South Carolina Redfish: Running Away

Noah and I had heard quite a bit about the incredible fishing for redfish and speckled trout in South Carolina and had decided to try fishing the area around Hilton Head Island for a couple days. Getting there late in the evening the same day we'd cast at our last tarpon of the Florida trip we drove around scoping spots in an area neither of us had ever been, getting an idea of what we might be in for.

The water we'd be fishing looked incredible. The famous Lowcountry grass flats extended for miles and I imagined paddling slowly down them looking for tailing reds. We fell asleep in a rest stop with, as it would turn out, far more confidence in ourselves than we deserved to have.
We rose early and drove to a launch and were on the water as the sun rose.

There was a problem evident though as we fished. There wasn't much evidence of predatory fish. The was some very small bait, and we spooked some croakers out of the shallows, but we saw no evidence of trout, reds, black drum, or bluefish. We chalked it up to the spot and the tide and moved. 

Our move proved no more fruitful. With the tide bottoming out, we cruised back different sloughs hoping to see some reds. There was more life, but still not as much as we'd hoped to see. Mostly, there were stingrays... tons and tons of stingrays. More stingrays than I'd ever seen. Back one slough we did see redfish, or, more precisely, I saw two redfish. One was tailing briefly against the bank, the other one, a big bull, spooked. And that was it actually; those were the only two redfish we saw in South Carolina. I ended up catching a stingray up that slough, only my third ever but definitely the same species. But that was all that staved off the skunk.

With the sun now very high and the tide low but rising, we opted to bide our time and wait for the flood tide. We went to a park and wandered around a bit to see what sort of interesting things we could find in this unfamiliar territory. It was quite hot and the sun was harsh, so not much was out and active. After a bit Noah went back to the van to do some research, while I stayed out to try to find some snakes. I didn't, but I did find myself a new frog species, a Cope's gray treefrog.

Hyla chrysoscelis

When I got back Noah relayed what he'd learned. Basically, we were completely wrong about where fish would be and when, and with the tools at our disposal it was highly unlikely that we'd catch even one redfish. It as too early for flood tide tailers in the grass. There weren't good trout reports either. We had totally dropped the ball on researching what we were getting ourselves into and it looked very likely that we'd not be catching any of the species we'd wanted.
So we ran.
We ran away from South Carolina with our tails between our legs.
Our sights now were set on very different fish in Virginia.
But, South Carolina... we'll be back. Don't think you've beaten us just yet.

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

The Value of the Hand-twist & Figure Eight

There are a lot of ways to retrieve a fly and every retrieve has it place: a fast and erratic two-hand, a slow strip with pauses, full arm swing strips, the jerk-strip,  rod-tip lead... the list goes on and on. But one retrieve I use a lot and don't see as utilized as much by fly fishers in the northeast is the figure eight retrieve. It did not take me long after I started fishing still waters to figure out that a lot of fish were more likely to eat a fly retrieved at a continues pace with no substantial pauses, and though this can be achieved by lifting the rod at a steady pace when a short cast is made and by doing a slow rolling two hand retrieve on a long cast, but my choice retrieve when fish want a fly that never stops completely is the figure eight or hand twist. I rarely ever do a proper figure eight though, I just make a loop. With the line through a loose loop made by the pointer and thumb of my rod hand, I hold my hands close together, then pinch the line between the thumb and pointer finder, wrapping it around my pointer, then pull a loop into my palm with my other three digits. I then drop that loop while repeating the motion to make another. And over and over and over.... if that's hard to visualize, just try to do it anyway. If you can't figure it out, just keep trying... I did. I did until I found what worked for me and sometimes I did it for so long my hand would cramp severely from so much repetition. But I'm glad I figured it out because I've stood right next to other fly fisherman doing a different retrieve and caught fish consistently while they struggled to get any.

One scenario in which I'd be pretty much lost without this retrieve is early spring walleyes. The slow steady retrieve not only produces strikes but the constant contact with the fly makes it difficult to miss the extremely subtle bites. Often, all I feel is a vague sense of tension. I'll accelerate the retrieve then lift the rod and only then get a true sense of the fish's weight. These big predators eat tiny streamers with a subtlety akin to a brown trout eating an emerger.

To the point that these takes are subtle... walleye fights are all too frequently regarded as boring. That isn't typically my experience. The take does not match what follows. Do they hold up pound for pound compared to many other species? I have to say, some species, no, but you can't just skate them in on the surface either. They're big sweeping headshakes and short dogging runs never fail to get my heart pounding. So don't take what people who have only ever trolled walleyes say as gospel, they can indeed pull pretty hard.

Given their genetic closeness to walleye it shouldn't be surprising that yellow perch are duped by the hand-twist retrieve too. Actually, though in a different family entirely, it was white perch on which I perfected this methodology. And today, for my money, it remains the way to catch them. But I would be so lost without it fishing for trout in stillwaters, stripers feeding on small shrimp, crappies, bluegills, smallmouth... the list goes on for a while. This is a necessary tool in my arsenal and I infrequently see it utilized by other fly fishers in this part of the world. I never understood why.

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

Goodbye, Florida

As the sun set on our last evening in Florida and the mosquitoes chased us away from the still rolling tarpon, we prepared for yet another night of driving slowly down dirt roads for hours looking for snakes.

I had a sense of urgency to see something fantastic before we had to leave. So far we'd seen very common species. The first snake we saw wasn't uncommon, it was another moccasin, but a huge one. It was stalk still when the van came to a halt but not when we approached it on foot. The snake was already on the edge of the road so it didn't have far to go to get away. I quickly made a desperate bid to keep it from getting away, grabbing the fat, powerful pit viper by the tail, letting go when it turned, then grabbing again when it continued its getaway. By then it was deep in the tangle of vines and grass and there was no way I was pulling it out without getting bit so I dropped it again. That was a minor disappointment; though being the same species I'd already photographed a bunch of times in the prior two nights, it was the most impressive and intimidating one we'd seen and I adore big intimidating snakes as much as I adore little, colorful, completely charming ones.

That is what the next snake I saw in the road was... so small it was barely noticeable. It's lack of size had me excited as I also knew right away it wasn't a corn snake, so it must be something we'd not yet seen. I could hardly contain my excitement when I saw that it was a scarlet snake, a species I'd wanted to see for years. Then I could hardly contain my horror when I saw that it was dying, presumably from a run in with a previous car. Still alive but just barely, my first ever scarlet snake was just a reminder of the damage humans have done to this place. Such a perfect beautiful living thing, destroyed by humans simply having been present.

I decided we should carry it with us to see if its condition would improve at all. I hoped it would but doubted it.

Down the road, we saw an SUV pulled over and two girls our age shining a flashlight into one of the many pools of deeper water along the road. We stopped and I asked what they were were looking for. "Oh we're just checking shit out." one of the two replied. I laughed and replied "That's basically what we're doing too but mostly looking for snakes". They then asked if we knew how to find Burmese pythons, and said no... I gave my best answer which boiled down basically to no, not really, I wish we did.... I told them about the snakes we'd been finding and about the scarlet snake, and they wanted to see it. I went and grabbed it. Unfortunately it was in far worse condition so after showing them and explaining the difference between it and a scarlet kingsnake I gently placed it under a bush. I told the girls if they cruised slowly and stayed on the lookout they'd likely at least get to see a moccasin or two. We left them and could still see their headlights behind us when we found our next moc. We heard tight and made sure the snake didn't go anywhere while we waited for them to get to us. The snake was a good boy and didn't bite me while we waited for them to reach us. They were very excited to see it, and I was more than happy to share the experience with people who enjoyed it as much as I did.

That was our last everglades snake. It was a fitting end, and the reminder I needed after finding that dying scarlet snake that not all people are destructive and careless. Dinner was... well... I guess the next photo is at least somewhat self explanatory, maybe not the bolt cutters. But you get the idea.
Any food is good food on the side of a dirt road in the woods.

The next morning we rose before the sun to try and catch one last tarpon. The sun rose over Florida behind me as a 20 pound tarpon erupted on my gurgler, did a cartwheel, then tail walked 15 feet. I don't even know if I bowed, I was too busy watching the chaos unfolding in front of me, completely awe struck. The fish broke off. I wasn't even mad. 

An hour later, we turned the van off the Tamiami and pointed north. This time we wouldn't be turning around. We crossed my favorite river in Florida on a long bridge and I eyed the mangrove islands below. We crossed the sweltering spine of the peninsula and got on I-95. Then we drove to South Carolina. We'd said goodbye to Florida but the adventure was not yet over.
Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

Tamiami Tarpon

Like some sort of inanimate object come to life, a carved chunk of chrome or ice, a tarpon's head breached the surface. He was only a little one, one of the many silver princes that use the Everglades as their nursery before they grow large enough to join the cyclical migration. The tarpon, Megalops atlanticus, has the power to captivate anglers at any and all stages of it's life cycle. It's beauty, like a wildly oversized shiner, prone to going airborne in spectacular fashion, has a profound effect. I don't like to play favorites, and I routinely find the popularity of some fish overblown. Not so with tarpon... that an almost inedible fish managed to rapidly gain such a devoted following shows just how earned it was. They are the inshore sport fish, the ultimate, the worthiest of the praise they've so often been given. There is nothing disappointing about tarpon. Not one thing. Even these little jewels I was watching gulp air in the fading light of an Everglades spring eve made my heart beat a little bit faster and my breath become shallow.

When you've been fly fishing for different species as much as I have, you know how random a lifer can find it's way to you or how much time and effort builds up to it. Tarpon will forever be an outlier for me. I'd struggled many times to even get a look from one, had hooked and lost a couple and missed others incidentally, but that didn't feel like a buildup. My first tarpon ever came a mere handful of missed takes into our evening session. Though there was tenseness (there always is when I'm after a species I've wanted for years) I also had this sensation that this time it was going to happen, without question. I've never had that before, and it was a strange feeling. But when I finally connected and that little baby silver prince went airborne, I smiled and new I was about to hold my first ever tarpon. That feeling can't really be earned; these fish, even little, have an exceptional knack for parting ways with a fly. But somehow I just knew. And there I was, smiling down at one of the very few popular game fish that I actually considered one of my most wanted lifers. Caught on a gurgler at sunset in an Everglades backwater... to quote Jose Wejebe, referring to baby tarpon in his own way, "Nice, happy goodness". This little fish had no idea what it meant to me.

Atlantic tarpon, Megalops atlanticus. Life list fish #163. Rank: species.

Then, as if Florida wanted to give us exactly what we wanted on our final fishing evening, Noah and I started getting hit by tarpon left and right. He got his lifer shortly after I did then we both proceeded to miss, hook, lose and land a bunch more while darkness settled in and the mosquitoes started to take the stage. Topwater blasts left right and center. Silver princes going airborne. It was worth the wait to experience proper good juvenile tarpon fishing.

Like the small snook we'd been catching all day, I was deeply aware that these little tarpon were the fish of the future. In a day and age where my hope for the future is beat down left and right, these fish give me a glimmer of optimism. In 40 years who knows what the world will look like. I can't conceive of anything less than apocalyptic. Yet, just maybe, one of the very tarpon we released will make it's annual migration as a big adult, and maybe I'll be there to meet it.

A lot of people have called species like American shad "poor man's tarpon" or called tarpon giant shiners. I've grown to hate these sort of analogies with time. Each fish species is distinct, distinct enough to warrant a different a different last name, and though we fisherman may try to describe different species by alluding to others, it falls short. Having now caught tarpon, shad, and a variety of shiner species... tarpon are tarpon, shad are shad, and shiners are shiners. You have to catch each one to really get it. Tarpon had their hooks in me before I ever had a hook in one, and I'll be back after these fish that simply cannot disappoint.

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

Everglades Backwater Snook

The Everglades is the mother of all Florida snook and tarpon nurseries. The number of individuals of these species that use the shallow, often freshwater back channels of this incredible estuary is huge. Without the Glades, we may as we say goodbye to the best snook and tarpon fisheries in the U.S. 

The River of Grass, life force of south Florida and beyond. We lose this, we may as well give up completely. And folks... we are losing this.

Our finale full day in Florida dawned much like many others had: misty, vaguely cool, and calm. I went about my morning routine with the melancholy sense that time was limited. We'd been in Florida for literally weeks. We'd had our failures and our successes. We'd seen so, so much. And now it was just a day and a morning before we pointed the van north and said goodbye. I looked through the mist in the tree line, wishing I'd catch a glimpse of a panther, then breathed deeply and decided to pretend I was just going to stay here forever. As I sit here writing this, I wish I had. I wish could've found some dilapidated shack away from any prying eyes and let Noah go home without me. I might have gotten myself killed at some point in the time between then and now... hit by a car trying to save snakes or turtles in the road, dehydrating away on some distant island of trees, or maybe wrapped around a tree by a skunk ape... I might have ended up dying but I would have been the happiest I'd ever been I think. It took very little time in the Everglades for the pull to overwhelm me completely.

We headed west instead of east this day, aiming for waters with higher abundances of snook and tarpon than those we'd fished the day before. I'd gotten some tips from some friends on areas we might find juvenile tarpon but we'd already gotten well past dawn so the likelihood of finding them active was diminishing. We did see some roll in the first place we checked out but didn't move any. We then free-styled, hopping spot to spot as we had the day before, but this time the snook were the headliner.

It took some time for me to hit my stride and get into the snook, and it also took us a bit to get used to the fact that most times we saw fish rolling en mass from the van, it was gar not tarpon. Once you've seen enough rolls it's easy to discern the difference while standing on the bank, but not so from a moving vehicle. 

At one of our western most stops, I watched snook popping over and over on the other side of a fenced in dam. Eventually I could resist no longer, I skirted around the fence and made my way out the wall as unassumingly as possible. Yes, I am indeed admitting to trespassing... please don't follow my example. But there's only so much of listening to those loud pops that I could take and it looked safe enough. There was water coming over the dam at more than a drip in only one spot and that's where all these snook were stacked up. Casting a Clouser into the foam and letting it fall resulted in jarring takes, and I caught five snook in very quick succession before sneaking back to the bank and tying not to look too guilty. 

We continued to bounce around hoping to suddenly luck into a pile of juvenile tarpon. In one spot I had a definite take from one, but again the rollers were predominately Florida gar. 

Them we stumbled into quite the snook nursery. Noah caught the first, and we were both blown away by just how tiny it was. We proceeded to catch a bunch of tiny baby snook out of this spot and it was an absolute joy. 

We hit some midday doldrums after that. I hooked and lost some tilapia, I'm not sure what species, potentially something new, then managed to coax a Nile tilapia off a bed. That was a new species for me.

Nile tilapia, Oreochromis niloticus. Life list fish #162. Rank: species.

We messed around aimlessly for a while, back tracking and hitting spots we already had, not really getting onto anything significant, until later when the tides and light began to change things and we found willing snook again. 

(note: DO NOT hold snook even a little bit larger than these vertically as Noah and I are in this photo, their jaws don't support their body weight well.)

None of the snook we caught in the Everglades were big, and they didn't satiate my need for a giant snook on the fly. But they filled another need. These are Florida's future big snook. They're a sign that we haven't completely ruined this place yet. The Tamiami, despite our best efforts, continues to produce good light tackle snook fishing. Is it anything like it must have been years ago, days when Flip Palot, Chico Fernandez and other drove these same canals before the road along them was paved, sight casting to snook from a pickup? No. And it will never be that way again. But it isn't dead yet. And I needed to know that.
As the sun dropped even more we new we had to find some tarpon. We headed to some known water, then something really special transpired. 

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon.