Just this side of that mangrove point, see that red?” I asked Bob Bowman while backing off the trolling motor to avoid spooking the fish. “He’s facing the mangroves. Try to drop your lure on either side of him.”

Shallow, mangrove-lined shorelines provide both blind and sight-fishing opportunities for a variety of species year-round.

Bob beaned the fish directly on the head, and I cringed, fully expecting to see a red streak go by the boat. Instead, the fish lunched the bait.

“I can’t believe that fish just ate,” I laughed. “That’ll never happen again in a million years.”

Bob just chuckled and gave me a smirk and said, “I meant to do that.” He was able to keep the fish from the roots, and we boated it.

“Man, we stole that one, Bob,” I said. But shortly, another red scarfed Bob’s lure after a less-than-perfect cast.

“It’s odd how reds will just jump on a bait that lands close to them yet a snook or trout will completely freak out,” I said. “It’s like they think it’s a gift from God falling out of the trees.”

“Well, there are a lot of mangrove crabs here,” Bob reasoned. “Maybe they think my plastic shrimp is actually a crab falling off a branch.”

The crab logic seemed sound—shrimp certainly don’t fly—and the strikes were consistent enough to reinforce his theory. Now all we had to do was figure out the trout and snook that, to this point, hadn’t been as willing to play. But one day is different from the next, and two weeks later, that same shoreline had identical tides, but this time snook were going ballistic on mullet pushing past a fallen tree that impeded the baits’ path down the shoreline. The fish were literally cartwheeling out of the water every time a mullet school tried to traverse that tree. Five casts drew an equal number of strikes from the juveniles. We worked the point for another 30 minutes and caught another fish or two, but it was obvious they’d caught on to us, so we continued to work up the shore.

Rather than wait for more fish to feed and divulge their whereabouts, I suggested that Bob cast his topwater long and parallel to the trees as we came around the point. As he worked the lure inches from the mangrove branches it disappeared in a sudsy boil. A snook in the 20-pound class made two successive jumps toward open water, and then raced for the trees. In classic snook fashion, he went way under the mangrove canopy before breaking off on one of the roots. Little mystery as to how 20-pound snook get to be 20-pound snook. That long cast was the ticket. Had we edged closer before casting, the snook may have sensed us. As we worked our way down the shoreline, Bob skip cast his lure under the trees and then worked it out. Every 10 yards or so there was a small opening in the mangroves that allowed a cast deep into the trees. In the next 100 yards of shoreline we caught four redfish, a flounder and a keeper snook, and broke off another redfish. All of the reds came from under overhanging branches, while the flounder and snook were taken from the open pockets.

Those two trips occurred some time ago, and I’ve since learned a lot about hunting fish along shorelines. It’s now a steady part of my fishing repertoire, particularly during the winter months in Florida when big trout and reds move into the shallows for warmth. It may surprise you that some of the coldest days of the year offer the best shoreline fishing.

Though shoreline shallows can be sight-fished year-round depending on locale, cold fronts that significantly drop the air and water temperatures help clear the water by killing many of the organisms that are suspended in the water column. This means optimum sight casting. Also, shallow water warms more quickly than deep water, so you can expect gamefish to move up for warmth and eventual feeding once the water temp is tolerable.