SCOF Winter 2016 “Bless Your Heart” Issue Is Live


The Winter “Bless Your Heart” Issue has rolled into town with legs and arms akimbo. The new issue is brimming with content hot enough to vanquish the doldrums of winter, and rhetoric ballsy enough to slap a grown man in the face. We’re also giving away a Vedavoo/SCOF co-lab TL Beast sling. The rules are up on Facebook for the contest, and as always the issue is free for the people.


6 Rules for the Seat Next to Mine



A good many of us will hit the road this season in search of far-off destinations to chase fish with fly. While I can’t control the success of your trip, I can make the drive there more tolerable for the most important person in the car: the driver. For too long people have called shotgun without really thinking about what the job entails, and yes it is a job. If you want to be lazy, sit in the back and keep your mouth shut. If you’re going to sit up front, you best act like you deserve it. Here are some rules for your role on the road.

1. No sleeping, unless consent is given by the driver. If I don’t get to sleep behind the wheel, so neither do you.

2. Handle all navigation. This has gotten a lot easier with GPS, but if we get lost, I’m looking to my right because it is your fault.

3. Handle all musical requirements. This does not mean play whatever the hell you want. I don’t care how awesome the new track is you just downloaded. The driver has veto power in these situations.

4. No long, dramatic phone calls with your wife/girlfriend. Everyone in the car is in the doghouse with their significant other for the mere act of leaving. We don’t need to hear the aftermath of your “abandonment” the whole way there. This rule also holds for the opposite. Nobody wants to hear you cooing to your girl, and emasculating yourself for the sake of love. It’s a fishing trip for f’s sake.

5. Don’t look scared while I drive. There is nothing worse than looking over from the driver’s seat and seeing your passenger white knuckling in the face of imaginary impending doom. If you don’t like the way I drive, keep it to yourself. I’m driving.

6. Last but not least, it is your job to apply all mayonnaise to my cajun chicken biscuits (same goes for hot sauce and steak biscuits). I would do it myself, but I’m driving.

With these few simple rules, I’ll be more than happy to drive any of you anywhere…

~ Dave

Here Musky…Here Musky, Musky

The 2015 Hardly, Strictly Musky Southern Classic has come and gone once again. This year was one for the books, folks. In no small part because we won, and won big. A 49.5-inch musky big. Our former intern (new title still to be determined) Clifton Alan Broyhill finally fulfilled the potential we saw in him all those many years ago when we hired him (with no pay) to clean the SCOF bathroom, and sealed the deal by sticking the fish we are now calling Musk-a-tron, on the second day of the tournament. We are usually the first ones to say that the tournaments we are involved in aren’t about winning and losing…it’s about the camaraderie of like-minded individuals…or some other campfire bullshit that people say when they lose.

Now that we won, we’ve realized how awesome winning is. Way better than losing…way better. Other than SCOF taking home the prize, the Southern Musky Classic was bigger and better than it’s ever been. Todd Gregory and the boys at Towee Boats worked harder than anyone we know to make sure a good time was had by all, which this year meant 80 anglers from 17 states all went home on Sunday with shit-eating grins, making plans for next year’s tournament. Some of the highlights this year (besides us winning…did I mention we won?) were Buddy McMahon’s musky mural, Pig Farm Ink’s Get Trashed river cleanup, and most importantly getting to hang out with all the fine Southern musky degenerates who congregate in McMinville, Tenn., every year. Also, on a side note, I had a half-pound burger stuffed with grilled shrimp, a new personal burger milestone. While winning is sweet — super sweet — I guess it is true that just participating in this unicorn tournament is like taking a gold medal in the shit show that is the life of a southern musky fly flinger.

– Dave


Victory Is Ours…And It Tastes Like Chicken

Remember last week when I asked everyone to write a letter on behalf of Save the Headwaters of the E. Fork of the French Broad? They must have gotten the point because in an epic Wildlife Board of Commissioners Meeting, they did the old political flippy floppy and came down in favor of acquiring this 8,000 acre tract of trout heaven:

Wildlife Commission Pledges Support for East Fork Headwaters

RALEIGH, N.C. (Nov. 4) – The Commissioners of the N.C. Wildlife Resources
Commission unanimously passed a resolution Thursday, pledging the agency’s
support for the management and stewardship of the East Fork Headwaters, an
8,000 acre tract of biologically diverse land in Transylvania County.

During meetings on Wednesday and Thursday, the Commission agreed to manage the
land if the Conservation Fund raises the money to purchase it. The Conservation
Fund, a nonprofit land protection organization, is under contract to purchase
the East Fork Headwaters Tract for $33 million.

“This land is highly desirable for protection and public use, and is truly
multipurpose,” said Gordon Myers, executive director of the Commission.
“The N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission supports The Conservation Fund’s
effort to effectuate long-term conservation of this valuable resource.”

The East Fork Headwaters tract is the largest privately owned tract remaining
in far western North Carolina and is home to several waterfalls, 50 miles of
trout streams and nearly 10 miles of the Foothills Trail where it enters North
Carolina. The site contains exceptional recreational opportunities for public
hunting, fishing, hiking and other outdoor pursuits. The land is also
biologically valuable, containing habitats for a number of species listed in
the Wildlife Action Plan.

This landmark environmental victory just proves the point that one person can make a difference…if that one person is me…I rule.


P.S.  After discussing it with my wife and Steve I would like to say that, there might have been some other people involved in Saving the E. Fork Headwaters and I guess they deserve some credit, too…I guess.

The French Broad Is A Filthy Whore

The French Broad I am referring to is not that piece of strange you picked up on your vacation after graduating college (although judging from the laundry list of STD’s my buddies came back with, those girls aren’t exactly church going folk). The French Broad I refer to is our local urban smallmouth fishery, which has remained filthy in terms of garbage and water color for going on the whole season now. Guiding smallmouth on the French Broad this season was like taking repeated kicks to the groin from my one-year-old. Not something I enjoy, but inevitably it happens over and over again.  In commemoration of our  last trip of the year on the Broad, SCOF’s inappropriate T-shirt designer, Steve, came up with this gem of a tee to sum up most folks’ feelings on the Broad this year.

Unfortunately, this sentiment seems work all the way around for the French Broad, from the people who abuse it to the people who try to make a living on it. Now I know this bullshit is not limited to our urban fishery, as the words “urban fishery” have become synonymous with water that is just as likely to dole out a staff infection as it is an enjoyable day of fishing, but you gotta start somewhere. At this point, I am left with a decision to make: keep on pissing and moaning about how much the Broad sucks for another season, or to do my small part in trying to salvage what we can from the fishery. I usually go the pissing and moaning route as it involves less actual work on my part, but things have gone too far. I am now an official French Broad whistle-blower.

Beware developers who don’t implement proper erosion controls…your ass is, as they say, grass. Be warned hillbilly depositing your tires in the river to avoid the ten-dollar disposal fee…I see you. Armed with nothing more than my trusty camera phone and a list of environmental nazi contacts, I plan to fight crime from very far away and without actually confronting you. What I will do is get your license plate number, and like an old lady, phone it in to the authorities. My brand of justice may not be swift or painful, but what it lacks in these areas it more than makes up for in girlishness. Think the Monkey Wrench Gang meets Murder She Wrote…Wrongdoers, your day has come.

– Dave