SCOF Summer 2016 “Blood Oath” Issue is Live

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Here we are again folks. The SCOF Summer 2016 “Blood Oath” Issue is live and like all blood oaths, not to be taken lightly. This time around we’re celebrating the release of the new issue by giving one lucky winner a free pair of Costa Del Mar sunglasses of the winners choosing. Go over to our Facebook page and like, comment, and share to enter to win. We’ll pick the winner next Monday. Until then please feel free to peruse the fruits of our summer bounty.

Click the link. Read It.
southerncultureonthefly.com

Movie Night Y’all

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Less than a week to go till the first installment of The SCOF Summer Mystery Movie Series. A couple of updates:
  •  The movie is free, but a portion of all bar, food, and vendor proceeds will be donated to the French Broad Riverkeeper for monitoring, improvement, and over all well being of the French Broad River right here in our backyard.
  • The featured vendor for the first installment of movie night will be our good friend Danny Reed of Crooked Creek Holler apparel. He’ll have a table set up with his new spring line of gear and the best thing is you won’t have to pay shipping.
Festivities start at 6, the movie starts at dusk on the trailer. Cascade Lounge will be providing the hooch, and Ron’s Taco Shop will be slinging’ tortillas.
We also have a pretty sick swag raffle for you folks to. Come on down to the Asheville Food Park, and remember to bring your own chair.
– Dave

SCOF Winter 2016 “Bless Your Heart” Issue Is Live

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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.

 

It’s The Fall Players Ball, Y’all…I Mean the Fall Tailers Ball…Hootie Hoo?

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Come join the Flood Tide Crew, SCOF, Low Country Fly Shop, BadfishTV, and a whole slew of other fine folks at the Palmetto Brewery in Charleston, SC, for the 1st annual Fall Tailers Ball on Wednesday, September 9. And yes, we know it’s a school night, but let’s be honest, when has that ever stopped us?

In addition to the general good times to be had, there will also be The Dog Days Of Summer Film Fest. Check out Flood Tide’s event page here to get all the details. The winners will be screened at the festivities and will be in the next issue of SCOF as the Moving Pictures Department. You got ’til September 1 to submit your video, so get that editing software crackin’. Besides the live music, beer, and videos, we’re gonna raffle off a potpourri of art, rods, trips, organs, and maybe even a bearded man servant, with all proceeds going to Casting For A Cure. Time to put on your big boy pants and get on down to Charleston. She’s gonna be a doozy.

-Dave

FRIDAY PHOTO: SCOF CANOE – maiden voyage

Here at SCOF OutpostFL we (I) have been cleaning up and fixing up an old Mohawk canoe. There is a lot of water here to explore and some out of the way spots have no real access points…but a canoe doesn’t need much.

The fist trip out was slightly screwed by a North wind shift, but still a good maiden voyage. Good things are gonna happen.

And Louis even got a little video….

SCOF HISTORY: FISHNIK

 

We’ll dial up a little blast from the past on this fine Tuesday. Needless to say Georgia is on my mind…specifically the striped residents…not the zebras at the zoo…stupid crazy lookin’ donkeys.

Southern Culture on the Fly - spring 2012 - issue NO. 3

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FISHINK
By David Grossman
Photos: Steve Seinberg
Southern Culture On the Fly
Issue NO. 7: Spring 2013


If you live in the South long enough, your path will inevitably at some point lead you to the metro Atlanta area.  Whether it be weddings, graduations, business conferences, Panic shows at the Fox, layovers, or perhaps even a family trip to explore the wonders of Underground Atlanta and the World Of Coke, no true Southerner escapes the great suck that is Hotlanta (one of my least favorite terms ever created by humans). My trips to Atlanta have been numerous and generally forgettable. There’s always traffic, a hotel lobby, more traffic, an event, more traffic, my car getting broken into (on three separate occasions), and more traffic. I stand before you today, my fishy friends, a converted man. Atlanta is the snip-snap double shiznit with some salami on top. The key is never going into Atlanta itself.

“What, whaat, whaaat???” you say. “How can you go to Atlanta without going into in Atlanta? What is this trickery you purport?” The answer to this (and many other mysterious questions), is urban sprawl, my confused friends. These days, you can technically be in Atlanta and still be miles away from, well, Atlanta. We could go round and round on this point like a Laurel and Hardy bit, but in the most simple terms, if you see Buckhead you’ve gone too far. You’ll know Buckhead because there’s a cop in every bar waiting on a tussle to break out.

By getting off the freeway well north of the big city, you not only save yourself a four-hour traffic jam, you land yourself in one of the most diverse and all-around fun urban fisheries in the country. You name it, Atlanta’s got it; trout, yup; carp, by the thousands; Bass, you bet your ass; redfish, well the boys over at Georgia Tech are working on it and expect to have it done by spring of next year in time for tailing season on the lower Hooch. The greatness of this fishery is that for the most part, it’s an in-town fishery accessible to all and utilized by not as many as you’d think, at least for what we want it for.

Timing is everything in fishing, and the same holds true when planning an urban jungle invasion. The moon phase as well as Steve’s menstrual cycle dictated one day of trout on the Hooch with our pal Greg Morgan of River Through Atlanta and one day of Lake Lanier Striper with the only Brooklyn striper guide we could find in Georgia, Henry Cowan.

The Chattahoochee is hard to spell and has a lot of letters. The other thing you’re gonna wanna know about the Hooch is that Hooch is a lot easier to spell. What the river lacks in ease of spelling it more than makes up for in ease of accessibility and sheer amount of fish both stocked and wild.  I am not gonna blow smoke up your kilt and tell you that if you close your eyes you might think you were in Alaska. Well, I guess if you close your eyes you can imagine you’re wherever you want, but we floated on a Saturday in Metro Atlanta and had six miles of river to ourselves for the majority of the day. On top of that we caught fish all day long. Just to put that statement in perspective, the last time I pulled into my local tailwater put-in, which is located in a town with less than a tenth the population of Atlanta, on a Saturday, there were 25 boat trailers. I have no idea where they all came from, but needless to say I did not put in there. Wild brown trout and solitude in a city with almost 5.5 million people… that ain’t a bad thing.

Our next little jaunt took us north to Lake Lanier, which provides all the previous day’s trout the precious cold water they need to survive. Above the dam is one of the most prolific striper fisheries in the Southeast.

Fishing for landlocked striper was a new game for me. A really good morning session has now turned it into what I lie awake thinking about at night. None of the fish we caught were huge by striper standards, but 12 pounds of pissed off runaway freight train striper is the most fun I can remember having for a long, long time, especially on a lake for that matter. Lucky for us, our first time was made gentle by the one of the South’s favorite carpetbagging adopted sons, Henry Cowen. I probably learned more things that I could take to my fishery in that four-hour session with Henry than I could have spending a thousand hours wandering the Internet and the lake blindly. There is something about hunting those fish that will stick with me and my future fishing plans like a bad case of striper herpes.

I live in what most folks consider one of the fishier spots in the Southeast, and I can honestly say a wee bit of jealousy crept up as I left Georgia in the rearview. To have all that water in your backyard is enough to make me almost consider leaving Asheville for Atlanta, but then I remember the traffic. I will say though that after a couple of days in Atlanta doing nothing but fishing, that next wedding invitation might not be met with quite so much derision on my end.

Old Man South Fork Skiff Update

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So it’s been a while since I updated everybody on the South Fork Skiff we (and by “we” I mean “not Steve”) have been restoring. The interior gelcoat is done, and as you can see, it’s a pretty major improvement. The boys over at Towee boats did a sick job on this aspect, and I can’t speak highly enough about those fellas and their skills when it comes hand laid fiberglass. Instead of rebuilding the front pedestal seat, we decided to give the South Fork a wee bit of modernity and function. The remnants of the front pedestal were decked off, and we plan on strapping a 35-qt. Yeti in and place the seat on the Yeti. That way we get the cooler built in and won’t have to take up valuable floor space with a floating cooler. I’m still trying to decide what kind of seats I’m going with, but I did find these online and think they might be the answer:

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They’re actually canoe seats, but I think they’ll work and save me a ton of time fabricating. I’m not quite sure on the durability of the wicker, but it’s splined and easily repairable, or so the website said. Next up is fitting all the wood gunnel rails and plates. Then final paint and assembly. The last of the wood is finally leaving the shop this week after I had to scramble to get the second half of the order milled by another shop. My buddy who started on the job had a baby in the middle of it, and as we all know, nothing will ruin fine woodworking quicker than a baby.

I’m hoping to have everything on the boat wrapped up and on the water by the end of summer, so that means sometime in the year 2018 I should be good to go. Stay tuned…

– Dave

The Things You Find In E. Tennessee On A Thursday

P1010384   Maybe my luck is finally changing…..We found some things besides legs as well….

6 Rules for the Seat Next to Mine

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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

SCOF HISTORY: BENCH PRESS – GOLDEN TICKET

Another oldie but a goody. Thomas Harvey has been our fly tying editor for as long as we can remember…at least three years. Before Thomas was brokering the best tiers for our pages, Thomas actually used to tie for our pages himself. Hopefully he will again soon and for a long time. With the first pre-spawn carp hitting the flats here in the South, we figured the Golden Ticket might just be…well, the ticket. SCOFno4_cover   SCOF_benchpress_harvey_a


BENCH PRESS: GOLDEN TICKET By Thomas Harvey Southern Culture On the Fly Issue No. 4: Summer 2012


Materials List: Hook: Owner Flyliner (Size 4 – 6) Eyes: Dumbbell or Beadchain Flash: Gold Krystal Flash Legs: Metallic Gold Sili Legs Body: Gold Sparkle Braid Wing: Fox Squirrel Tail Head : Thread and Clear Cure Goo Hydro You look hesitantly at the Ziploc bag: six rings, three bracelets and a necklace with a broken clasp. You’ve collected them over the past month. Slowly, in stages as to not get caught, pillaging your better half’s treasure chest. You convince yourself that she would never notice. Besides, she has a case full of newer, sparkly jewelry. Cash 4 Gold. You’ve had to have seen it. It’s all the rage. In today’s economic climate, many are quick to pawn off priceless family heirlooms for a quick buck. Temptation is everywhere. Companies blasting you from all media outlets. Torn and tempted, you hit the river to clear your mind. As you pull onto the highway, you turn the dial on your radio and hear it, “Need cash? Trade with confidence from the world’s number one consumer gold buyer.” Yeah, better stick with the iPod. You remember your gas light has been on for the past week, so you pull off an exit early to fill up. “Cash Customers Must Pre-Pay.” You walk in and hand the teller two crumpled twenties. You can’t help notice his shiny gold ring as he hands you the receipt. Really? You finally pull into the gravel parking lot and take a walk down to the river’s edge. Carp. Tails up, mouth down, Hoovering the muddy creek bottom. The six-weight should do it. You open your fly box, scanning your neatly arranged inventory. It hits you again, that shiny golden glow. You pluck it from the box and tie it on—The Golden Ticket. Five fish, four beers, and three hours later, you are back at home satisfied, covered in that scent only carp anglers can appreciate. Before hitting the shower, you slip the Ziploc bag from your pocket and dump the jewelry back in the chest. Crisis averted.