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.

Non-Photographers Photography Trip

Photography is an art that I have never even whiffed mastery of, even for a minute. So when Kent Klewein of Gink and Gasoline and I hit the river last saturday (without our photographer friends in tow), we figured it might be a good time to flex our own makin’ picture muscles. All I can say is that Lightroom is a helluva program…and a brown is a helluva trout.

– Dave

Livin’ High On The Hog With Gink and Gasoline

Kent and louis, our co-conspiring contributors over at Gink and Gasoline, made it up last week for a few days of fishing and general debauchery. Laughs were had, hooks were removed from both fish and human, and we all hugged a lot at the end…kind of like your family reunions, I’m sure. Look for a bunch of content from this trip coming your way over at the boys’ blog. Until then I made Steve take some pics as usual. Happy Monday.

Fishing Is Fun

Someone once told me that when you throw your proverbial Tilley hat into the fly fishing industry ring, you will fish less than  you ever have. I hate it when someone is right. We took a SCOF field trip to the S. Hoslton yesterday, and it turns out the trout are still there. We even got to touch some of them. We like touchin’ em.

– Dave

Hogs Love The Mud

Ran up to the S. Holston on Friday, with Scotty from Low Country Fly Shop, on what can only be called a marginal generation schedule. The lesson here is that high water ramps suck on low water, and the other lesson here is that Hog Island Boats don’t require ramps.

– Dave

The Little Red Likes To Cough Up Some Big Browns

We finally made our way though our Arkansas pics. These pics are the best of the rest that aren’t going to be in the winter feature (january release by the way). I think it pretty much goes without saying that Arkansas was good…real good. We want give a special shout out, roller rink style, to Jamie Rouse and Matt Milner of Jamie Rouse Fly Fishing Adventures, as well as the fellas over at Fat Possum Hollow for making our first time in Arkansas gentle yet awesome.

– Dave

A Pause For The Cause…A Couple Days In The Low Country

Got back last night from a two-day “business” trip down to the low country. Got to hang out and fish with a bunch of good folks including (but not limited to): Capt. Paul Rose, the dudes from Low Country Fly Shop, Mad Mike Benson, and some dude that after a few cocktails was very convincing in his role as Gary Busey…I later found out he was not Gary Busey…he wasn’t even Nick Nolte for that matter. The next question is, “How was the fishing?”. Well, it sucked if you must know. Two days…one rat….and a whole lot of blind casting. The fish were there, the wind blew, and the sun was much like a set of pasties…just enough to get you excited, but never really giving you what you want in the end. The more salt I fish, the more it seems that I am the unluckiest man on the planet, and also that the weatherman must pay for his incompetance…pay dearly. Like all road trips though, good times were had, and the people you meet stick with you a lot longer than the fish you catch…oh yeah, and my liver hurts. Enjoy some pics with very few fish.

– Dave

Up and Down Is Never A Good Thing In Albie Fishing

Just got back from our foray into the NC Albie scene. From all accounts this has been a tough October for Albie fishing. Storms, wind and fish that don’t sit still have made at least one Captain, we heard on the radio, state that he’d probably have better luck going Trick-or-Treating.  We got on them just long enough for some fish to make it in front of the cameras, and for me to remember what it’s like to get yelled at by someone who knows a shitload more about fishing these things than I do. Thanks to the Harker family for treating us like a part of the family with great food, wine and one hell of a fast boat. Also, we would like thank Sam “Jackrabbit” Sellars for showing us how it’s done on the Crystal Coast. Here are some pics that aren’t going to be in the issue (Coming out next Monday), but are pretty finger lickin’ good in their own right.

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Life According To Carp

Made it out yesterday with Ryan to chase some Goldfish around a lake. I have never looked down on my Carp chasing friends, but I wouldn’t exactly say I got it either. I got it now, and it really itches in the strangest of places. Here are some pics from my uncharted territories.

Currently being haunted by the ten pounder that came up nothing but air,

– Dave