You Won’t Believe What’s Lurking in These Shallow Waters — Fly Fishing Secrets of the South Carolina Lowcountry

There’s something about chasing redfish on a flood tide that never gets old — even when they refuse everything you throw at them. My buddy Jeremy Clark and I recently headed out for what turned into one of the most unforgettable flood tide trips of the season. It started rough, but ended with one of the biggest tailers I’ve ever landed in the grass.

We launched the skiff under heavy gray skies, the Lowcountry feeling more like a soaked sponge than a postcard. We idled out with hope, but not a whole lot of visibility. Within minutes, a wall of rain sent us seeking cover beneath a bridge, watching the clouds dump buckets while we killed time — and our optimism — waiting it out.

But like it often does around here, the storm blew out almost as quickly as it came in. And when the sun punched through and the tide hit just right, it was like the marsh came alive. The flood was on. Tailing redfish started popping up everywhere — some feeding hard, some cruising, all moving with that unmistakable rhythm that makes your casting hand twitch.

We poled into position and started picking targets. Jeremy had the bow first. Fish after fish showed themselves. He laid out clean shots. Only one gave him an eat but as luck would have it, he came unbuttoned after crossing the line in floating dead grass. Then we saw it — a massive red, tail waving like a flag above the spartina. He made the perfect cast. No eat. Swapped flies. Tried again. Nothing. We figured he’d spooked and gave up on him.

My turn.

We were easing away when the same fish suddenly made a big, aggressive move — right in the grass, just enough to draw our eyes back to him. He wasn’t gone. He was still feeding. I had just tied on a smaller white fly, something subtle after the bigger stuff got ignored. I dropped a cast just ahead of him.

Nothing.

I threw one more. That tail twitched. Then he surged forward and gulped the fly like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Big white mouth shutting around my fly. I strip-set hard — and it was like hooking a log. He barely moved. That’s when I knew: this one was big.

He bulldogged through the grass, refusing to come easy. We finally got him to the net and kept him low in the flooded flat while we snapped a couple quick photos. Then, just like we found him, we released him back into the water — still full of fight, and just as wild as the marsh itself.

Final Thoughts

Days like this are why we fly fish the Lowcountry. You earn every shot. The storms, the refusals, the close calls — they’re all part of it. But when it finally comes together, and that big red decides to eat… there’s nothing like it.

Whether you’re new to this game or you’ve been hunting tailers for years, remember: what’s lurking in these shallow waters might just be the redfish of a lifetime.

Written by: Austin Young

Photos by: Jeremy Clark

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