Catching Redfish in Charleston, SC

Redfish have presented quite the conundrum over the past few years for me. These marsh monsters are so captivating, flicking their haint blue tails about, only to disappear in a cloud of dust, like ghosts haunting you. You spend enough time wading through flood tides or poling through tidal creeks, it’s easy to feel like you’re going crazy and that these fish are simply figments of your imagination.

That was how I felt for the longest time. I took three trips down to South Carolina before finally cracking the code. The first time was for the Badfish Tailer’s Cup during Fall Break with some college buddies of mine. The second time was a beach vacation with my wife’s family and I found myself completely out of my element. Sure I had my 8-weight and a couple of redfish flies I’d picked up over the years, but my footwear was lacking and I learned the hard way that walking barefoot through spartina and oyster beds is a terrible idea. fish with my brother-in-law, who by the looks of it, was a certified ghost buster, pinpointing tails from across the marsh, only to leave me dumbfounded. In truth it was probably just my luck, because you can’t go fish with a kid and expect to out-fish them.

Nonetheless, I was convinced that Redfish simply did not exist. I’d seen pictures, and even watched others land a few, but either due to my blindness or unfortunate circumstances, had failed to spot one during my coastal adventures.

Fast forward to 2023. My wife’s family invited us to Seabrook Island for their annual beach vacation. My shoes still were not up to the task, and I felt no more confident in our ability to find fish, but I was going to give it my best effort. After walking a flood tide the first evening without spotting a single tail, I was somewhat dejected to say the least. But I held out hope, because after some sleuthing over satellite images on google maps, Andrew had pinpointed what he thought to be a honey hole.

The next day, we got out there early, marched across the banks of the tidal creeks, and made our way down to our target destination. With an incoming tide, we hoped these fish would be ready for new prey to cruise through their pool, and we were going to capitalize on their laziness.

We tied on some sliders, and quickly got to casting. Andrew took the first shot and within a few casts, his line went tight and the fight was on. Within a few seconds, he was grabbing the tail of silver slot red, snapping some pictures, and sending him on his way. I was up next.

A short cast was all it took. So long as you could avoid the sunken tree trunk that snagged a number of my flies in the casts to follow, you were likely to be met with a short thump and the thrill of a tight line. A sharp strip set and I was hooked up.

Similar to my brother-in-law’s before me, I reeled in a metallic looking drum, with little to no red to be found, save the faintest hue of copper toward its tail. Nonetheless, I marveled at this prize, like Scooby Doo and the gang revealing the individual beneath the mask. While my ghost hunt may have come to an end, my adventure was only beginning.

After sending this little monster back into the marsh to h(a)unt fiddler crabs and mud minnows, we were straight back to fishing. Cast after cast, we landed innumerous reds, each different than the one before. Reds with bright blue tails, reds with extra spots, and reds that had no business being called reds at all. These little puppy drums may have scratched the itch, but as is often the case, they left me wanting more.

I guess these ghosts of the marsh will continue to haunt me after all. Until next time, South Carolina.