In the middle of a boiling bluefish blitz off the coast of Nantucket . . . Casting to bonito ripping up bait in an inlet . . . Searching for seatrout and reds amidst the windswept beaches of the Outer Banks . . . To snook and tarpon lying near the tangled mangroves . . . In the glare and the pristine beauty of the bonefish flats . . . In the bluewater eddies of the Gulf Stream . . . In these magical places, and many others, the saltwater fly rodder plys his trade. In his hand, the coiled line, stripping, stripping, ready for the strike. At the end of the line, a fly; a feathered hook to tempt the most awesome denizens of the brine.