Robb Report - USA (2019-08)

92 AUGUST 2019

Field Notes

O

ne of many pleasures of

fly-fishing is the sense

of tradition, of revisiting

places that matter to

you. But I’m making

the case for change. Here’s to new fish

and the sense of excitement that comes

with them. It’s like watching a critically

acclaimed TV series—you know

you’re going to like it, but it takes some

effort to just get started. But there’s

room for The Leftovers just like there’s

room for more fish.

I had heard of the charms of redfish,

which is like a carp. Not a beautiful

fish, but a strong and particular species,

found in the Low Country outside

Charleston—conveniently, a great city

to visit. So I drove north of town in the

dark and followed Google’s instructions

until the lane narrowed and water

lined both sides. Waiting at the end was

a truck with Jeremy, my guide from

Charleston Shallows.

We went out on his Hell’s Bay flats

boat as the sun came up. He said, “When

it comes to redfish, the window where

you want to put the fly is very small.” So

that’s how it is. No long casts in front

of a cruising fish, but short, accurate

ones in front of fish that keep changing

directions. I was using a 9-foot, 8-weight

rod, with a crab pattern. When the

redfish eats a crab off the sand, its tail

pops out of the water, so you scan for

the gray, forked shape with a red spot

the size of a silver dollar in its center. It

took some practice, but I finally put a

cast right in front of the nose of one and

was rewarded with a muscular fish that

flashes steel in the sun.

New fish in new places mean

new traditions. The next day I drove

to Beaufort, S.C., and went out with

Captain Tuck Scott from Bay Street

Outfitters. Early in the morning, we

waited for the tide to come in; it was a

pleasure to be on the water, amid the

DAVID COGGINS

Hooked on Something

the Same but Different

FISHING Introducing a new fish to your repertoire calls for

new rituals... and fried shrimp rolls.

seagrass and the egrets, and ride past

an island with wild horses grazing on

the shore. This landscape was about

water and light and salt, with horizons

in every direction changing as the sun

rose. I knew the drill better this time,

but when Tuck said, “You can cast

it even closer,” it was his diplomatic

reminder that I had a lot to learn. Still,

I was getting more confident, and that

was important. Also important was

discovering the quaint and dilapidated

Shrimp Shack for a crispy but tender

fried shrimp roll and a large iced tea on

the way back to town. The hook was set;

I knew I’d return.

Sometimes you need a little push

to go after a different species, the same

way you won’t go to a Wagner opera

unless somebody gives you tickets (and

possibly not even then). I had once

heard about false albacore but didn’t

pursue them until a friend insisted

we go to Cape Cod when the albies

made their fall migration. Ideally,

they’re feeding on the surface and will

aggressively take your fly. Then you’ll

find out why these fish, essentially

miniature tuna, built like torpedoes,

are some of the strongest you’ll be

connected to. When they go on a run,

your reel will hum as they tear into

the distance. At night you eat at the

Impudent Oyster in Chatham; you can

stay at the Chatham Bars Inn. Now it’s

all making sense.

Incentive can arrive unexpectedly.

Recently, I discovered that the father of

a friend is a fly-fishing guide in Miami.

How could she have kept such vital

information from me? His name is Luis,

and he runs the Fly Shop of Miami. We

started a correspondence; I was curious

about the bonefish activity near there.

Luis said the bonefish action was

good. He added that the snook fishing

was worthwhile, too. This tip gave me

pause. Now I want to discover what the

snook, a saltwater fish with a protruding

jaw that resembles a pike, is all about.

I just have to imagine it’s like a new

show on HBO. Coming this spring ... The

Snook. I think I’ll write Luis and get his

opinion on the best time to go out. And,

of course, where to eat afterward.

David Coggins is the author of Men and

Manners. He lives in New York City.

Also important was discovering the

quaint and dilapidated Shrimp Shack.

for

eagrass and the egrets, and ride past

n island with wild horses grazinggon

heshore. This landscapewasabout

water and light and salt, with horizons

neveryydirectionchanginggasthesun

are some off the strongest you’llbe

connected to. When theyy go on aa run,

your reelwill hum as theyytear into

the distance. At night you eat at the

ImpudentOysterinChatham;youcan

92 AUGUST 2019

Field Notes

O

ne of many pleasures of

fly-fishing is the sense

of tradition, of revisiting

places that matter to

you. But I’m making

the case for change. Here’s to new fish

and the sense of excitement that comes

with them. It’s like watching a critically

acclaimed TV series—you know

you’re going to like it, but it takes some

effort to just get started. But there’s

room for The Leftovers just like there’s

room for more fish.

I had heard of the charms of redfish,

which is like a carp. Not a beautiful

fish, but a strong and particular species,

found in the Low Country outside

Charleston—conveniently, a great city

to visit. So I drove north of town in the

dark and followed Google’s instructions

until the lane narrowed and water

lined both sides. Waiting at the end was

a truck with Jeremy, my guide from

Charleston Shallows.

We went out on his Hell’s Bay flats

boat as the sun came up. He said, “When

it comes to redfish, the window where

you want to put the fly is very small.” So

that’s how it is. No long casts in front

of a cruising fish, but short, accurate

ones in front of fish that keep changing

directions. I was using a 9-foot, 8-weight

rod, with a crab pattern. When the

redfish eats a crab off the sand, its tail

pops out of the water, so you scan for

the gray, forked shape with a red spot

the size of a silver dollar in its center. It

took some practice, but I finally put a

cast right in front of the nose of one and

was rewarded with a muscular fish that

flashes steel in the sun.

New fish in new places mean

new traditions. The next day I drove

to Beaufort, S.C., and went out with

Captain Tuck Scott from Bay Street

Outfitters. Early in the morning, we

waited for the tide to come in; it was a

pleasure to be on the water, amid the

DAVID COGGINS

the Same but Differen

FISHING Introducing a new fish to your repertoire calls

new rituals... and fried shrimp rolls.

se

a

th

w

in y g g

rose.I knewthedrillbetterthistime,

butwhenTucksaid,“Youcancast

it even closer,” it was his diplomatic

reminder that I had a lot to learn. Still,

I was getting more confident, and that

was important. Also important was

discovering the quaint and dilapidated

Shrimp Shack for a crispy but tender

fried shrimp roll and a large iced tea on

the way back to town. The hook was set;

I knew I’d return.

Sometimes you need a little push

to go after a different species, the same

way you won’t go to a Wagner opera

unless somebody gives you tickets (and

possibly not even then). I had once

heard about false albacore but didn’t

pursue them until a friend insisted

we go to Cape Cod when the albies

made their fall migration. Ideally,

they’re feeding on the surface and will

aggressively take your fly. Then you’ll

find out why these fish, essentially

miniature tuna, built like torpedoes,

p y ; y

stayattheChathamBarsInn.Nowit’s

allmakingsense.

Incentive can arrive unexpectedly.

Recently, I discovered that the father of

a friend is a fly-fishing guide in Miami.

How could she have kept such vital

information from me? His name is Luis,

and he runs the Fly Shop of Miami. We

started a correspondence; I was curious

about the bonefish activity near there.

Luis said the bonefish action was

good. He added that the snook fishing

was worthwhile, too. This tip gave me

pause. Now I want to discover what the

snook, a saltwater fish with a protruding

jaw that resembles a pike, is all about.

I just have to imagine it’s like a new

show on HBO. Coming this spring ... The

Snook. I think I’ll write Luis and get his

opinion on the best time to go out. And,

of course, where to eat afterward.

David Coggins is the author of Men and

Manners. He lives in New York City.

Also important was discovering the

quaint and dilapidated Shrimp Shack.

for

eagrassandtheegrets,andridepast

nislandwithwildhorsesgrazingon

heshore.Thislandscapewasabout

waterandlightandsalt,withhorizons

neveryydirectionchangingasthesun

aresomeoffthestrongestyou’llbe

connectedto.Whentheyygoonarun,

yourreelwillhumastheyytearinto

thedistance.Atnightyoueatatthe

ImpudentOysterinChatham;youcan