Lowcountry Christmas

The dog days are over. The morning air is crisp, and the marsh is coming alive. The time of the year we all dream about, fisherman and hunters alike. Every thing magical happens in the Fall.

We push the boat off, its 6:30 am and a slight chill gives you goosebumps. You know it is on, the full moon from the night before still high in the sky, the tide is rising, and the race to the flats begins. We show up early, water slowly floods the short grass, the fish push their way on, so skinny you swear their eyes are dry. We work our way up, get a shot, lined… Fish is gone, shake it off keep moving.

Eyes up, 40 yds, 10 o’clock, the shimmer of a blue tail reflecting in the morning sun. It just feels right, we pole 70’, 50’, 30’. She’s happy, only worried about what is in front of her nose. Take your time, breathe, pick your shot, its quiet as the fly unfolds in the zone. She’s on a string. Bump, Bump, Bump, get tight! Like a weed wacker across the flat, bring her home, hand around the tail, she’s ours. We decompress. Release, lets find another.

Fall, its Christmas time in the Low Country.