Just find a fishin’ hole
Summertime vacations are a time of family bonding. For many years, we consistently went to a beach on the coast of South Carolina and spent a week doing nothing. This family time forced me to exercise a major fly fishing constraint.
On one particular trip, the burden of catching a fish was more than I could stand. A person can only read so many fly fishing books until the urge takes control. I spent two days cooking like a boiled shrimp in the sun on the beach, and then I absolutely couldn’t stand it anymore.
I had a fly rod hidden in the truck for emergency purposes, and this was one of them. On the third morning, I sat on the beach with my new mirrored sunglasses, studying Google Maps. Surely there were a few ponds I could walk around and catch a fish of some kind.
About noon, I was the same color red as a child’s Radio Flyer Wagon, and it was time for me to find air conditioning and shade. It was exploration time. The family would be fine on the beach without me feeding the seagulls Goldfish at their feet while they tried to sleep. Several ponds, waterways, and creeks had been identified and needed to be checked.
The first pin led me to a small bridge over dark, black water. Then I saw it. A faint sign hidden in the undergrowth stating that, “Absolutely NO FISHING From Bridge.” Maybe I will come back after dark and plead ignorance.
The next two bridges were over small tidal runs, basically small creeks. If the tide were outgoing, each of them would wind up being pluff mud pits. Discouraged, I kept riding around hoping to discover the perfect pond.
Beware of gators
I followed another pin, which took me to a brackish pond between two sets of condominiums. Walking around the ridge above the pond were signs warning of dangerous alligators. The signs were posted everywhere. Noticing three deer on the far side looking into the water, I spotted a rather large gator with hooves sticking from its mouth, swimming towards me. I backed up from the water’s edge as two more gators quietly glided in front of me.
Down and out, the only thing left for me to do was go find a bar to sit and regroup. Sitting there again studying Google Maps, I soon had an epiphany. My luck was about to change. In walked four golfers and sat down at the table beside me. I heard two of them complain about the water hazards on the course and how many golf balls they lost. I surmised that a round of libations for them would quickly enhance my local knowledge. After that, I was invited to pull up a chair, and one of them politely offered me his scorecard to write down notes. After noticing his score, I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling him that he sucked at golf and should probably take up pickleball or something, but I needed information.
Time to fish
For the next couple of hours and a large bar tab, I made impeccable, detailed notes about which holes were closer to the road, how many fairways I needed to cross to reach a good pond, and any landmarks that would help. Together, we ranked the ponds by accessibility and potential fishability.
Tomorrow morning wouldn’t come soon enough. Waking up before dark, I strung the fly rod, attached a size 10 popping bug, and dropped a small Woolly Bugger off the turn of the hook. Now I was ready. I took the golf cart and parked it right off the main road near the golf course in a small parking lot close to the nearest pond. Studying the scorecard, I reasoned that it was across two fairways and behind a particular tee box. Trees were nearby in case I needed to hide from the ranger making early rounds or the grounds crew doing maintenance.
And then I saw it. A magnetic fishing line kept pulling me towards it. I walked around the pond and made several casts. Each of them yielded a couple of hand-sized bream and one 2-pound bass. I needed this morning. Not thinking about anything else but the numerous fish I was catching made time pass quickly.
I could hear lawnmowers running in the distance. I knew that I had time for one more cast. The area on the far side of the pond, near a large magnolia tree, had several stumps barely sticking out. It looked like a bass haven to me. I cast, and a large splash erupted. It was a big fish. The large bass surged, bending my fly rod almost in half, and broke the water with a loud commotion and splash. It danced on its tail across the pond’s surface, literally waking up everything nearby and revealing my presence to the maintenance crew who stopped to watch the show.
An audience builds
Holding the fly rod high and trying to maintain resistance with the embedded hook in the fish’s mouth, I eased around the pond towards the large Magnolia tree and the stumps. I thought this location would afford a better angle to play the fish and keep it from being tangled back in the stumps. I really needed this fish for a mental boost.
It jumped and surged again, bringing cheers from four guys above. A good bass like this would help them forget I wasn’t supposed to be here, too. Step by step, I carefully maneuvered around the pond. The bass pulled hard, and when it stopped, I would reel. This was a game of nip-and-tuck, and I was finally winning.
In this back corner, dead magnolia leaves covered the ground, and a brief glance downward reassured me I was fine to continue. I began walking, reeling fast and pulling the fish close to the bank. It was almost there.
Suddenly, I put my foot down on a bed of dead leaves, and two loud squeals broke the silence. Evidently, I had stepped on two small gators about eighteen inches long, buried deep in the leaves. After jumping about three feet in the air and gasping for oxygen, I looked down for mama gator as my feet hit and didn’t wait for any evidence of her existence while breaking my trophy fish off at the same time.
Hearing their laughs and feeling humiliated, I headed back. Maybe I could sneak the binoculars back to the beach today after all.
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