What do Micheladas and Waffle House have in common? Good luck figuring out that riddle. 

The 2019 Badfish Tailers Cup in Charleston, SC was one hell of a throw down, and I’d make the 1000 mile trek again anytime to hang with this crew of saltwater cowboys. Three days of laughs, rowdiness, tequila, shitty weather, and some stupidly big smiles had me driving back to Florida fighting some tears back. We came from all across the country, literally, and united in the Lowcountry holy land for one of the best weekends I can recall in sometime. 

I left south FL a week prior to the Tailers Cup, with boat in tow, and headed to Tampa for a work expo. Four days of standing, talking, and late nights at the bar. Wrapped up the show breakdown, scooped up the boat from a friends house, and hit the road north at around 7pm. Having great friends across the map helps in situations like this, as we rolled into Ridgeland, SC around 1am to crash with our friends Anna and Jonathan.

By Friday morning we were rested, rejuvenated, and ready to put the skiff to work. Fried chicken and mango white claw were on the menu for the day, naturally, as we set out on the slicked off waters of Beaufort, SC. The sun and tide continued to rise as we made the first few pushes down a long marsh edge, searching for that first sign of red gold. Sure enough, laid up on a mud bank, he was found. When you haven’t seen a fish in a good while, this is an all familiar sight for sore eyes and for the first few seconds all I could do was take it all in. Life’s been crazy lately between work and travels, but for me all it takes is that first immersion back in nature to settle my mind, body, and soul. Kaitlin made a couple perfect casts, but the red slid into the depths of the marsh and we pushed onwards. 

As we rekindled with the crew, we pushed up onto a flat as the water began to flood, and picked our directions. One boat east, one boat west. Working what looked like one huge horseshoe, I spotted what I’d been waiting for; a tail. 

Many moons ago when I fished my first flood tide I remember thinking, “ok, how the hell am I going to spot a tail in all of this grass?” I was with my good buddy Owen Plair at the time and I’ll never forget him replying, “trust me, you’ll see it.” Boy was he right. 

In the ever tangled maze of grass, a redfish tail will pop up and it’s as if there’s a glowing ray of sunshine directly on it. Almost like a mirage on the horizon, yet real to the touch. She took aim, laid out perfect casts, but this red just didn’t want to stay on a clear path and kicked hard as he took off through the spartina. Again, onwards. A few more tails were spotted on the flat, and a few more rejections. I know Kaitlin was a bit bummed to not come tight, but for me, this is all I want these days. The ability to truly take advantage of just being there, with the people I enjoy most. 

Finishing our fried chicken, we loaded up and headed to Charleston for the weekend’s first event; the Tailers Ball put on by our good friends of Flood Tide Co. Country music, cold beer, mechanical bulls, skiffs, and one big reunion of some of our favorite friends both old and new. As the sun sank into the marsh, we wrapped up at Tradesman Brewing, and headed to the old trusty Royal American where tequila seemed to flow off the bar top like a lowcountry waterfall. We said we’d have an early night, but lord knows we cannot change. Rubbing the sleep out of our eyes the next morning, I had an all too familiar feeling of being back in college. The group sat around the living room of our downtown AirBnb reminiscing of the previous night, telling stories that would have you laughing your ass off, and realizing that we just aren’t 21 anymore. That realization came quick as we had to get packed up to head out on the boat. 

We stepped outside into lovely 20mph winds and gloomy skies. Perfect skiff weather. Onto the gas station to load up on Micheladas and then a quick stop to pick up our buddy, Cole Anderson, and we swiftly launched the skiff into what looked like an angry sea. You know it’s going to be a fun ride when guys in bay boats at the dock are giving you that “good luck” look. Our Waterman took the 2-3ft bay chop like a champ and nobody complained too much, as we made our way into a back creek and out of the treacherous seas. As we poled up to a dry flat, the water began to crawl its way on up within minutes and the hunt began. A flood tide always seems to work like clockwork, because there she was standing tall; a tail. Kaitlin laid out perfect casts but just as quick as the red was there, it was gone. 

Avoiding the windstorm, we tucked behind an island and reunited with the rest of our crew to continue our search but it seemed they beat us to the fun. A couple small reds were had and we consider that a win for the team. The three boats posted up and the jokes started flowing. There’s something to be said about sharing laughs off the grid, as if part of an invite-only comedy club. It’s not often I feel the need to find deeper water, but I had that low tide feeling creeping in and it’s a good thing we left when we did. The tides never fail. Easy come, easy go. 

From Revelry Brewing to the Yeti store on King Street, we painted the town that evening with the Badfish crew and then some. Some memories are blurry, but the great ones remained clear in the days to come. 1000 miles home. Thank you to all the fine folks that made this weekend a special one. Fishing events are never about the fishing, but about creating memories with people who share a unique passion. I think it’s safe to say fly fishing is here to stay.