This past Monday July 27th at 5:00 a.m. Dead low tide. Not a breath of wind. The air felt warm and soft. I stood at the top of the beach for a second before walking down, just taking it in. The water temp had to be pushing 70 degrees, maybe warmer.
I'd only brought one rod with me — the 9-weight, rigged with a sinking line and a crab fly tied by one of our own MFCC members, Cooper Mark. No spinning rod. No backup plan. Just fly gear, on a beach built for exactly this kind of morning.
The 9-weight Redington and Grande reel, rigged and ready.
The Tip That Started It All
Here's the thing about being part of a community like this one — sometimes the best intel doesn't come from your own scouting, it comes from someone else's. Another MFCC member had mentioned rumors of bass showing up at Nantucket Sound beach shown in the map below, and that was all I needed to hear.
This particular beach has long sandy flats, gentle bars, and crystal clear water. It's the kind of skinny water that turns striper fishing into something closer to permit fishing in the Keys.
So at 5:20 a.m., I was on the sand, scanning.
Aerial view looking east, with expansive sandy flats stretching alongside the shoreline.
The wide flats, with an angler wading the shallows and the Cape's southside shoreline in the distance.
Bonefish Flats, Cape Cod Style
Around 5:40, I saw it. Not a splash. Not a blow-up. Just the faintest wake — the kind of disturbance you'd miss entirely if you weren't already staring at that exact stretch of water — cutting through maybe a foot of water, thirty feet off the beach. A striped bass, cruising, unhurried, completely unaware it had just become the center of my entire morning.
A solitary striper cruising through the crystal clear shallows.
A closer, different angle of that same cruising striper.
I want to be honest about what that felt like. For a second, I wasn't on the Cape. I was somewhere in the Bahamas, hunting a ghost across a bonefish flat, heart rate climbing. That's the gift of a morning like this — the water was so clear and so calm that the hunt became visual.
I put the crab fly in front of it. Clean cast, soft landing, right in the zone. Nothing.
The Ones That Wouldn't Eat
That became the story of the entire morning. Not one bass — dozens. Singles cruising the sandbars, and every so often a school of ten or twelve fish moving together through the shallows like they owned the place. Some of those fish were genuinely big — a few perhaps pushing 40 inches, gliding through a foot of gin-clear water in broad daylight. It's rare to see fish that size in that little water during broad daylight.
And I presented to as many of them as I could. Same result every time. The fly would land right where it needed to, drift or strip exactly as it should, and the fish would just... continue on. Not spooked. Not aggressive. Just completely disinterested, like they'd already eaten and were simply enjoying the flat.
Cooper Mark’s crab fly, held up against the flats. Perfectly presented all morning, and still no takers.
I talked to a few other guys out there that morning — fly fishermen and spin guys both — and nobody, not a single person on that beach, put a fish in the sand. It wasn't just me missing something. The bite, whatever triggers it, just wasn't on.
What the Drone Saw
Here's where the morning turned from frustrating to something I'll remember for a long time. I got the drone up and captured some of the most beautiful footage I've shot all season — stripers gliding over white sand in water so skinny their backs were nearly breaking the surface, their shadows stretched out beside them like something out of a nature documentary.
From above, you could watch entire schools moving down the beach in formation, unbothered, seemingly just resting up and not feeding on anything in particular.
A school of bass seen from high above, resting together in the shallows.
A closer look at that same resting school.
What I'd Do Differently
I'm not sure if this would have worked, but I think fishing a dead squid on the bottom might have gotten a bite. I've had good luck with that exact move before, in situations just like this one — finicky, sated fish that won't touch anything moving but will still pick up something they can smell without expending any effort.
The Long Walk Back
Drone view looking west toward the parking lot, with the quiet dune grass glowing green in the soft early-morning light.
I stayed until about 9 a.m. — nearly four hours on that beach — and I was still seeing fish when I finally called it. That's the part that gets me. It wasn't a short window. It wasn't a fluke sighting. There were bass along the beach all morning long, comfortable, visible, and completely uninterested in eating.
I thought about coming back with the squid. Realistically, I know my schedule won't let me get back down to this spot again anytime soon. But I'll be thinking about those fish — and that crystal-clear, bonefish-flat water — for a while.
Some mornings, the win isn't putting a fish on the sand. It's watching a 40-inch striper glide past your boots in a foot of water and realizing how lucky you are to witness it at all.
Tight lines 🎣!
Ryan
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Ryan Collins
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Glad you enjoyed the report Mark. Your mom is right.
Your report shows the beauty of the Cape. It reminds me of my Irish Mom’s phrase….Every day is a gift.
Great video.
Glad you enjoyed it. Beautiful water and bass.
I had a similar experience at Morris Island a few years ago. 40”+ fish swam a rods length from me in crystal clear water and was not bothered by me in the slightest! That adrenaline rush is tough to describe and will keep me going back until my body won’t let me do it any more. Thanks for the write up Ryan!
Glad you enjoyed the report Ken. It is definitely one of the coolest things in striped bass fishing, when you see a big fish cruise by in super shallow clear water. It’s awesome just seeing them! Hooking up is a bonus.
Fresh sand eels or live Calico Crabs like in Ryan’s blog post from a few years ago might work.
While fly fishing the flats of North Monomoy I once met a guy who was fishing with fresh sand eels. We fished together for a while while walking the flats and he would hook up regularly. Me, not so much.
Good tips Dex. Thanks! I think bait would have had a much better chance for sure.