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

 

SCOF HISTORY: FEAR AND LOATHING ON THE CUMBERLAND PLATEAU

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SCOF_spring2012_fear and loathing


FEAR AND LOATHING ON THE CUMBERLAND PLATEAU
MUSKY WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP 2012

By David Grossman
Photos: Steve Seinberg
Southern Culture On the Fly
Issue No. 3: Spring 2012


Insanity:  Doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. ~AlbertEinstein

This is some medieval stuff we got goin’ on here. Tribes of warriors in pursuit of a mythical beast, armed with nothing more than a 10 wt and an exploding chicken lashed to a hook. The stage is Middle, Tenn. The supporting cast is made up of what can only be called a different breed of freaks (or musky fly fanatics), but the real star of the show is Mr. Muskellunge himself. That is if you think a star should only show up in fleeting moments of butt-clenching, and then disappear just as quickly, leaving his adoring fans mumbling, “Did that just happen? Anybody have a wet wipe?”

Cast…cast…cast…If you cast long enough at nothing, will nothing finally eat?…And if nothing does eat, how would you take a picture?…Cast…cast…cast…Has anyone considered the lunacy of having a world championship for a beast that only exists in the nightmares of small children and poodles?…Cast…cast…cast…What did Brad Bohen mean when he told me, “It’s the chickens man, the chickens.” I thought we were talking about hackles…Cast…cast…cast…Where did that 40-plus-inch fish come from?…Strip…strip…He seems to be following…Figure eight…He’s so close I could touch him with Murphy’s junk…Figure eight…Why won’t he just eat…Half a figure eight…Where did he go?…That is the closest we will ever come to calling ourselves world champions…Cast…cast…cast…I wonder if everybody from Wisconsin is nice and insane at the same time?…Cast…cast…cast.

After casting wet socks for the seven hundredth time in less than an hour, I think I spot what I believe to be a blue unicorn, or it could have been a really tweaked out largemouth, but I’m sticking with the blue-horned equine. I figure if there are blue unicorns in the hole, there must be a musky….figure eight….figure eight…a figure ten would be bad ass…I mean if eight is good, ten is like eleven…we have to move spots…no respectable musky would live in this shit hole.

I am starting to believe that this ramp at the Cane River is more elusive than the musky and the Sasquatch that delivered our pizza last night combined…while those cows do look delicious, I think they might be too fast for us. Following people to the ramp makes me happy, because this place is getting a little too freaky for someone of my delicate nature…was that a bat or a flying rat? If I drive the boat as fast as possible down river, and as slow as possible up river, I think we have a shot at winning this thing.

This many musky dudes in the same hotel room is probably illegal, or at least against some of the Days Inn by-laws, code, or regulations. When that guy said he was going to bring “pie”, the last thing I thought he would show up with is actual pie. I respect a certain level of literal interpretation, I suppose. Wasn’t there an after party we should be attending?…OK, more pie, then we go…Yes, I do think that a musky has a shot against Chuck Norris, but only if the musky was allowed a head-mounted laser beam of sorts…Who needs women with this level of musky discourse?

Editors Note: 

After an extended stay at a lovely residential institution for what we’re calling “somewhere in between exhaustion and hysteria,” I am feeling much better now. My doctors say with proper medication and daily intensive psychotherapy, I should be ready for the next Musky World Championships in Wisconsin (fall ‘13). I completely blame Todd Gregory (Towee Boats), Brad Bohen, Brian Porter and the rest of the crew at Musky Country Outfitters, and the town of McMinville Tenn., with their miles upon miles of fine Southern musky water for my current mental state. Thank you all, and always remember it’s the chickens, man, the chickens. Oh yeah, James McBeath of Jackson Kayaks won the tournament with what turned out to be one of two muskies boated on the day. The fish was 39 inches, and James is Canadian.