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S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 1 4 6 immediately saw signs of redfish. Finger mullet jumped in desperate acts of self-preservation, and we spotted the telltale mud puffs and triangular wakes created from the reds' broad heads plowing through the water. I took the stage at the boat's broad, sturdy bow while Sean cut the engine and assumed his vantage point on the poling platform, constantly adjusting our position with surgical precision. "Forty feet – ten-o'clock . . . okay, he's turning around and coming back toward you. Now cast at twelve o'clock as far as you can." I pointed my rod tip in the direction indicated. "Left . . . left . . . a little more . . . there!" The line flew from the reel, propelled by the weight of the grub. "Good cast . . . let it sit . . . okay, give it a twitch. Wait . . . twitch it again. Oh, he's right there." An unmistakable, insistent pressure suddenly jolted the rod tip, and the water erupted. I set the hook and dimly heard Sean's voice in the background. "Great job! Now enjoy the fight." Playing a fish can be like dancing. In this particular dance, the redfish was the leader, and I was the follower. I felt his movements through the line while the old spinning rod bowed reverently toward the water. I continually adjusted the angle of my body and the rod to match his pace. The line zipped from the spool, and I let him take it. Then as he slowed, I raised the rod tip and cranked the reel. We danced from the bow to the stern and back again until his coppery scales broke the water and I could glimpse his silhouette. When I was finally able to steer him into Sean's broad net, I regarded my noble, scaled partner with a mix of awe and respect. He was magnificent, more than 30 inches of pure muscle and spirit. Scales the color of burnished copper with rosy orange undertones shaded to a white belly, and a single large black spot stood out in stark contrast at the base of his tail. Deep orange eyes and dark pupils accented a broad, golden head where the outline of the scales faded, as though sculpted from a vein of solid metal. Despite the thrill of the primal dance between human and fish, my favorite part was the release. It was a quiet, intimate, almost spiritual experience as I worked him back and forth in the water, saw his gills begin to move, and felt the subtle twitch of muscle and scale as he regained his strength. I watched him vanish and had barely gotten the adrenaline out of my system when my reel sang again with another powerful redfish, just as fierce a fighter and every bit the jewel as the one before. She took a little longer to revive, and I worked with her for several wordless minutes until she gave two strong kicks and slipped from my hands. By this time, we had worn out our welcome with the school, and the changing tides forced us back to the dock. I thanked Sean profusely for a most excellent day at Cabin Bluff and wondered how it could get any better. A thick fog lay over the water Friday morning but was quickly burned away by the rising sun, and I planned to fish with Capt. Toby Mohrman, one of Cabin Bluff's most seasoned guides. He has a great sense of humor that can turn positively wicked, and we clicked from the first handshake. "Here's why I like being a fishing guide," he told me as we pulled away from the dock. "One, I like talking to myself. Two, I like telling people what they're doing wrong and getting paid for it!" Toby specializes in light spinning tackle with popping corks and live shrimp, and we fished in small feeder creeks and shallow oyster reefs for seatrout and redfish. The morning started out promising with plenty of hits, and we had two sizeable seatrout in the cooler by lunchtime. We picked up the pace in the afternoon, never staying in one spot for long. We would try a site, decide we could do better, and set off again, fishing tidal creeks and oyster beds of all sizes. Toby kept the day exciting, and the shadow of Cumberland Island provided an idyllic backdrop. By the end of the day we had three dinner-worthy T he author makes a cast, then opposite, returns a redfish to the water. After an excellent fight, Carly smiles as her biologist side and angler side unite.