The month of February; all around the country; is not especially noted for its wide-open fishing, unless of course you’re targeting redfish following the passage of cold fronts, as spring attempts to break free from the icy grasp of winter. From the South Texas Gulf Coast in the west, to the Carolinas in the east, red drum are famous for schooling up in warmer, shallow, backwater marshes on those in-between-weather-system bluebird days, sight-fishing and fly-casting for them all that much more productive with the absence of the stiff afternoon sea-breezes of summer to cloud the water or send well-aimed casts yards off target. Having a week’s vacation to spend somewhere, I decided on a return to the low-country of Charleston, to see if I could experience a little of the magic.
With a week to go before my planned departure to South Carolina, the weather forecast was shaping up perfectly. It was snowing heavily in Dulles when I taxied our B-777 out for takeoff on a six-day LHR-SFO-LHR-IAD trip, and with temperatures anticipated in the seventies for our return and the week afterwards, things were definitely looking up! Unfortunately, by the time we made it back to Washington, D.C., the frontal pattern was collapsing, and instead of a great week of warm weather to look forward to, all that remained was a day or so of reasonable weather before things got downright ugly. Still, you fish when you can, and I was packed and heading down I-95 by 5:30pm on Sunday, and in Charleston by 2am, despite a pretty vicious thunderstorm on the way, in the Richmond area.
Day 1 – The local Food Lion was open by 7am, and with basic kayak provisioning complete for the week’s fishing, it was off to James Island County Park to check in and pitch camp early, so as to avoid having to set up my tent in the dark and anticipated evening rain showers. If you haven’t stayed there before, I can tell you that the staff at the campground is fantastic, and all matters of accommodation were settled in short order, and I was on my way out to Fo
Initially, I started working the docks and creek mouths on the south side of the river, concentrating on the edges of the spartina grass, oyster mounds with popping shrimp, and where the water depths fell off from 3-10’. Water visibility was good at about 3-4’, so I stayed with longer 13’ leaders, tapered from 40-50# mono butt sections to 5-6’ of 20# Vanish fluorocarbon to make sure I didn’t spook the fish. I spotted two tailing fish on the flats edges as I floated to the west, but the current speed and their holding position in between dock pilings made it impossible to work a cast between the obstacles, even though the fins on my feet took positioning the 12’ Malibu Stealth kayak out of the equation by allowing me to ferry the boat in and out from shore and slow its drift considerably.
All the way out to the inlet, I continued to probe edge-lines while searching the deeper holes with my fish-finder. Other than a few schools of baitfish, I pretty much came up empty, all the way to the western end of Folly Island. The water temperature was a fairly pleasant 56*F, but wearing waders was essential to keep from getting chilled as the sun hid itself behind overcast skies most of the day.
As the incoming tide began to trickle in over the now-warmed mud flats, I was hoping that the redfish would start pushing up into the balmier shallows in search of an afternoon meal. If I was right, they’d be staging to re-enter their favorite creeks, and by posting up in some of the more likely spots I figured I might get lucky, and finally did when a schoolie came cruising along the bank and hammered a size #2 Kuan fly I crawled off the bank and into his path. As you examine his “photo-op,” take a look at the arthropod parasite he has on his tail, just behind his “spot.” He had three others attached to him, leaving several lesions where they’d penetrated his suit of armor. Kind of reminded me of that mind-control ear-bug thing from “The Wrath of Kahn;” just a little creepy!
[img]http://old.charlestonfishing.com/forum/
I was hoping that my redfish friend had brought some of his buddies along with him to play, but nothing doing, so I packed up shop and headed up Robbins Creek along with the flooding tide. Along the way back into the grasses south of the hammocks, I worked the edges, drop-offs, and holes hard to no avail, with everything from shrimp and crabs to flashy Clouser baitfish patterns – NADA! At least it was a beautiful 65*F afternoon, with light breezes for effortless and accurate casting, and perfect fish-spotting conditions.
Alas, no more fish were to be found, even though I went deep into the grass with the rising water. There was plenty of fishy habitat and good structure to be sure, but nobody home, though plenty of nooks and crannies were probed meticulously, right up to sunset. In my zeal to catch that one last fish of the day, I stayed with the fishing way too long, and was punished for it by having to fight my way back to the Folly River for a mile and a half against a pretty stiff flooding current through the Cutoff Reach. At least it was all “downhill” after reaching the main river, where the water swept me back to the launch ramp with a minimum of effort. Here’s an overview of the first day’s fishing:
Day 2 – Tuesday morning’s wake-up call came in the form of a couple of passing thunderstorm cells, and a fair amount of rain, right about 5am! I was pretty happy I’d chosen some high ground in the primitive camping area, and had taken the time to “ditch” the tent, which allowed a minor flash flood to pass me by. Not having to register at the campground or set up camp meant I could get an earlier start, and I was on the water right after sunrise at 7am. The flooding tide was still strong enough to push me easterly into the marshes south of Long Island, where I found much warmer water than the day before, hovering in the 58-62*F range throughout the day. Water visibility still remained good at 2-4’ in most places, so I stayed with the longer leaders from the previous day, rigged on Rio Outbound weight-forward lines; a floating line on one rod (a 9’, 10-wt. TFO TiCr-x) and an intermediate line on the other (9’, 10-wt. Reddington RS-4); for shallow water work. Though I didn’t see any fish early on, I knew I was probably in the right place when the guide I’d met on Monday poled through against the current with a pair of clients. The light breeze from earlier in the morning had all but died away, but hazy skies still made spotting sub-surface fish pretty difficult.
By 10am I was posted up where I wanted to be among the oyster beds at the end of a spit of spartina grass, when a second guide came roaring into the foot and a half deep water on the flat at full-throttle, completely ruining any chance of a fish cruising through my stakeout and upcoming drift. Safe to say that this bonehead probably sent them packing for more than a half-mile on his way in, and my only choice was to retreat with the now ebbing tide to seek out a less disturbed area. Sadly, I don’t think the guy has any idea of how difficult it is to have to relocate in a kayak against fast-moving tidal flow, and still arrive in the right place at the right time to connect with fish that have little loyalty for territory which will leave them high and dry in a matter of minutes if they get it wrong - he simply doesn’t have to deal with the same problem with his 90hp + manhood strapped to the back of a boat. During the course of a single tide, a knowledgeable guide can easily hit several locations without missing a beat with a little planning and experience, and knows that there’s little to no reason to crowd others and end up spoiling somebody else’s fishing day. Not setting a very good example for one’s clients either, but that would be just my opinion.
The drift down to Rat Island Creek was a pretty fast one, and though I put flies in plenty of good places, I found no willing takers. I continued down to the Lighthouse Inlet, rounding the corner to it just before 2pm. There were baitfish showing on my fish-finder, but 3” mullet patterns went unchallenged whether they were fished along the edges or down in the deeper holes along the east end of the entrance. Dolphins were feeding in the area, so at least somebody was finding something to eat!
Most of the water was pretty well gone from the inlet by the time the tide bottomed out, and if there were any redfish lurking about I’d have seen them. The Morris Island lighthouse stood sentry over the last of the tide’s ebbing water, and it was a great time to get out and stretch my legs, stalk fish on foot, and take a moment out for a little lunch. The lighthouse used to stand some 1200 feet back from the edge of the water when it was first constructed in 1876, but the construction of jetties in 1889 to protect Charleston Harbor’s shipping lanes altered the local currents so much that much of Morris Island has since eroded away, including Fort Wagner, famous for it’s defense of Charleston Harbor during the Civil War, when Union forces were twice thrown back with heavy casualties. You might recall the movie, “Glory,” which tells the story of African-American Sergeant William Carney of the 54th Massachusetts Regiment, who is considered to be the first black recipient of the Medal of Honor for his actions at Fort Wagner in recovering and returning the unit’s U.S. Flag to Union lines.
Plenty of quiet over by the outer sandbar, and a great place to anchor out!
With the day’s minus tide it was possible to walk all the way out to the lighthouse if you wanted to. The outbuildings that once surrounded it were swept away in Hurricane Hugo in 1989, and the structure is currently being saved as a historic landmark, with concrete stabilization of the base of the tower structure now in progress.
Around 3pm it was time to head back to my launch point at the Folly Island Bridge. I could ride the incoming tide back the way I’d come, fishing the exposed flats and creek mouths as I went. Where the flood waters from both ends of the island met, I planned on working back through the shallower water behind Oak Island for an easier paddle in less current, hoping to take out a little earlier than the previous day’s outing. Not much to report from the trip back; lots of good looking water, well-placed casts, and no fish to show for all the effort, though a handful of flies were “donated” to thieving oysters in the process. Here’s the summary of Day 2’s “hunting grounds:”
Though Tuesday was a little disappointing from the “catching” side of the “fishing” equation, there were plenty of new areas scouted out which I’m sure will definitely yield fish in the future. A great big bacon, blue cheese burger, basket of hot fries, several cold beers, and night of Bingo at Planet Follywood on the island more than helped me forget about the fishing, and a nice, hot shower before bedding down for the night provided the icing on the proverbial cake.
Day 3 – The outlook for Wednesday was for a cold front to drive through in the morning, with severe thunderstorms forming a line over seven hundred miles long miles long from Georgia to the Virginias. When I plotted the threatening weather’s progress towards Charleston before turning in the previous evening, I decided it would be necessary to get up early, and to seek shelter somewhere more secure than my tent before things got really dicey around 8am or so. Another look at the storm system’s movement right after sunrise showed that heading out towards Folly Island would allow the bulk of the incoming thunderstorms to pass safely to the north over Charleston, with a second group of them to the south out over Atlantic waters. The wind was already a steady 20-25 knots from the southwest by the time I made it out to Bowen Island, where a look to the west confirmed the incoming weather. Even the shallow water flats by the road were sporting whitecaps!
Needing a good cup of coffee anyhow, I opted to weather out the rain and squalls for the next hour or so at the Black Magic Café on Folly Island. The rain was full on us by 8:30am, but all the lightning and thunder went safely around on both sides, just as anticipated. The same line of storms killed three people in Virginia later in the afternoon, after spawning several tornados. I felt pretty lucky to escape with only a rinsing of the tent, car, and kayak, to say the least!
The winds continued to freshen after frontal passage at 10am, and though the sun poked its head out again, the 25-35 knot winds were going to be a big problem. I elected to launch out of Sol Legare Island, from a little oyster landing at the end of Mosquito Beach Road. The falling tide would allow some shelter from the creek banks, but there wouldn’t be a whole lot of places to hide in the main river system when wind and water forces aligned at the peak of the ebb, around noon. The landing proved perfect for a kayak, best accessible within two and a half hours of the top of the tide (tide at a minimum of 3’).
The first half of the day’s fishing revolved around casting to eddies and creek mouths for fish holding in the deeper waters of the main channels. Strangely, I couldn’t find a single fish (again)! As the tide dropped out and I headed back up into the skinnier water, the visibility improved quite a bit, especially at the western end of the estuary where the strong winds didn’t have a chance to get the waves rolling enough to stir up the mud. I staked out in a couple of spots to wait for fish I knew had to be returning with the tide, but they once again proved elusive. Perfect habitat, but nobody home.
As the sun started to drop, so did the temperature, and by the time I was finally able to re-enter the creek to access my launch point it was only 44*F, some twenty degrees cooler than the day before! It was still “rock ‘n and rolling” out on the marshes when I packed up to head back to camp!
What made for not so great fishing weather did make for some great sleeping weather, and I was glad I opted for a warm sleeping bag to handle the 36*F chill. A good plate of The Screen Door’s Gravy Fries provided plenty of calories to replace those lost from Wednesday’s kicking and paddling, and it was good to fall asleep without having to worry about what the next day’s weather was going to bring.
Day 3’s fishing, in a nutshell:
Day 4 – Wednesday’s high, westerly winds decided to hang around for another twenty-four hours, so I opted to head further up river into more protected areas in search of clearer water and warmer water temperatures. Besides, I was now two days without seeing a single fish, and they had to be somewhere else, right? I drove to a new launch point at the Stono River/ Main Road boat ramp, about 11 miles to the northwest of where I’d been fishing the day before to renew the hunt. The blustery conditions definitely made for a cold start to the day, but I launched out onto the Stono River and over to the Wallace River just after 7am. The incoming tide fighting against the 30 knot + westerly wind made for some pretty steep chop, and had it not been for the shallower flats along the edge of the main channel I would have made no progress at all! When I turned to the northwest to enter the Wallace River I was finally able to duck out of most of the wind and start fishing, but the current was flooding in with a vengeance and keeping control of the boat was a real handful. The river narrows considerably under a railway trestle some 0.6 miles from the Wallace River junction with the Stono, and you need to stay in the middle of the channel when you go underneath it as there are sharp oysters on all the pylons along both banks, which are hardly covered by water when the tide is low; a boat would be cut to ribbons with all the current, especially on the east side of the trestle where the outgoing channel dead-ends – bank, oyster bar, and pylons!
I stayed to the east when the river divided flows once again, following Rantowles Creek into a broader area of marshland and channels. Though the water finally slowed down enough to allow for good fishing, the water visibility was pretty poor from all the run-off from the previous day’s storms; 1-2’ at best! There was lots of tannin in the water, which looked more like Brazilian coffee than it did redfish habitat. There were plenty of birds around, but none of them were pushing bait or
There were plenty of spots I found out of the wind on grassy flats that should have held redfish, but not a sign of one anywhere, yet again. There were some great houses though.
At 1pm the wind shifted to the northwest and built to a substantial 35 knots, and with it now blowing directly down the marshes there was simply no place left to hide. Coupled with the outgoing tide, holding in one place long enough to cast flies into eddies and holes became all but impossible, and it was time to beat a retreat back to the
Stono take-out point. I did find a few places and opportunities on the way back to fish, but came up empty-handed for a third straight day. Day 4’s fishing:
