Theresa snapped the above "Happy-to-be-going-fishing-have-fun-at-the-spa" picture before I went out on my search for tailing redfish. You see it was perfect. Theresa had met some Southern belles who gifted her a facial at a local spa. She had a 1130 appointment. High tide was at one o'clock. Perfect.
But I started my day at 6 am out for coffee while Theresa slept. I found a fly shop, Southern Drawl Outfitters, and stopped in to see the place. I purchased a fly to support the local shop and asked if he any
recommendations for a DIY'er walk and wade fly fishermen. He suggested I go to Pickney Island. Theresa and I had scouted that place out a few days ago so I knew a little bit about it, or so I thought. On the way back to base I stopped to chat with a guy fishing a salt pond. He was throwing a topwater
frog and no matter where he went or where he would cast a four foot alligator would follow it. One thing I've never seen is an alligator with the turbo jets on, these things are fast.
The Pickney Island National Wildlife Refuge (NWR) is a 4,000 acre island that is surrounded by Mackay and Skull Creeks that come off the Chechessee River which opens up to the Atlantic Ocean. Inside that river leads to places like Parris Island, the training grounds for the U.S. Marines, and the
City of Beaufort, but by smaller tributaries. The entire area is a series of rivers, bays, and flats that are exposed and then covered by the up to eight foot, moon phase dependent, tides. My hope was to catch the incoming to top of the seven foot tide and find some kind of fish looking to eat.
So Theresa dropped me off at 1030. I was lathered up with sun block, had bug spray in my sling pack, and a cooler with some water, Gatorade, a sandwich and some snacks. You'd think I was going way for the weekend. All I needed was a bottle of water, right?
When I finally got to the water I was already sweating. It was 93 degrees and the sun was high and hot. The SW wind didn't help bringing warm air through, but the breeze helped a it. I remember Mark telling me about wading and the grasses, tall grass means a soft muddy bottom, while short grass means a more solid footing. So I looked for the short grass, and found it, but the water wasn't there yet.
After an hour my eyes were burning from the sun block that was dripping down into my corneas. If I wiped them they burned more. My cheap polarized glasses wouldn't clear from the steam and my eyesight was blurry from the Neutrogena and the constant rubbing.
Maybe the Mackay side of the island was better so I went and looked at the map and the round-trip distances if I dare to huff around the island. Thoughtfully, the US FWS installed a defibrillator station
 |
at the start of the tail and I didn't know if I should just take it with me or roll the dice. One thing I can't understand is how anyone in the south is overweight with all this summer heat. The road to the other
parts of the island was long and hot. There's nothing more annoying than being on your last leg and bikers, joggers, and walkers say "Hello", or "Good morning", or "Catch anything?" as you struggle with each step to places unknown. And these Christmas Island booties?, they are great, but not made for walking on the road, and stepping on a rock is like finding a Lego on the floor with your bare foot.
After a six mile, two hour hike, okay more like a half a mile and 20 minutes, I found a spot that looked fishy. The grass was sparse enough for me to see them when they arrived in the shallow water.
I stood there for another hour and new the tide was still coming in because I felt the water go over my knees and eventually cool my genitals. I walked around and found the below spot where deeper
channels led off the river to shallower waters. I even saw and stared at some mud for a bit watching and waiting. Then I thought maybe I should return to where I started. It would be good for two reasons, the water would be higher, and if I dropped dead I had a better chance of being found. It was that hot. I
had drank my Gatorade, most of the water, and ate the sandwich like I just got off the TV show Survivor. Around 130 Theresa texted me that she was done. I replied looking for a quick rescue.
Theresa was there in twenty minutes and snapped the below picture of me as I waiting for her. It was a long three hours without seeing a fish or making a cast. For those that don't know sight fishing is
really more like hunting than fishing. Blind casting is like going hunting and just shooting into the woods hoping to pick something off walking around. Theresa asked that I put a shout out to Moor Spa,
HERE, and her estectician Alise for three hours of serenity while I tested the limits of my left ventricle. If there was ever a cardiac test walking around Pickney Island in late June is a good test. I'll put the fly rods away now and enjoy the last few days of out trip. It wasn't a fishing trip anyway.