They’re just built different.

They’re tough. They’re dumb (*sometimes).

I get all giggly & shakey knee’d when the undeniable wake of a school is headed your direction.

And watching them open up & breathe your fly in… That’s the stuff.

When you feel the hook set on the right one, it feels like they’re about to pull the rod out of your hand.

My love for lowcountry redfish is truly a guised affair with the lowcountry itself. It’s the sticky pluff mud and tea-stained water. It’s the finite window of tides and weather conditions aligning. It’s the best damned brisket you’ve ever had after fishing all morning.

The marsh is full of promising opportunity & hopeless abundance. There are more bays, creeks, banks and edges than you could explore in a lifetime. Throw in a 6-7 foot tidal swing and you’ve got the world’s largest maze with hidden oyster rakes, sandbars and the oddly placed crab trap just waiting to bust your prop or strand you for hours.

Fish are seemingly everywhere and nowhere. You could catch a daymaker right off the dock then proceed to pole the wrong bank for hours without sniffing a fish. When you do find them, they don’t go far.

Coming from a drought year in the west with low water and vulnerable trout, it’s refreshing to be greeted by the resilient redfish. Still doing their thing. Clumsily batting at gurglers. Busting down creeks at low tide. Refreshing resiliency. They’re just built different.