Georgetown Fly Angler: Ed Walzer

     Ed Walzer. Where do I start? This guy is the client that makes a guide dreams come true. 70’ 3’ o’clock? Pfft no problem. Don’t trout set? This man has been strip setting before I was a twinkle in my daddy’s eye. Talk junk to the guy on the poling platform? Yep, but able to take it too. What a guy.

     Ed reached out to me in early September 2023 about setting up a few dates in October. In our text and phone conversations, I could tell how serious he was about throwing a fly rod. At some point, I thought I was being interrogated by a detective. Are you full time? How long have you been guiding? “Don’t worry about my casting I’ve been doing it a lot longer than you have been on this earth.” Jesus. For the first time since I started guiding, I was sweating about having someone on my boat. I was worried I wouldn’t produce for him. So, as the days came I prepared, found some new fish, and scouted really hard. I felt better but the nerves were still there.

Day one: October 3rd, 6:15am. I pull up, there’s Ed, rods rigged, traveling light and ready to roll. Threw him some rain gear, he suited up and off we went. We made quick conversation and my comfort level rose. The plan was to throw gurglers at first light for a topwater eat. About 10 casts in Ed sticks a nice trout. The heat was off a little, but I knew we had to find the redfish. It slowed and we started working our way into the creeks. Ed was a machine, this guy threw lazers. We got a few shots but not much love. A little while later while poling, I hear thud. I look in the cockpit and a tarpon jumped in the boat. “Ed a f***king tarpon just jumped in the boat” Ed lit up, he thought it was great, so did I. “They just jump in the boat for me.” We laugh about that to this day. With little love from the redfish the tide started to rise, I knew we were on a timer and time was almost up. Ed says “ I had fun but I have to have a redfish next trip.” “Hold on, old man we ain’t done yet..” So as a last ditch effort, I poled into a creek I’ve never fished before. We started in the flooded grass, I look away for a second and boom Ed is tight! This is a nice fish, top end of an estuary fish. We put the heat on and got her to the net 28”. I don’t know who was more excited him or I. What a Hail Mary. “Alright let’s end it there..” We get back to the dock and share our high 5s and as Ed  pulls out. “I want a 30” next trip” and chuckles.. I rolled my eyes.

     Day Two. October 24th. We are off again,  cold, calm and just right. Ed wanted to fish one of his flies, a copperhead crab. We got right to the creeks and boy was it happening. Birds diving over fish, shrimp popping and redfish feasting. “Ed look at that f***king group, hold on, alright hit ‘em in the head.” The fly was ate before it hit the water. Story book scenario, get it to the net and guess what? 30” on the nose. “Alright old man there’s your 30, ready to go home?” We laughed and moved on. We let them fish settle and looked for new ones. We had the same situation happen 2 more times, epic. One fish first refused then turned around and ate 10’ from the skiff. We had a Golden Horseshoe up our ass, well atleast Ed did. We made the victory lap home with two shit eating grins.

    We got back to the dock loaded the boat, and conversed a little. Not going to lie I was a little sad he was leaving. I had a lot of fun with him. We said our see ya laters and Ed says “you know you are a good guide, but you didn’t get me a 40 incher” and laughs.

These moments live forever in my mind. The friendships gained in a skiff can be that of a lifetime.

-Johnny

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.