Thursday, September 30, 2010

Preparations....

As I've already mentioned, the annual Albie run is soon upon us... so me and the boys got together at Jons house to tie up a few flies and get our heads right for the upcoming trip..

Jon is the host with the most, and put up one hell of a spread so that we didn't have to tie on an empty stomache...

A little pulled pork from the big green egg...



Can't have good 'Q' without homade sauce....


and we even got a few flies tied...




Anyone who has ever been on a trip can attest.  They pass as a dream or a vapor.  Like a train in the night.. we see them from afar off hear their whistle and stand awstruck as they blow by in mere seconds leaving us once again standing in the cold dark.  Getting together and tying a bunch of flies that we don't need, talking about the preparations made, and those needing to be made, is our way of lengthening that trip.  To hold onto and savor it in our lives for just a little longer.  My girlfriend and my buddie's wives may laugh at us, and scoff at how we're just wasting time... but to me the time sitting at the vice listening to jon make stupid 7th grade jokes, and the rest of us laughing more from the buzz we've developed and less the actual humor.  The feel of deer hair, and flash being permenantly fixed to my jeans via glue... the taste of head cement because I got drunk and put the wrong end of the bodkin in my mouth... This is not wasting time.. this is what time was meant for..   

Talk to yall later....

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Summer 'O' Tails...

  Here in the lowcountry, we live and breathe for one thing... Tailing Reds... My boys have been hard at work all summer long.. Here is a short little Photo blog of some of the Highlights...


These photos are courtesy of myself, Gifford Scott, and Brian Robinson..


Brian on point...


  Gifford proving he's no fair-weather fisherman, as he works a tailer in the rain..



Jon Hill working one back to him...


Me workin' a pig from the bow...


and now... just straight up, "Fish in hand porn"!!











Its been a good summer..... and there is still plenty of tailing left to be done... I'll keep the goods coming!

Monday, September 27, 2010

Its just about Albie time!!!

Ok so the first essay on here has nothing to do with reds.. but it is fly-fishing, and it is saltwater.  This is a short little essay I put together about last years albie run... hope you enjoy it..



Fishing
By: Mad Mike Benson

  She’s sitting out there. Daring me to step outside, howling her warnings about what she’s gonna do to me. “Just hold on bitch, I’m comin’” I mutter as I slip into my foul weather bibs. It’s day three of a four day fishing trip to the outer banks to chase False Albacore, and other than one on the first day caught by a buddy I haven’t even seen a fish in the boat. Another gust of wind rips past the windows; I just take a sip of my coffee and head towards the door. Chad is already halfway to the dock, carrying a pair of 10wts and the pissed off attitude of a man who’s been beaten, battered, and drenched for three days with nothing to show for it.
  We all know that fishing isn’t always about the fish, and that the adventure and comradery amongst you and your fishing buddies are the true gifts of a trip. But let Mother Nature beat the piss out of you for a few days straight and all that crap goes right out the window. You’re left with two choices, go home, or go fishing… Staring down the barrel of 20kt winds and driving rain the only thing making me walk towards the dock is an overwhelming if not irrational desire to catch a fish.
  We push off from the dock, put the boat into gear, and motor towards the mouth of the inlet. The swell has subsided to a manageable 2-3ft. As we get up on plane and get a feel for what the ocean has in store for us, I think for an all too brief second that maybe I’ll stay dry today. That thought is washed out of my brain by the next wave that sends a hard salty spray directly into my face. With conditions like these Chad and I opted to take turns on the bow and driving the boat. But after 3 hours of charging at small groups of busting fish only to fail at getting a fly where it needed to be I decided to pull double duty and I brought a second 10wt into action. For those who have never played this game this would be a sight to behold. Two soaking wet guys running a boat as hard as possible through white-capping slop while the man on the bow crouches holding the bowline like the reigns of a bronco in one hand, and a fly-rod in the other allowing his fly and line to dangle behind the boat flapping in the wind. Being driven around by an apparently insane masochist with one hand on the wheel, the other gripping a rod as well with his line hanging off the opposite side as his partner. Through all the wind, spray, and hell both men hold a look of steely concentration. Where as the onlooker sees only gray skies, wind blown waves, and stinging spray. All they can see is that group of gulls hovering close to the water dead ahead of them.
 
  Finally after too many fishless, cold, and wet days, we charge into a group of fish, throttle down, flip a cast into the mayhem and my line comes tight, FISH ON! The look from Chad is half, “thank god”, and half, “Fuck you!” The fight is short, and the fish small, but the feeling is that only attained by trial. Beer always tastes better after a long hot day at work, women look hotter after a week of camping with the guys, and catching a false albie feels better after having the living shit beat out of you for days on end.



 
  Many people more suited to the task of probing men’s souls have commented on why we do what we do. Why we charge headlong into harms way for the chance to catch a fish. And I won’t waste by breath trying to one-up them. I can only speak for myself, and as for me I do what I do because it speaks to me in those deep dark places. It whispers to me in the night. I do it because every day I wake up and I’m presented with a choice. Go home…. Or go fishing….

What its about...



 Reading this you may not have any idea as to who I am or what you can expect to read here.  So here is the skinny.  My name is Mike Benson, I live, work, and fish in Charleston, South Carolina.  A mountain boy by birth I have adapted to my new life on the coast and now spend my days fly-fishing for reds in and around the marshes of Charleston.  In addition to working a fly-shop, guiding, and fishing, i've been known to put pen to paper occasionally and while most of my blabbing is incoherant every once in a while i spit something out thats worth reading.  I've never been a blogger, and I'll do my utmost best to keep up with this thing, but no promises will be made.

  This blog will consist of pretty much anything and everything that I find relevant to flyfishing in the salt, particularly when it partains to redfish, and possibly a few essays or good photo's when I might stumble upon them.  I truely hope you get something out of this, and if you don't... well go ahead and let me know about that as well...

-Mike