“Say Cheese and show us your fish!”  We’re kicking off The Charleston Angler 2012 Photo & Essay Contest!

“We’ve seen your faces in the store, now show us what you’ve been doin’ in and off shore! (Freshwater subjects welcome too)”

It’s pretty simple—we love a good fishing story and we’d like to hear yours! And since January is a good time to reflect on the past year, or all of your past fishing experiences, and dream of the ones to come, we thought what better time to have you share a story and some pictures for the chance to win great prizes!

It’s easy – Just submit 1 to 3 photos accompanied by a story of 500 words or less essay about fishing that one great fishing experience! Could be in the best of 2011 or earlier, or could be very recent. Make us laugh, make us cry, or just make us plain jealous! The best three entries will win gift cards to The Charleston Angler.

Prizes will be awarded:

Male Angler: $100 gift card

Lady Angler: $100 gift card

Youth Angler: $50 gift card

The expert staff of The Charleston Angler stores will be putting together some great entries for our own in house competition which we will be posting on The Charleston Angler’s Reel Blog www.thecharlestonangler.com and on our Facebook Fan Page, so take a look and get inspired!

The judges whom you have to impress are Capt. Peter Brown, renowned Fishing Guide, writer and speaker, Matt Winter, Editor, Post and Courier Tidelines Magazine; and Daniel Nussbaum Vice Presiden of Zman Baits.  They promise to be fair, and will be picking their favorite entries as the winners which we will announce at SEWE February 18^th, 2012.

Entries can be submitted to Shane Clevenger, Graphic Designer, via email at shane@thecharlestonangler.com or bring them by any of our five store locations: West Ashley, Towne Centre in Mt. Pleasant, Summerville, Great Hall in downtown City Market, and the Embroidery Boutique, South Windermere.  Feel free to contact us if you have questions!

We can’t wait to see your entries!  And remember, Fish on!

Contest Rules:

-Entries must be submitted between Jan 5th – Feb 7^th, 2012

-Individuals can submit more than one entry, but only will be eligible to place for one prize.

-Entries must include both a 500 or less word essay AND 1-3 photos. Entries without both the written and visual components will be disqualified

-By submitting an entry, individuals are giving permission for The Charleston Angler to post them online on both our Reel Blog and The Charleston Angler Facebook Page.

1^st Place: “Yankee Luck” by Bryan Lewis

2^nd Place: “Sunkissed” by Lena Halvarsson

3^rd Place: “Red Sunrise” by Peter DeNicola

Honorable Mentions:

Caleb Davis for  “Joining the Billfish Club” & Jes Swicegood for “Screaming Drag”

Staff Winner: Matt Devlin for “Fish Michigan” (Mt. Pleasant Store)

By Caleb Davis, Age 13

Edisto Island

I have always had a love for fishing but it wasn’t until this past July that I discovered just how much fun offshore fishing could be.  One night in July, while watching TV, my dad came up to me and said, “Caleb, do you want to go offshore fishing in two weeks blue water trolling for dolphin and billfish on a HUGE boat?”  Of course I said, “Heck yes!!!”  In the past, I have always gone fishing for trout and redfish during the weekends, but this was different.  For offshore fishing we would travel sixty to SEVENTY miles out.  Excitedly, I headed off to bed thinking of abnormally large dolphin, sailfish, marlin and the wonderful trip that lay ahead.

Two week later, around three-thirty in the morning, my alarm went off.  Immediately, I sat straight up in bed like I had never been asleep at all and hurried to the shower.  After taking a shower and getting dressed, I headed downstairs to find my dad already waiting for me at the breakfast table.  With the upcoming offshore fishing trip, I was careful no to eat anything heavy because of the predicted heavy seas.  I decided, just in case, to have only two pieces of toast with jelly and afterwards we were off to the marina.  The car ride to the marina seemed to last forever, and I kept asking my dad repeatedly, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet??”  Finally I was able to see the tips of the sails on the sail boats, and I knew we were about there.  As we pulled up to the marina I jumped out of the car and began jumping for joy, yelling and running in circles at four in the morning.  After calming down, my dad and I walked up to the boat, which was named the Micabe, and the owner emerged.  We greeted the captain and began to wait for about forty-five minutes for the other groups of fisherman to arrive.  Finally, everyone arrived and we untied the giant fifty-five foot boat from the dock, and we were off.

Even though it took forever to get to the trolling hotspot, I was relieved and fascinated once we got there.   The water was as blue and clear as a sapphire but very rough.  Flying fish were jumping everywhere in the six to eight foot seas.  At this point the first mate began deploying the baits of choice which were naked ballyhoo on circle hooks fished behind massive mullet dredge bars.  Due to the rolling seas, everyone but me and three other adults were seasick and confined to the cabin.  It became funny as the weary were throwing up when the captain came out and said, “Who wants a sausage biscuit?”  Everyone got one, which was stupid because most were regretting it five minutes later!

Suddenly, after about fifteen minutes the rod skipping a naked ballyhoo bent over.  The first mate picks up the rod and gives it to one of the girls on the boat, and she fought the small dolphin.  After that, nothing happened for about an hour and just when I was beginning to get bored out of my head the first mate yells, “SAIL!!!!!”  Immediately I rush to the deck to find one of the younger men on the boat fighting the fist sailfish I’ve ever seen.  I was a little disappointed that I didn’t get to fight it, but it was ok.  I hoped there was going to be another.  The man got the sailfish to the boat, took some pictures, and the hook was pulled from its mouth.  Before the release, no one noticed the line wrapped around the tail of the sail fish.  At that time, the sailfish was thrown overboard with the line and hook trailing behind.  When it was released the line took off with the large 10/0 circle hook which happened to be wrapped around the captain’s leg.  As the line tightened, the hook became embedded in the Captain’s calf.  Now we’ve got a problem because we are seventy miles offshore and the hook is past the barb.  With the hook deep in his leg, the captain decides to get out his pocket knife and cut the hook out.  There was so much blood, the captain became sick to his stomach but insisted we finish the day fishing.

It was a couple of hours after the sailfish was caught when I was sitting half asleep in the fighting chair as I head that luminous word again being yelled by the first mate, “SAIL!!!!!!!” Since I was already in the fighting chair, he hands me the gigantic rod and tells me to start reeling.  Immediately, I start cranking and the fish jumps violently several times.  It seemed like an eternity, but I was determined not to give up.  We got the fish into the boat, took some pictures, and released him back into the ocean.  What a beautiful fish!  Soon thereafter, it was back to the marina.  Unfortunately, the whole way back they were talking about throwing me and the other guy who caught the other sail into the water at the marina because it was our first billfish.  It was a “tradition” they said.  After a long bumpy trip, we finally arrived at the marina, and the captain told me to empty my pockets for my initiation into the “billfish club”.  Reluctantly I did, and I was shoved into the creek along with the other young man who also caught his first billfish.  It was a shocking experience but one I will never forget.  I hope it won’t be long until I get out there again to catch another sail, and maybe I will be the one who gets to initiate another “newby” into the billfish club!

By Mercedes Sykora

It was mid-morning and it was time to go to the “fish store” for dinner.  Our family of four had been living on board a sailboat in the Bahamas.  My husband, Ron, often referred to the ocean’s reefs as our “store”.  Here, we would catch whatever we wanted for lunches and dinners.  Tonight, we had a taste for both lobster and fish.  We knew where to find the lobsters, but getting a fish had always proved to be more difficult.

Ron and I put on our snorkel gear and followed the kids, Chris (12) and Steffi (10), into the water.  We each had a spear in hand.  I spotted a huge lobster hiding under a ledge.  It was too big for me, so I asked Ron to come over and spear it.  He shot him right between the eyes.  He was almost two feet in length.  There was also a Parrot fish swimming nearby that Chris speared, and then Steffi snagged a snapper.  We took them back to the boat to clean.  We thought we were done for the day. But…

Steffi and Chris stayed in the water while we cleaned the fish and lobster on the sugar scoop.  While Steffi was snorkeling, she spotted a small Grouper and chased him into a hole under a ledge.  She dove down for a better look and discovered a big Grouper hiding in the hole.  She quickly popped to the surface and yelled at us to get the dingy and spears, that there was a big Grouper.  She called to us on the boat to come and help.  I finished cleaning up our catch while Ron and Chris jumped into the dingy.  They dropped the anchor nearby and slipped into the water, as not to scare the fish.  Ron had taken the fish heads from our earlier catch, and placed them just outside of the hole.  This would hopefully entice the big Grouper out.

They floated quietly over the hole for about ten minutes. They had their spears aimed at the hole, waiting and hoping that the fish would come out.  The big grouper would poke his head out of the hole, see them floating and then go back in.  This happened several times, and then he just could not take it anymore.  He came out and gulped down the fish head in one big bite.  Ron was ready and quickly speared him and then Chris followed and speared him through the head.  That was the plan because they wanted to make sure this fish did not get away.  With the fish in hand, they all got into the dingy and headed back to the sailboat.

You never saw three fishermen so happy about their catch!  After planning and much patience, they held up the fish for a photo while still in the dingy.  This grouper weighed about three and a half pounds.  I got some nice fillets from him, and made a wonderful soup from the bones.  We had Steffi hold up the lobster, from earlier that day, to show its size.  All in all, this was a great day at the “store”.

We were under full sail aboard the Carowee, a 30 foot sail boat making 7 knots on a heading of 120 degrees true.  The sun was only 30 minutes over the horizon turning the sea from black to the wonderful deep blue only found in the Gulf Stream off Charleston.  We had two flat lines skipping bait behind the boat and another skipping a ballyhoo just ahead of the boat on the port side from a Malay Kite line being used as an outrigger.  We were there to fish, I had just picked up the rod on the kite outrigger when I spotted a silver flash and a splash behind the bait and the line was yanked from the outrigger clip.

The voyage started the evening before at Toller’s Marina with five of us, taking a break for the week end, quickly loading gear and bait aboard the Carowee for a departure time of 7 PM for a trip to the Gulf Stream.  Our plan was to sail overnight and put our lines in at dawn about 50 miles offshore and come about at noon to arrive back at the dock following night.

I raised the rod tip and tightened the drag on the reel.  There was a long drop back due to the height of the kite and the fish had taken the bait, the hook was set.  The fish made one leap out of the water, it was a blue marlin, it was big, and I was not ready.  The marlin went straight down, peeling the 50 lb line off the reel, while the other guys were dropping the sails and starting the engine to try to keep up with the marlin.  In our haste to leave the dock, we forgot to load the fishing harness and gaffs.  I sat on a boat cushion with the butt of the rod resting between my legs.  I reeled in sixty yards of line and the marlin took eighty yards back for over two hours, while the helmsman kept the stern of the boat pointed toward the marlin with little or no headway.  At this point someone spotted a container ship heading directly for us about five miles away.  What to do?  We could not move the marlin nor did we have enough line on the reel to move the boat out of the way and keep the marlin on.  As the ship approached, I decided to cut the line and move the boat.  Just before the line was cut the ship turned enough to steer around us.  Just as the ship passed by the marlin broke the surface and jumped in the wake of the ship.  We could see crewmen on the bridge wing pointing to the marlin as the ship passed.  Both the marlin and I were spent, but I finely pulled the marlin alongside the boat.  With no gaff aboard, one guy held the bill, another put a line around the marlin’s tail and used the main sail winch to pull the marlin aboard.  At the time it was the first reported marlin, (266 lbs) caught from a sail boat in SC.

-Phil Williams

My wife and I took a trip to beautiful Costa Rica 20 years ago.  Our 2^nd child was 6 months in the oven.  We did not know if Captain Bill Gannon at Sport Fishing Costa Rica in Quepos would even allow Barbara to fish aboard his 23 ft charter boat.

Eventually we set out.  Bill had brought along a carton of milk for his pregnant passenger.  I pulled in several 100 lb sails and assorted dolphin as she watched.

She decided to take over the chair before we headed back to the dock.  The next strike was entirely hers.  Three and a half hours and 18 magnificent jumps later, she landed an approximately 550 pound black marlin on 30-pound test.  Our half day charter turned into an extended experience, to say the least.  What a great prenatal experience for our son.  I wonder how he felt nestled in the fighting belt.

Hats off and milk cartons raised high to Bill Gannon for his superb boat handling.  My advice is to fish often, and I challenge the women anglers to top this one!

Preston Stone

Mt. Pleasant, SC

I guess I could tell you all about that time when he caught that shark out by Capers Island, a couple of summers ago. The shark was a four foot long Blacktip, its top fin impressive and sharp as a knife, yet soft and beautiful. The skin like sand paper and the black eyes beautiful and glittery in the bright sunlight. Or, I could tell you about that cool summer evening in the Swedish mountains, not far from Kebnekaise, where a pure and fresh salmon just waited to be admired for a moment and then let back in the Same owned lake. Or, I could even choose that time when he caught a tiny minnow in the back yard pond when he was two, held it in his little chubby palm for a moment, kissed it and watched it swim home to its mommy.

Excitement, that’s what its all about.

Those moments are so precious to me and I am so thankful that he lets me be a part of them. I capture them all with my camera, but most of all, in my heart. Sometimes I panic, these moments will pass, fade a little bit with time. I have to capture it all, I have to be a part of these moments!I will not allow myself to forget.

The fishing story I choose to tell you about, happened just a few weeks ago, on October 3. My husband and I took the boys out to the Dynamite Hole by the Jettys. Do you remember that Saturday? It was hardly any wind at all, even out there. How can I describe it,the beauty of it all. You know what it feels like; the air – hot and humid – vibrating of excitement and anticipation; sunkissed skin, muscles playing, eyes watching; the salty water under us, filled with creatures still unseen and untouched.

There it is again, the excitement, like a constant being, surrounding us all. We all feel it as our older son Alex, almonst falls over a little in the boat as the rod bends so much, the tip almost touches the surface. He wrestles with something that’s down there, what it is we have yet to see. We are all staring down in the deep blue,it feels like a waste of time to even blink as we might lose a milli second of this moment. The beast reaches the surface, teases us, lets us only see his scaly back, and there he goes again with a splash, down, down – but only to give up after a few more minutes.

But now I sence something else entirely, as the huge Redfish all of a sudden breathes air instead of water. Call it a mother’s intuition, but worry and frustration seeps into my sences from somewhere, as husband and son lands the monster and laughs and screams fill the air. And now I know where it is coming from; our younger one, Adam, who watches and takes it all in. He is happy for his brother,he even wants to call their sister Angelica and tell her, but it is hard, because he is The Fisherman, he was the Shark Catcher, The Salmon Watcher, The Minnow Man. He was the one who came along today with an anticipation that you couldn’t even begin to measure.

What can I say without sounding hollow? How can I comfort him without sounding shallow? I need not worry. He has figured it out all on his own. After all, he is a fisherman and he waits for his turn, sees the fish as already in his hands, waits… And there it is! Another Redfish, not as big, nothing to laugh and scream about, but it gives him what he needs. You guessed it, excitement! Thrill! A feeling of accomplishment. He doesn’t need comfort. He needs this moment to be his.

This feeling is what that old man in the boat next to us shares with him, as they briefly smile at each other.

That old man, with soft wrinkles and a patient mind, who was also a boy once.

And here he is, my son, sunkissed and happy. So happy.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lena Halvarsson

Fish Michigan

It finally happened last night.  The day after pop icon Michael Jackson and legendary hottie Farrah Fawcett passed away, I caught my biggest ever brown trout on a dry fly.  We had worked out some kinks, we had picked any and every available brain.  We had a plan, got to the river early, and were drinking the first cold beers of the trip (a cooler helps) when night began its slow fall.  And there on the far bank, under the cover of darkness, mighty trout began to show.  One rose off a low pine in the soft side of an eddy, another two started working the outside seam of a debris current.

These were large trout, twenty-inchers.  The rises were not delicate, they were precise displacements of large volumes of water, like the open end of a bucket meeting the surface.  We swung slowly over towards the first line of fish, Nick cautioning; “Be patient man, be patient, we have all freaking night.”  We did have all night, but we didn’t need it.  Just as darkness settled completely in, crossed its legs and prepared to stay awhile, I got my shot.  Around the stroke of midnight hex spinners were on the water and the fish were feeding in their rhythms.*

The night before, Nick, the eccentric college pal that everyone seems to still have around late in life, and I, first whet our tongues on the hatch. Neither of us really knew what we were looking for, I think we figured we would just know.  We didn’t really know, we had just passed one too many good runs amidst indecision and were both rapt with anticipation.  Will we see bugs, will we see fish, it will be dark soon, was that a Hex, this could be good, it is nearly dark.  And sitting there in a sportpal canoe that old-timers…a shortage on these hallowed waters of which there is not, seem to appreciate, anchored in the swift mighty waters of the lower AuSable, the sun went well behind the trees and a whole world closed in on us.  There was a current that transcended the river, a current in the air and through the trees, like there was a wind up, yet the night was still and pensive.

“I think something crazy is about to happen,” I said to Nick.  He gave a laugh, more of a giggle, that let me know without seeing his face that his eyes were wide, and that he felt it to.  “I think they are in the trees or something, do you hear that?”

An organic, metallic slur was building in the air around us.  It wound up to a hum and filled our ears and noses and sightless eyes.  Then air met water and the sounds of good trout feeding around us projected across the river and into the night.  We figured there must be some bugs on the water, and maybe the sound and energy had been connected.  I ventured a look with my headlamp.  The light pierced out over the water and within seconds the biggest mayfly I’ve ever seen flew into my mouth and two more down my neck.  I scrambled for the switch.  Nick let out a caucouffany of yee-haws.  “Dude, did you look up?”  I hadn’t, I was too busy avoiding the bugs.  “Turn your light on for a second and shine it up,” he goaded.  What happened next is a moment branded to memory.  In a split second’s freeze-frame of light shining up from the boat, an ocean of Hexagenia Lambata was shown to us.  They swirled and dipped above us, and there were so many on the water that in places they were wing-to-wing sixty feet to the far bank.

I switched the light off and tried to think about fishing.  We were finally there, finally a part of the madness, a hatch so complete, so thick, so aggressive, that you felt a tinge of fear mixed with your elation and adrenaline.

*I took a shot at the first fish off the gunnel.  I made a couple of hurried casts, but the angle wasn’t right and the line was bellying downstream too fast.  Nick took a poke with no success.  Then the boat swung slightly on the anchor’s fetch and made the cast a literal drop in the fish’s pocket.  A made a pitiful little overhand cast and it happened, a good fish exploded on my fly and I missed him.  I was crushed.  Nick tried to encourage, and sure enough a fish resumed feeding near that last lye, but a little downstream.  I watched him for a minute, and flipped the size-2 foam spent-wing spinner towards him at what I judged to be the right time.  I had that weightless two-Mississippi natural drift and the trout came up.  He had eaten, and I had been ready.  I was too shocked to mess it up and instinct enveloped the moment.

A minute into it I noticed the big-dipper shinning bright and low over the treetops and the gentle rush of the river as I fought a trophy wild brown trout that I could not see on an invisible rod, through a reel that begged questions of the night.  To connect with such a fish in the dark seems a great triumph.  You feel like you’ve done something, beaten the odds.  Drink deep of this moment I recall thinking as I held the fish against the Au Sable’s steady lapping pace.

I was reminded of the first night after I arrived in Michigan, surrounded by an economic depression of gross proportions.  I had been in a kitchen in Detroit, somehow on the doorstep to world-class fishing, and it started with the water.  Drink deep. First we wound down to the lake to soak our feet in its newly warmed waters and drink in the sun.  Then Nick held up a glass of “the best water in the world”.  Look at this stuff, he urged.  A love of the place you call home is contagious.  I didn’t quite get it at first.  Weren’t we in the land of car factories, race riots, grit and grime?  And then I realized that he was just as aware as me that we were going up north to fish the Au Sable in the morning.  It hit me hard, its always worth it to go fishing, it’s the only thing to do in fact.  Drink deep, get the rods in order and cast towards tomorrow.