It’s often said that captains are your teacher, best friend, story teller and sounding board for the day. That is definitely true of Captain Trent Malphrus. “Captain Trent” and I left the docks at Shelter Cove Marina one warm October afternoon in search of some low tide tailing reds. I had just made a hard drive in from TN to do some work in Hilton Head, SC, but decided I would give Capt. Trent a call and see if he had some time. Since I had first fished with Capt. Trent, when I was in college with my parents, and the many times since a lot of things had changed. He has since had two kids, I graduated college got a “real job”, married and had a kid of my own. We caught up on all of our life experiences as we left the dock and made our way through the no wake zones to the tidal creeks of the Calibouge Sound, but once there it was all about weed less spoons, leaders, and trying to sight that little fin trailing a small boil. I’m not sure what is about standing on a site platform while your guide polls through knee high water that makes your worries disappear, but I know I like it. The quite on the water during the middle of the week on a late afternoon makes you feel like you have the fishery to yourself. Both of us kept our eyes moving side to side looking for that distinctive red fish sign. It was not long before we spotted a school, and like only a seasoned guide can do, Capt. Trent gives me distance and time piece instructions in a quite composed manner, hoping that his client can control his “Redfish Fever” that can spiderweb lines and misguide casts. We finally hooked up with one that broke away from the school and was hanging out in some thick grass. Once we had the fish on Capt. Trent let me know his excitement and it is contagious. This red was in the slot and would have made for a nice supper, but I couldn’t help but think he was enjoying his late afternoon on the water just as much as us. So after some high fives and quick picture we released him back to his sanctuary and I thanked him for letting me share it with him this afternoon. The hope that that particular fish is still out there doing his thing and that me and Capt. Trent will one day get back together for another late afternoon trip gets me through the damp dark winter days of East TN. In the infamous words of Capt. Trent: “Its about to happen ya’all!”

- Tyler Slack

Knowledge comes with age, experience, and an inventory of the past’s mistakes.  At the ripe age of twenty-one, I found myself at what I hope to be my own personal “rock bottom”; lingo spawned at various “anonymous” meetings.  Only a month later, with the taste of Leeds Avenue bologna still fresh in my memory , I sported an inerasable smile and thumbs vicegripped inside an enormous pair of fish lips.  I was holding on to a fish I had been chasing since I was a child, the elusive South Carolina tarpon.  I had spent years, fished Bulls Bay, Deveaux Bank, Botany, North Edisto, South Edisto, and countless other sandbars and mid-river drop-offs, fished with guides, fished with friends, but now I had the pleasure of coating my body with tarpon slime, and my guide that day, none other than my wonderful and talented mother.  Listening to mom was always hard through the teenage years, but whether I care to admit it or not, she was, has been, and probably always will be right.  The day before we hooked an even bigger fish, and throughout the thirty minute fight she’d say: “take your time with that fish, don’t bring her in too early.”  I didn’t listen, putting as much pressure as my tackle would allow on the fish after the first series of jumps, and the line parted boatside.  But not this time, I finally learned to listen to Mom, taking my time with the fish, admiring every athletic jump and breathtaking gulp of air the big gal took.  The next day I had the pleasure of watching her reel in her first big tarpon, and I enjoyed that as much as, if not more than the fish I caught the previous day.  I guess the moral of the story is an obvious one, but you can scour the world looking for a great fishing partner, but for me there’s always one that has been right beside me from the start, and will always be there for me on the water and land alike, good ol’ momma!

-Colt Harrison

-Harold Cercopely

Doing some redfish scouting and landed this double by myself in the wando just now. Both fish about 25 inches on kive shrimp that i netted earlier this morning in my deep hole spot!

Tight lines,

Captain Robert Olsen

Knot @ Work fishing Charters.

http://www.knotatworkfishing.com/

What a warm Winter this has been and boy how the redfish have loved it! Started fishing at low tide this morning and founds schools of redfish 100+ strong. They were a little spooky and did not want much to do with our offerings. We moved as the tide rose and found a grassy bank rife with large bait fish as well as a massive school of redfish who inhaled 4-5″ paddle tail artificials. The school was so big it rotated slowly in a wide circle and never tired of us. Caught twenty or so nice redfish under sunny skies and 70 degree weather.

-Capt. Geoff Bennett

www.charlestoncharterfishing.com

Tuna #1: My two friends and I trailered my 19 foot Mako center console, and arrived at North Lake, PEI in September, 1974. I rigged a daisy chain of 8 freshly-jigged Boston mackerel tied onto a double-wrapped 500 pound, 15 foot length of airplane cable. The trailing last mackerel was sewn to a humongous forged j-hook the size of my hand, and the likes of which I had never seen before. We connected the rig to an 8/0 Penn Senator loaded with 80-pound Dacron. We trolled all day long on the Mako, using an old discarded truck tire as a teaser. A massive tuna of several hundred pounds ate the trailing mackerel, but broke off after several minutes. We were out-classed!

The following day I enlisted the talents of a local eager PEI fisherman and his lobster boat which was equipped with a fighting chair and a 12/0 International packed with 130-pound Dacron. The (non-flying) “gaff” was a 9 foot fixed-length of discarded half-inch rebar, otherwise used to reinforce concrete in an earlier life. The end of the rebar was crudely bent into a U-shape, and only roughly resembled the curve of a real gaff  and terminated in a very dull point.. We trolled for several hours, hooked up and fought a monster tuna for more than an hour before bringing her to boatside. The fish was estimated at 900 pounds, but was lost after numerous unsuccessful attempts by the mate to penetrate the hide of the behemoth. I was disappointed, but undaunted! And still a bargain at $125 for an all-day charter!

Tuna #2: I returned in 1976, and fished with another captain on his converted lobster boat.  After two days fishing, I hooked and landed a 678 pound giant bluefin. We were greeted at the dock by PEI wildlife personnel, who straight-faced claimed that this was the smallest tuna they had every seen on PEI!  I was red-faced and embarrassed!

Tuna #3:  I refused to give up in my quest for a true giant bluefin. Two years later, in October, 1978, we arrived at North Lake, PEI, at just after 12 noon.  I had arranged to fish on yet another chartered lobster boat with experienced captain,  including gaff! As a predictor of good luck to follow, a seagull flying overhead splattered a large glob of guano on my friend’s head just as we were about to board the boat. Little did we know at the time,  that in less than two and one-half hours, I would hook up and land a Volkswagen-sized 1127 pound giant bluefin tuna. This most exciting battle in 90 feet of water lasted a relatively short, but extraordinary and epoch 50-minutes. At long last– my quest for the Giant was over!

-Jerry Kurent

As soon as we got up in there, we began seeing tails. Immediately we took pursuit of this one fatty red that had been waving at us from a far. Capt. Jon Harrelson poled me within forty feet of the guy and luckily with my novice experience casting a fly I was able to get the fly (a Mad Mikes Copperhead Crab) right in front of his face. Once he ate that fly, man he took off. He pretty dumped my whole 8wt. reel.

I was used to winching them in with a spin reel, so after fighting the big boy for about five minutes I was content when we got the net on him. We didn’t measure him, but up against an 8wt. TFO rod, he went from the butt to the first guide.

After landing my first Red on the fly, we put him back and went on the hunt for others. We ended up releasing a few more that day and headed back to Charleston before sunset. If you haven’t landed a spottail on the fly, you need to get out and do it. In my opinion, one on the fly is worth ten on the spin.

-Shane Clevenger

Tight lines

Captain Robert Olsen

Knot @ Work Fishing Charters.

http://www.knotatworkfishing.com/

However, as soon as we pulled up and dropped the trolling motor in, we saw a school of about a hundred redfish meandering around. The water was crystal clear, and the fish were easily distinguishable under the slick surface of the water. Both of them doubled up on their first casts, and they yielded beautiful, over the slot reds. Then it was my turn, while they were unhooking their fish, I fired a cast towards the nervous water and hooked up immediately. We hit flat, after flat, after flat, none of which failed to produce at least one redfish. I must’ve seen over 200 fish that day, and two of the ones we caught were tagged (and reported). We doubled up multiple times; however, we never did get a triple-hookup that afternoon.

After that afternoon, we went back to land for some food, and while cleaning the boat, Ryan remembered a promising-looking area we saw in the Stono River. Will couldn’t make it the following morning, but Ryan and I decided to give it a shot.

Ryan and I hiked our kayaks up on top of his car, and we set out to our spot. There’s a road literally a stone’s throw away from the river there, and with some effort we were able to drag the kayaks to some rip-rap rocks and put into the river. We saw signs of fish everywhere.

After experimenting with the location of the high-tide redfish, we located them up in the grass by cautiously standing up in our kayaks. We sight-fished all of the fish we caught that morning, with the biggest one belonging to me at 25 inches long. Once we got back in his car after that second trip, the only thing we could talk about was going out the next day, and hopefully the one after that one too.

There’s something special about seeing a redfish in the winter water, and then again in your kayak, that helps you not to mind the slime on your legs or the ache in our arms.

Here’s to great fishing,

Zan White

I am not out of the door and on the road as early as I like for this trip, but that’s ok.  Besides, I get up to early during the week anyway, no need to rush things on a day off.  I stop in Boone for a quick breakfast and a chance to stretch my legs.  The Watauga River has been freshly stocked with fish and anglers both, but today I will be pushing farther out.  As I drive past all of the shops and tourists, my old truck strains around curves and up steep grades to a small stream only a short cast away from the Tennessee line.  I am not here to fill my creel, nor am I looking for a trophy.  I am here because I fish, and I want to hold the colors of fall in my hand.

Reaching my first pull off, I scan the gravel for tire tracks and realize that I am the first one here.  The weather is perfect.  It is cool with clear skies and only a slight breeze.   Looking upstream I notice that the forces of nature have been hard at work.  A family of beavers have taken my favorite run of riffles and pockets and made it into one large slow moving pool at least fifty yards long and fifteen feet wide.  The lower section of the pool is choked out with leaves, but the remaining portion, while protected by close cover, appears to be more accessible.  This is definitely not how I left this stream last fall, but it is a welcome change of scenery.

No bulky vests or excessive equipment for this trip.  Chest waders, one small fly box, and a net held close to avoid snagging in the brush is all I need.  I have opted for a short six foot rod for today.  This tiny 3 wt. rod with a double taper line, seven and a half foot leader, and bead head should fit the bill perfectly.

A drag free drift is proving almost impossible due to the abundance of leaves and buckeyes floating past.  Fortunately I don’t have long to wait, the fish are here, and they are not shy.  Within moments I have netted a colorful brookie.  His natural camouflage has been betrayed by his own display of vibrant colors.  This is what I have come to see.   For the remainder of the day I catch and release several brooks and tiny rainbows before the shadows from the mountains bring an early close to my day on the water.

On the ride home I realize that the truly memorable days are rarely planned, they just happen.

Written by,

Chad W. Fulp