Three white egrets stood motionless in the background as an angler eased his way across the flooded Spartina grass flat, hunched over at the waist with a fly rod cocked in his right hand.

Thirty yards in front of him, a red drum was lazily feeding on the bottom, its tail fin seductively waving half out of the water and leaving ripples on the glassy surface like concentric circles on a target. After ignoring several casts, the fish lunged at the fly but missed the hook and sped away, easily traceable by the water and mud it displaced.

The fisherman, Gordon Churchill, uttered an expletive, then in a voice more elated than disappointed, said, "I did everything right!"

The scene was pure drama -- "Crouching angler, hidden drum" -- and it underscored the lure of such fishing: When high tides flood the marshy flats in the estuaries, sight-casting to "tailing" red drum can be as pure an angling experience as found anywhere.

Churchill, a Morehead City Middle School physical education teacher and coach, had met a fishing buddy, Lee Dunn, several hours earlier at a private boat ramp in Newport.

After launching Churchill's 16-foot Landau john boat, the two motored for while, waiting for the tide to flow. Churchill, who grew up in upstate New York and moved to the coast five years ago from Fuquay-Varina to be an inshore fishing guide, talked about his current favorite fishing gig, which includes far fewer clients than his ventures of years past.

"I just want to do the kind of fishing I want to do," he said with a shrug. "This is pretty specialized angling, and it starts with the boat."

The little Landau featured a poling platform over the Nissan outboard and a small casting platform on the front deck. A 20-foot Stiffy push pole, the main form of propulsion once fishing starts, was stored on the starboard gunwhale.

Simplicity was a hallmark throughout. Gear was stored in a rubber tub. A plastic trash can served as a stripping bucket for excess fly line. The outboard was a tiller model. Apparel was sound chic -- shorts and shirts you didn't mind staining or tearing. Tight-fitting shoes were a must to prevent their being sucked off in the mud.

Fly-fishing friends

Churchill, 40, and Dunn, 56, who said he is a "75 percent retired developer" who splits time among Beaufort, Nantucket, R.I., and Key West, Fla., met after Dunn read a letter that Churchill had written in the Op-Ed section of a local newspaper. A passion for fly-fishing cemented their friendship.

The two made small talk and cruised around the marsh as they waited for the spring tide and favorable drum-fishing conditions, which meant high water flooding Spartina grass flats where tasty fiddler crabs and small mullet would be hiding. In other places, such as southern Florida and the Caribbean, anglers ply gin-clear flats where permit, tarpon and bonefish can be spotted beneath the surface. The more turbid water of Spartina marshes require some help from the fish.

The conversation became more measured as Churchill and Dunn watched two men working a pair of gill nets strung on either side of creek entrance, leaving about 10 yards through which to navigate.

"I think every state on the Eastern Seaboard has outlawed [estuarial] gill-netting and trawling," Dunn said, shaking his head. "North Carolina is behind the times when it comes to gill nets.

Churchill added, "I don't think we should have any entanglement netting in the sounds at all."

In a few minutes, the pair came upon the first flat, and Churchill manned the push pole while Dunn readied his 8-weight, 9-foot L.L. Bean fly-rod.

"It's more like small-game hunting, moving along, seeing what you can see," Dunn said as he scanned the flats.

A test of patience

They didn't see much, at least during first two stops. At the third stop, a tailing drum disappeared before Dunn could present in earnest. Moments later, a second fish did the same. Still others were spotted and lost without time for an attempt.

As he poled the boat through the calf-deep water, Churchill talked about their quarry. A "tailer" -- a fish with its head down feeding -- is less likely to spook, but it also is less likely to see the fly. A drum swimming through the grass is a "crawler" -- more alert to danger but more apt to see the fly. The fish were surprisingly hard to spot in spite of the 20- to 30-inch size. Churchill's current favorite fly is a Kwan, which "looks like nothing in particular and lots of things in general" but is often thought of as a shrimp imitation.

As he stared out into the main river channel with boats flying by, Churchill said, "You could drive by this in a boat all of your life and never know this is back here."

The thought seemed to please him.

Easy it isn't

The last stop of the evening proved to be a true climax.

Churchill poled the boat into a flat and said, "Eleven o'clock," referring to what lay about 70 yards ahead. The tail fin and back of a drum lolled around the surface. That fish wouldn't bite.

Churchill, who has a gift for spotting these fish in a jumbled marsh, spied another and eased overboard to stalk them as Dunn took up the poling, staying well behind Churchill while scanning for other fish. It was dusk, and the din of insects and birds (including bobwhite quail and someone's pet peacock) added a soundtrack to his pursuit.

Churchill spotted another fish feeding next to a grassy hammock and again slowly eased his way into casting range, fighting a stubborn east wind while trying to cast to the fish. As Churchill worked, Dunn, perched high on the poling platform, could see three other drum, and he kept Churchill apprised of their movements as Churchill tried to work his way into a better angle, the soft bottom necessitating steady, slow movement. It was to no avail: The drum struck, but again there was no hook-up.

"Nobody ever said it was going to be easy," Churchill said to no one in particular. Sure, it was a catch-and-release venture for these two, but an angler had to catch before releasing.

He trudged back to the boat and poled the boat back toward the main channel. Having seen 16 fish through the evening, Churchill was happy with the pair's execution, if not the their results. He planned to try again the next night and looked forward to the fall.

"In September and October, the right high tides will happen in the middle of the day," he said, "and that adds an extra dimension to it."

Dunn, who spends much of his time fishing up and down the Atlantic coast, said with a grin, "This whole sight-casting thing ruins you for casting blind."