I check all manner of human knowledge on my pocket sized human-knowledge-apparatus. It looks like beach season is officially here. The powers that be are calling for 1-2 foot surf all week. slightly cloudy but the Atlantic should be glass with this light west wind. Driving straight from work I pull into the park and can hardly wait to unlace my boots and initiate the frantic ritual I do as often as possible on week days during summer months. Although it takes 5 minutes tops, it seems like an eternity as I shimmy off my jeans in the drivers seat and lace up my boardies. I step out to assemble my 9 weight and feel a few rain drops on my back. Doubt creeps in. Afraid to look up and risk losing hope, I conclude the ritual by filling up my water bottle. In typical Florida fashion I feel the sun wash over my shoulders as I lock up my trusty steed.

I look up to the sky thankful to see what might be a decent day. I briskly walk down the trail and through the sea grapes. My heart warmed by the glassy blue-green water for the first time since last season. I reach the foot of the surf and look south, slightly disappointed by the by the smattering of condo dwellers uniformly dispersed down the beautiful shoreline. I don't like to fish near people, but I will certainly dodge a few yankees on inner tubes if there are fish around.

Before I can even get past the first couple walking towards me, a male snook shows up inches from the dry sand, swimming parallel to me. I act casual, as an out-of-towner walking with no fly rod. Unable to resist, I lay the fly in front of the fish, a little too close for comfort for the approaching couple. Half-expecting a comment or protest, it never comes. But the snook does come. Flashing his jowls on the second strip, I feel him momentarily before the line goes limp.

I move past the couple. Moments later another male appears as a tern sails over my head. the snook and I are both alerted by the bird’s shadow and trajectory. Fish and fowl both crash a single sardine in a foot of water. The tern arises with the bait fish as the snook swims back towards the break empty handed. I strategically place my fly on the other side of the break, where I anticipate the male to appear. As the foam clears my eyes pick out my fly, brushing the snooks back. He reacts by tying himself in knot and snapping at the intruder.

I figure the fish are feeding up shallow and mostly swimming north. I plan to stay high on the dune and cover ground. I get a few more shots but no feeds before I lose sun. I turn around to discover a large storm cell moving offshore between me and the parking lot. The squatters have all ran for cover and abandoned their rainbow colored shanties. I decide to wait it out. The cell is all but offshore already.

As I wait for the sun to re-emerge, I cant help but miss it. It flirts with the cloud cover, momentarily converting the Atlantic from grey to emerald. As the condos engorge with people, I have the beach to myself.

Surely God made the sun to illuminate big, broad shouldered predators, cruising in search of morsels in clean shallow water. And surely he made this handful of parks sprawling publicly along the Atlantic just for me.

God’s great sun came out again and I was met promptly by a cruising school of three males. They seemed to all see the fly at once. They fought each other until the victor had my fly in his jowls. I come tight, again momentarily. The snook headed for Cuba and my line went limp. Reminding me to keep fly line taught in the rolling surf.

My heart is pounding in my throat. I thought myself to be above getting riled up by small male snook, but he would have been the first of the season. I look down at my trembling knees slightly embarrassed. I have never given much thought to the phrase “the tug is the drug.” especially when adorned by bumper stickers or t shirts. But damn it, that's a true statement.

How else do you explain staring into the surf for hours, hoping to only glimpse a fish? Let alone feed one. Further still to land one. Just to let it go? All is right with the world after fish have been caught. Big or small. Although the euphoria is less fleeting if the fish are big.

The clouds are back. And I haven't seen a fish in a while. I keep scanning until the wind switches from the west to the north. Howling cold in my face and peeling foam from the cresting waves. Drifting across a landscape of white caps. As if to agree with my watch, that the fishing is done for today. As I find shelter back in the sea grapes, I am already giddy about tomorrow. Summer is here.