TALES FROM REDFISHVILLE

By Ken Bergman
Charleston , SC

As my headlights played across the small feeder creek of the Copahee Sound, near Charleston South Carolina, I saw small schools of mullet and shrimp dancing along the waters surface. So this was "Redfishville".
I knew it was gonna be a good day. I started out throwing the cast net and catching my bait for the day, medium sized finger mullet, and waited for my fishing partners. One by one they showed up in the predawn and began to ready their kayaks for the day. With rods stored, paddles leashed and bait secured we made our way down the creek to the sound.
As we came round the bend the sight took my breath away. The sun was just creeping up over the horizon and the water was glassy. Small channels and creeks wound through the spartina grass and every once in a while a redfish tail would pop and wave good morning. We paddled for about 20 minutes and made our way to a flat that had produced for my partners before and since this was my first trip to the "Ville" they wanted to put me onto some fish.
Slowly we paddled onto the flat, pushing the grass before us as we scanned for "tails", the un-mistakable fanning of a redfish's tail out of the water as they root for crabs and other food. Being new to flats fishing I grabbed my camera instead of my fly rod until I was sure of what to do. I had heard about how to fish the flats and grass but I was so excited on seeing so many waving tails and the sheer beauty of these marsh flats in the first minutes of the dawn I wanted to capture it, to be able to show others who have never seen this beauty of our world.
One of my buddies, Scott, had his eye on a red and began casting. The grass was pretty high and his fly wasn't quite reaching the fish. He tried several times before the fish spooked and almost ran into me. What a rush. My first time on these marsh flats and I was almost run over by a fleeing redfish.
We stalked around a while longer, Scott throwing flies and me shooting until I realized I had a kayak floating off in the distance with my own fishing gear on it. I made my way back and grabbed my fly rod and began my own stalk of these beautiful, coppery, spot-tailed monsters. Clumsily I made my way to the other end of the flat away from Scott, mainly to keep from spooking his fish and to keep my rusty casting out of the eyes of the public.
I saw a few tails and before I could get my fly in the air they disappeared. Gone. Not another sign of them. I was wondering if they were ghost redfish. Our small group of 4 slowly broke up and we all headed around to different areas of the flats. I found a small break in the grass where a channel had formed and with all the surface action I figured there must be fish in there. I tried live shrimp, dead shrimp, live mullet, dead mullet, flies, grubs and even a jerkbait and I couldn't get their mouths open. I got back in the yak and moved out.
As soon as my paddle hit the water three very large redfish gave up their hiding spots not 5 feet from where I was, and headed for deeper water. My heart was racing for about the five-hundredth time that morning and I followed them to deeper water and the edge of the grass. I was stunned. I sat there for about 15 minutes just taking in all the sights, sounds and smells. I knocked all the small snails off of my paddle and moved out. After a quick reconsolidation, my team and I started working the grass edge with everything in our arsenal.
Within 10 minutes of parking in our first spot, Tim hooked up on a pig of a red that was trying it's best to get back into the grass and away from us. An epic battled ensued and finally Tim hoisted a gorgeous thirty-two inch redfish from the water for its close up with me and Mr. Nikon. All of us were stoked. Just the sight of that monster made the entire day worth it. At this time I had one redfish under my belt, a 14-incher caught a few weeks earlier and I was hungry for a bigger one.
I paddled further down the grass edge and set up shop. There were a lot of ladyfish and I played with them for a while and I noticed one of my lines was not as tight as it was when I set it. There was a lot of slack in the line and I tightened it up. As the line came in it started to move to my left rather quickly and it took me what seemed like an eternity to realize I had a fish on. Things like this really do happen in slow motion. I was praying it was one of those monster reds but would have been happy with just about anything outside of a stingray. I reared back and started reeling and when the circle hook rolled to the corner of her mouth and set it was game on! I know, you're not supposed to "set" a circle hook, but after all the research I have done and the stories I have heard I recently switched to the better-for-the-fish circle hooks and old habits are hard to break.
The fish started peeling off line and running, the drag singing that sound we all live for. The adrenaline started pumping and there was nothing else going on in the world. Me, the fish and that fight was all. A 747 could have landed next to me and I wouldn't have noticed. I hooked my fish and was determined to see it in my kayak for a photo. I love to eat fish, love it, but I would rather release a fish to fight another day sometimes and knew this fish was going back but I still wanted to win this fight. One more long run and she was in the grass. I panicked. I thought about all the horror stories of monster reds breaking anglers off on the grass of the flats, then I looked down and remembered the fish was on the right pole, braided line. Whew.
I turned my attention back to the fight. I quickly pulled up the anchor and dragged myself over to where she had wrapped herself up. As I got closer I could see this giant shiny penny lounging near the grass, then it hit me, that was my fish. Once I got closer I realized my other lines that were out had formed a cocoon around me and it was getting hard to reach anything. I started biting through the mono enshrouding me and trying to keep enough pressure on my fish so she couldn’t spit the hook. Eventually I released myself and I got her head in the net and she slipped into it. Man what a rush. I sat there hands shaking, a monster red in my net and my buddy grabbing my camera to take my picture. What a day. I got the red out of the net, hoisted all of her 32" aloft for the photo and gingerly placed her back in the water. She rolled over once and looked at me with those penny sized eyes and with a mighty kick of her tail was off, swimming strongly and headed for the grass. I was smoked. It hurt to paddle. It hurt to try and think about anything else other then what just happened. My mind was reeling. I looked at the photos on my camera over and over again. I replayed the fight in my head over and over. My hands finally stopped shaking and I got ready for round 2.
Slowly I re-organized my other rods and sorted myself out. It took me a while but I got back up, paddled further down the grass and set up, this time with only one rod out, and waited for another one. My face hurt. My cheeks were sore and on the verge of getting a cramp. I couldn't stop grinning. The clatter of my rod in it's holder and drag ripping out brought me back to task at hand of reeling in another fish. I couldn't believe it. Another big red? Not two in one day. Instead of running for the grass this one decided she would play Talladega around my kayak. I was on the verge of dizziness when she turned and ran down parallel to the grass. I pulled my anchor and pinned it down with my foot and I was off. My first official Redneck Sleigh ride! She dragged me along and twisted back and forth and she eventually tired enough for me to get her in the net. I sat there dazed. Not one, but two gorgeous reds inside an hour. Could this day get any better? Same drill. My buddy paddled over and after I removed the perfectly set circle hook from the corner of her mouth, she was made famous and released last seen swimming strongly to the grass. I was feeling cocky now. I wanted a hat-trick.
I re-baited my line and chucked it out. I looked around me. The sound was beautiful. The sun danced across the water and squadrons of pelicans flew over head. It was so pristine and soothing. The calm and moment was broken by one of my buddies cry of "FISHONWHOOHOO!!!" and when I looked over to him he had not only one rod bent nearly in half, but a second rod in his other hand bent nearly as far with another fish online.
I grabbed my camera and snapped a few shots of the double and started to move over to help him out. He handed off one rod to me and I backed up and held on until he could get his other fish squared away. His fight was short when the red he had online broke him off on an oyster bar. He dropped the rod and looked for me. I had his second red online and she was running donuts around my yak like her larger cousin form earlier. He paddled over and I handed off his second fish. I backed off and started shooting. He landed his fish, a nice twenty-five inch red but she had to weigh close to fifteen pounds. All the fish today were pigs. They had been eating well.
As we looked around for the next spot to try, we noticed the tops of the oyster bars showing. That was our cue to start heading back. Low tide in Redfishville is nothing to monkey around with. As we worked our way back to the landing Tim's drag started peeling off and he managed to boat a very nice black drum. Tim strapped him to the stringer talking about fresh fish for supper and we paddled back to the landing. The small feeder creek that was so full this morning was barely a trickle now. There was just enough water to float our kayaks. By the time we got our boats loaded and headed out the creek was down to about 8 inches wide. We packed it up and headed for home. Memories of my first trip to Redfishville will stay with me for a long time.