Distinct pops echoed from deep beneath the mangrove canopy. Ambush sounds--music to angling ears--reverberated across the Sarasota grassflat, disturbing the peace and quiet of an early Sarasota November morn.

"Probably a band of snook whacking mullet," skipper and friend Geoffrey Paige whispered to me--as if our muted conservation would disturb the inner borders of this gamefish war zone. But, I was as hooked as Paige and realized from experience, just as he did, the best way to investigate our potential angling opportunity was on the sly. There's a lot to be said for a sneaky approach, especially on extremely shallow Gulf flats.

We moved in silently and swiftly, reconning the area and formulating a plan of attack. Bumping the electric troller into gear, Paige eased in tight to the mangrove shoreline for a better glimpse of the mullet carnage. Winding along the bank while listening for telltale pops, Paige motioned for me to get ready. A small opening lay just ahead, a clear lane affording casting room into the jungle-like mangrove recesses.

"Put it right there," my fishing buddy barely breathed. "Affirmative skipper," I replied, skipping the soft-plastic jerkbait almost out of sight, deep into a silhouetted hidey-hole. Next came the hard part--waiting for the precise moment before twitching my lure. "Okay, get him," Paige coached from atop the poling platform, his eyes glued to a bulging v-wake pushed by a fish blasting bait and coming our way. I raised the rodtip and gave it a slight twitch, reeled in the slack line and did it again. The point was not to retrieve the lure, which would extract it from the strike zone, but barely move it so the lure would imitate a wounded baitfish. Or in this case, a pink-back, silver-speck, green-belly, 5-inch cigar-shaped sliver of plastic rigged with a 4/0 wormhook mimicking who knows what in the fish world.

"You got it," Paige bellowed from the best seat in the house before the line transmitted the whalloping tug. The platform's height advantage gave Paige an obstructed view of the subtle strike (that is if you can call a backcountry explosion subtle). I reared back on the rod and set the hook hard, although a weather-worn branch blocked me from seeing the actual strike. But, I did immediately feel the fish's heavy weight as it burned line off my reel while haul-tailing it toward clear water away from the maze of snarled mangrove snags. "I got lucky on that one," I informed Paige moments before the streaking linesider turned an about-face and beat a path for the gnarly shoreline. That fish must have heard the confidence in my voice and decided to take me down a peg or two. Snook are bad about that.

"Snook one, me minus one," I muttered, ducking below twisted branches to rescue my lure from a root hang where the broken-off piece of plastic waved in the current.

"Quick retie. They're coming back!" Paige said as he jumped down from the platform, grabbed a rod and fired another jerkbait into a semi-open path leading into the ambush zone.

For a potshot, the cast landed fairly accurately into a 2-foot by 2-foot seemingly unreachable hole surrounded by mangrove roots and chutes. The lure went untouched for about a second then all heck broke loose. His lure had looped over a low-slung branch instead of sailing under it. When he set the hook, half the tree dipped into the water effectively obstructing our view. Although he could not see it, Paige felt the fish taking line and never one to hesitate with doing whatever is necessary to land hooked fish, he plunged headlong into the tangled shoreline growth. With practiced skill--he only recently admitted he'd done this many times prior--Paige passed the rod around the limb and came tight on the line.

"Just like bass fishing," he said grinning, while watching his fish roll 20 yards to starboard. Paige wrestled his opponent--a fat redfish--boatside quickly, gently removed the hook and released it back into the safety of the mangroves. By midmorning, I, too, had the drill down pat, although I'm not sure I'll ever reach my buddy's abilities when it comes to untangling lines from branches.

My word for this technique--bushwhacking--where anglers take it to the bushes is self-descriptive for two reasons. First, the bite occurs in the bushes as they say in Southwest Florida, meaning up under the mangrove canopy along high tide shorelines. Second these fish whether snook, trout or reds are whacking baits below mangrove branches. And, if you keep your wits about you and steal into their ambush zones like a cat into the night, you can bushwhack both species without warning.

There are three basic approaches to successful bushwhacking. My favorite, and the one preferred by most anglers, involves using an electric motor. Just like Paige did on that late November morning, sneaking up on fish banging mullet aided by the almost silent whisper of an electric allows you to move into casting range unannounced. Try to pull slightly ahead of the feeding fish if you can to determine which way they're traveling in the shadows and to scout a likely ambush zone. That spot could be slight parting of mangrove branches that affords casting room or mangroves that offer a little more clearance between bottom branches and the water surface. Of course, there are those times when you'll just have to bite the bullet and skip a cast as best you can into shadowy recesses to reach the fish. Using a trolling motor also lets you cover shorelines faster with the option of stopping along the way to fire repeated casts into feeding lanes.

Another method for getting up close and personal is by pushpole. Sarasota guide Rick Grassett prefers searching under the bushes slowly and deliberately, barely nosing his skiff forward with his control on the platform. "Take it slow along a shoreline bustling with activity," Grassett recommends. "I like to poke the nose of the skiff in and out of pronounced divots or breaks in shoreline cover. Often mullet and other baitfish huddle on the edge of the shadow line." Grassett arms spin and plug anglers with soft-plastics for mangrove probing. He also does a lot of fly fishing, and poling the skiff from atop the platform frees up the bow deck for fly lines and snag-free casting. Whether you toss spin, plug or fly gear, this skipper preaches accuracy. "The real secret for bushwhacking is putting your lure into the strike zone. When snook and reds bang baits under the branches, it's in a small concentrated area. Miss that area and you'll miss the fish."

The third technique is chumming with livebait. No doubt about it, heaving a steady stream of whitebait under shorelines popping with strikes can bring the fish to you and keep the bite going. Avid fly and lure anglers who cherish the thrill of the hunt often shun this strategy, although some Gulf Coast guides do it day in, day out. The trick--once snook and redfish respond to the chum--is to pitch similar live bait, lures or flies into the mix.