“Whatcha got there?” A friend shouted at me from the top of the dunes. “Don’t know, but it’s heading for Sandy Hook and I can’t stop it!” 

“Looks big and flat,” he observed, and his Jack Russell terrier added a furtive growl for punctuation. I was three minutes into a fight that was making me sweat, a pretty tall order because I was wet-wading waist-deep in 70-degree water. He repeated his observation, but I didn’t hear it clearly and the whine of my fly reel drag wasn’t making it any easier. I heard it as big and fat, so I was thinking of cobia. We had been getting shots at them in spurts since mid-July.  

“Cobia?”  I asked, as the rod pulsed and bent down into the test curve with the drag working overtime.”F-L-A-T! Like a big flat triangle,” he shouted out. From his vantage point, about ten feet above a gin-clear bay, he could see further out into the water.

“Cownose!” I shouted back.  “On a fly rod?  Well, that ain’t gonna end well,” he said as he walked away, laughing, while his dog let out a pert little bark. 

Now I knew what I was into, but how it was going to turn out was another matter altogether.  This was not my first cownose.  I have plenty of experience with them while shark fishing in the surf, while fluke fishing, and while in my kayak.  The difference was that I’d fought all those rays on spinning or conventional gear, and most of those rigs were pretty stout.  To land a cownose, you have to turn them fast and tire them out with the drag.  It can be done with an 11-foot surf rod, but with a 9-weight fly rod, things were getting hairy fast. 

Once I realized I was pinned to a 4-foot wide swimming wing that could reach a 5-knot cruising speed, the fight calculus and geometry changed considerably.  That’s when I went into “tarpon mode,” dropping and raising the rod tip at crucial moments during the fight, and using butt angles to force a head turn.  Working the drag with split-second changes on my large-arbor reel, I managed to tire the ray out enough that I could reclaim most of the backing I’d lost and even a bit of my running line.  

Cownose rays are runners and fighters, unlike their cousin, the Atlantic stingray.  I have watched stout rods, reliable reels, and strong fishermen break when an Atlantic stingray sticks itself to the bottom. If I’d had a stingray on the hook, I would have needed to cut the fly line and my losses.  And with fly-line prices these days, that loss would be steep.

In very shallow water now, the ray’s fins started to slap the water in a machine gun-like rhythm.  There was water everywhere, and the cownose was spinning around in circles.  I almost longed for it to start running—that I could manage, but this was chaos.  With a bit of skill and a lot of luck, I got the leader in hand.  My self-preservation instinct told me to cut the tippet and lose the fly.  My ego made it necessary to get a picture of this monster I’d just spent ten minutes fighting.  Fate had other ideas.  

After tightening on the leader, the ray took some gigantic flaps, which was all the tippet could manage.  It twanged like a broken guitar string, and I stumble-jumped backward, fully aware of the damage a ticked-off ray could do.  Three flaps, and it was gone.  I, on the other hand, was ready for more.

Native and common along the Northeast coast and bays, the cownose is a predatory ray closely related to the much larger manta, bat, and eagle rays.  They can be targeted by anglers using artificial lures or flies.  While the cownose ray’s primary diet is shellfish and crustaceans, they do feed on bony fish in shallow, warm waters.  This is an interesting bit of marine biology to note for those fishing Raritan Bay and other shallow Northeastern bays.

The sea robin, scourge of the fluke fisherman, spawns in July and August, with eggs hatching within a day or two after spawning.  This is exactly the time when large schools of rays begin patrolling the backwaters, so this information should help you develop a ray-specific fly box. 

When cownose are hunting, they often move in coordinated schools using their wing flaps to stir up the bottom and roust young sea robins, small fluke, crabs, and grass shrimp from their hiding places.  Then, using a plate that extends out, the rays hoover up their prey. Because cownose rays are primarily shellfish eaters, their mouths are toothless rock-crushers that can pulverize shells to dust.  Avoid getting anywhere near a cownose ray’s mouth … or its tail.

Despite lacking the official name, a cownose ray is a stingray in every sense of the word.  Its barb is located near the base of the tail inside a small pocket.  This is not a bee’s stinger but a projectile weapon that any angler handling a ray must take precautions against.  A good whip of the ray’s tail and the spine will launch and lodge in an angler.  The explorer, Captain John Smith, was nearly killed by a cownose ray’s spine after he caught one and it launched its barb at his leg.  While the barb itself is not something to play around with, it’s also covered in a pretty nasty toxin.  A cownose ray sting requires a trip to the emergency room, so anglers need to be prepared.  

A wet rag placed over the barb pocket is a good way to ensure it stays put.  Why, then, are these fish routinely put in touch tanks at aquariums?  Because the barb is easy to remove with a pair of pliers.  This does not harm the ray, and the spine will grow back.  While it might be tempting to take one as a trophy, it is not worth the risk.  Depending on an angler’s health and other factors, a sting could prove fatal.  Again, a wet rag is the best defense. 

Cownose rays are like every good surf fisherman: they hunt at dusk and dawn when their prey are more active and easier to catch.  At these times, especially dusk, they can be seen moving through the shallows in mid-size schools of four to eight, sometimes as large as 10 fish.  It can be disconcerting to wet-wading summer fishermen because, at the wrong angle, a school of eight cownose may look like sixteen sharks.  Less scary and much more fun to watch is the mating chase that sometimes happens alongside school feeding.  As part of the mating ritual, a male ray will chase a female ray (that’s swimming with her fins up) through very shallow water.  If you’re lucky enough to witness this, you will truly appreciate how fast these fish are.  A good-sized ray on a mating chase sounds like a small boat wake and tosses water just as far.

Despite their formidable jaws and poison-missile tail, cownose rays are relatively harmless unless disturbed.  They flee from wading fishermen rather than attack, but this does not mean a summer wading fisherman should not take precautions.  A spooked cownose may, inadvertently, whip its tail, and if you’re close enough, it will end your trip very quickly.  When I suspect rays are around, I shuffle my feet through the water and move very slowly, giving them time to get a safe distance away while still staying out of their tail range.  In murky water, I have been startled by rays that, had I not been shuffling, I would have surely stepped on.

A large, powerful predator that moves in schools and presents a relative air of danger when stalking and catching?  Can you think of a better target for a fly fisherman?

A cownose ray is a stingray in every sense of the word. Its toxin-covered barb is located near the base of the tail inside a small pocket. This is a weapon that any angler handling a ray must take precautions against. A good whip of the ray’s tail and the spine can lodge in an angler.

The sting from a cownose ray requires a trip to the emergency room, so anglers need to be prepared to handle them safely. A wet rag placed over the barb pocket is a good way to ensure it stays put.

Flies that can be worked along the bottom and kick up puffs of sand and mud are the most effective.

Summer means fluke in the shallows and I can’t resist a dinner with fluke on the menu, which is why I always tie a series of fluke flies and never hit the flats without them.  These flies tend to be weighted jig-hook flies in sizes 2/0 to 1/0.  For fluke, depending on water clarity and bait profile, I tend to use colors that range from chartreuse to spearing olive-over-white, but I have had great success with smaller rusty-brown, barred-black flies.  This is logical, given the spawning and hatching patterns of sea robins.  

It was my Tip-of-the-Spearing fly, size 2, in olive and white, that was sucked up by the first cownose I ever hooked.  Since then, if I want to test the drag of my reel and the rays are cruising, a modified version of that fly is the first one I tie on.  It is a simple pattern built on a Mustad 32833BLN 90-degree jig hook in size 2 with a bead chain and a fish mask.  The bead-chain weight allows the fly to fall slowly and gets the fly down to where the rays and the fluke do their best work. Modified Clouser Minnows and brown brush flies round out my cownose box. Whatever the style, cinnamon or brown marabou, grizzly hackles, and yellow flash are the main ingredients of all my ray-specific flies.  Color and profile matter, but what matters more is getting it down and moving.

Using their wings, cownose rays generate clouds of sand and mud, then shovel up any clams, oysters, or mussels they can find. This action sends bottom fish scurrying, and then cownose run down the fleeing fish.  This is why a jig fly, worked along the bottom and kicking up puffs of sand and mud, is so effective. You want to trigger a predatory response and get the ray to actively attack the fly.

I have fished with friends from down south, and they have something of an upper hand when we’re looking for rays because this fishing mimics the style employed when fishing for tailing reds.  When shallow wet-wading in the summer, look for swirls and fins.  You want to try to determine the ray’s line of travel and lead it by about three to four feet.  Water clarity will determine stripping speed—in clearer water, work things a little slower and shorter, which better imitates a smaller fish’s movements. In muddier waters, bigger and faster strips help get the ray’s attention.  

Size 2 may seem minuscule given the size of the fish you are after, but you are trying to imitate their smaller prey.  That said, size up your rod and reel considerably.  A 7-weight is perfect for midsummer fluke and bluefish, but it will be absolutely underpowered if there is a chance of running into rays, which is why I hardly ever fish lighter than a 9-weight rod.  

Incidentally, I am working on building two custom 12-weights for taking clients out who would like to target rays.  I do not find it ironic that I am recycling parts from three 9-weights that I have broken while fishing for rays.  It has to be noted that all three of these rods snapped while the ray was beached and not during the fight.  Two of them were wing-hooked and they torqued the rods while I was trying to unhook them.

You should pack a very large reel.  My go-to is the Redington Behemoth, and I have had a ray take me so far into the backing that I could see the arbor.  An intermediate sinking line works well to get the fly down to where the rays are feeding, and I upsize my tippets to 25-pound fluorocarbon when I am after rays.  Even though a good ray can top out at 50 pounds, the 25-class tippet is good enough for you to enjoy the fight, get the ray in, and unhook it without losing a fly. 

I also carry a heavy-duty rag.  As I mentioned before, the stinger of a cownose ray is nothing to play with.  To ensure safety when unhooking, I soak the rag and drop it on the stinger.  The weight of this is usually enough to prevent the ray from releasing its venomous barbed spear at you.

A chance at a broken rod, the risk of burning out your drag, guaranteed lost flies, and the slight risk of injury?  Why chase cownose rays with a fly rod?  For all of those reasons and so many more.  During the summer doldrums, long after the spring bass have migrated north, gator blues have shrunk down to cocktails and snappers, and the fluke get picky, cownose rays present a unique and exciting alternative.  They are fast, fun, and will take a fly.  A level of preparation is needed, though the adrenaline rush of hooking one for the first time is unmatched.  

Go hit that bay like a battering ram, find yourself a batoid, and hold on for dear life.