The Sea Was Angry That Day My Friends….

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We hope everyone had a good Memorial Day weekend, and that the hangovers and sunburns aren’t too bad (just bad enough to know you acted irresponsibly). While you stew in your own filth this fine Tuesday, I thought I might regale you with some behind the scenes SCOF tales to make the rest of your four-day work week just a tad more palatable. In case any of you were unaware, we here at SCOF actually fish for our content. With other jobs and families, we really don’t have time to fish a year ahead for content. So almost everything you see in an issue probably went down in the three months prior to that issue’s release. We love producing content this way, but the time crunch and pressure to produce can be a bear…sitting on your chest…taking a dump.

So last week Steve and I found ourselves in Charleston, trying to get some cobia and amberjack on film for a feature in the next issue. The plan was to run off shore and start checking the buoys as one does when pursuing blue water species. Since neither Steve nor I know the slightest thing about this style of fishing, we enlisted the help of a couple of local friends to  show us what it’s all about. Let’s call one of these friends Bobcat, and the other one John. John being the most important one because he had a very nice boat.

Let’s not gloss past the boat. The boat was awesome. Two hundred horses of awesome. It looked huge sitting on the ramp. On the way out to the jetty in what I now know to be light chop, we stayed dry and comfy while blasting Widespread Panic on the loudest boat speakers I’ve ever heard. It wasn’t until we got to the jetty that I realized the boat was small, real small…and also wet, very wet.

The weatherman had predicted 5-10 mph winds, and 2- to 4-foot seas all week, right up until the moment we got on the boat. Then it turns out he changed his mind to 15- to 20-mph winds, 10-foot seas, and riptide warnings. The weatherman is a dickhead. The next one I meet face-to-face is getting kicked in the junk. Repeatedly. So if any of you out there are weathermen, I’d suggest wearing a cup. If you are female, I will hoof you in the front butt. But I digress.

Once we hit the jetty, shit got real. We were no longer flying across the water on 200 horses — we were puttering on more like three mules. Waves were coming over the bow and the horizon was bobbing and weaving like a drunkard. This however did not deter us from pushing on for what seemed like 37.5 hours but was probably more like two. I mean we were already there, right? Might as well check the buoys. We kept on checking buoys, and kept on seeing nothing. It’s not like we could’ve made a cast safely anyway, the way the boat was pitching. On our way to the last set of cans (ironically the cans that were holding fish all week supposedly), Steve’s queasy battle with the ocean came to a head, and almost a puke. Not wanting to see our little buddy tortured any more than absolutely necessary, we turned tail and ran back in with our rods between our legs.

Plans “B” through “Z” were discussed and eliminated due to wind and the hungover sea. Luckily a tailing tide was happening that evening and proper day drinking could be accommodated. The moral of this story is that just because we run a fishing magazine, doesn’t mean all of our trips are awesome with perfect conditions. And no, you won’t be seeing a cobia story in the next issue.

Catching Up

When you take a blog hiatus, like I have the past couple weeks, coming back is always kind of awkward. Soooo…what’s been goin’ on with y’all. Oh, us?… not much…that rash finally cleared up…yeah that pretty much does it.  I forgot, we did co-sponsor the Carp Cup in Knoxville a couple of weeks ago with our buddies at 3Rivers Angler. It was an eleven on a debauchery scale of 1-10. Brent Golden pretty much dominated the thing taking the team  win and big fish…asshole. Keep an eye out in the Fall issue for the full tournament recap.

We also have been adding staff here at SCOF (no small feat when you can’t pay anybody) and would like to welcome Thomas Harvey, who a lot of you know as one our main fly tying contributors, and also from such Facebook pages as Carolina Fly, Thomas Harvey Loves Puppies, and My Fiance Is Way Too Hot For Me. Thomas will be taking over as SCOF social media director, so if you follow us across the intra-web, you’re bound to run into him sooner or later. Say hi, he likes virtual hugs.

I promise I’ll be back on here more frequently than I have been as of late, but I promise a lot of things.

– Dave

Roll The Sausage Making Music

It’s good to have friends no matter who they are. It’s especially god to have friends that are super f’n talented. The fellas from Gink and Gasoline came up a few weeks ago for some fishing and some of the most interesting shots we got were of two pros working. Kent and Louis have combined for a lot of famous cover shots of magazines (I’m talking about real magazines here, ones that people, including myself, actually pay for), and Louis even managed to get our buddy Murphy onto a national magazine cover with one of his shots, despite the fact that Murphy looks like a cross between a mexican wrestler and a sasquatch…a sasquachador if you will. We were thinking about using this as a feature in the magazine at some point, but then our seventh grade girl teeny bopper fanaticism about these fellas work might seem a little odd. So here it is, How the Sausage Is Made…Photos by Steve.

– Dave

Here Redfish, Redfish

Got a dispatch from SCOF saltwater contributor, Tucker Blythe, the other day.  After a very convincing argument (involving venn diagrams, bar charts, and plenty of photographic Redfish evidence), Steve and I are heading down Charleston way at 3:30 am to be at the marina by 9 am and knock out the spring issue Redfish feature.  By this time tomorrow I expect to be elbow deep in a school…that doesn’t sound right, does it? Check out the report from Tucker’s friends over at Salty Shores:

I had the opportunity to ride down to Charleston yesterday and fish with friends Tucker Blythe ( )& Guitou Feuillebois. We fished an area Tucker had been scouting about an hour south of Charleston. The weather was finally beautiful after several days of wind/rain. I almost forgot what it was like to fish unpressured redfish. We hit a couple of Tuck’s go-to spots and some new areas where birds were working glass minnows. It seemed like every place we stopped we would spot a school of fish before somebody could even climb up on the platform. We ended the day with 15 nice redfish and watched every one of them scarf the fly (thanks to some great water clarity).  There’s a lot of people fishing the shallows these days and increased pressure will eventually shut a school of fish down. Don’t keep wearing-out the same school of fish – keep exploring and trying new areas. Once you find fish that haven’t been repeatedly blasted with cut bait, the pay-off will be totally worth the effort you put into it.

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You can find the full story here. All the photos are courtesy of J. Nelson.

– Dave


Between guiding, family,and every other obligation society can pile on my back like a pack mule I can’t spend 12 hour days on my favorite tail waters three times a week like I used to.  I still get out more than most but recently I have been trying to find a river close to home that would be more appropriate for nooner fishing. “What is nooner fishing?”  you may ask.  Well it is not trolling for strange at your local bait shop like the phrase might suggest (although let me state here that there is no finer strange then bait shop strange…at least that’s what the kids say).  Nooner fishing is sneaking out to a river close enough to home that you are not gone half the day but can actually get an hour and a half session in on the water without having to pay for it in blood and flesh.  I mean you love your family but everybody needs a little action on the side.  Mine just happens to be a skinny little thing less then twenty minutes from the house.

– dave