting and, if you choose, blind casting. The blind casting isn’t as crazy as it sounds. Twice, I had albies suddenly materialize near my fly where moments before, there was only a vast expanse of water. I had three shots at fish over the course of an about 6 1/2 hours. The first one I blew. I’m stripping my fly, and then in a blink there was a pod of predators hunting it down. I saw the eat, and that was my downfall, as I jerked the hook right out of the fish’s mouth before the transaction could be completed. The albie was on for perhaps one second, and then it was woulda, shoulda, coulda time.

About an hour later, while retrieving my fly (at a very nice pace, my teacher observed) across the breachway mouth, three fish came racing past us, heading out to sea. Collision course. I felt a bump as one swiped at my fly, but there was no hook purchase. Oh-for-two. My final shot came around 11:30am. We’d seen a boil off the jetty tip. I put my fly out there, and as I brought it in, a telltale bulge appeared in the water behind it. “Almost there…stay on target…almost there….stay on target” (from what movie?). And then, the wake was gone. (Sighs heavily.)

This kind of fishing is not for the impatient or the easily distracted. As with steelheading, or bonefish, or tarpon, you may only get one shot at a fish (Alan didn’t get a single touch all day. But to be fair, he was constantly setting me up in the sweet spots, which I thank him for.) It was a fairly slow day. Two spin anglers below us each hooked up — the only ones we saw all day — but they were covering 5 times as much water, and the sporadic nature of their hookups suggested that they’d lucked into rogue fish. The wind was a challenge, and it’s not for the faint-of-heart caster.

But I’m going to go back, with steely resolve to not to let my coach down again. Thanks again, Alan, for a most enjoyable morning.