South Carolina

South Carolina 's Chief of Fisheries, Joe Logan, suggested these main characters; Fred Covert as fishing companion, the town of Yemassee where Fred lives as the base of operations, the Combahee River as the body of water to be fished and the redbreast as the fish of pursuit. Why? Because every time Joe's staff did a creel survey on the Combahee River they ran into Fred Covert and his creel full of redbreast (and other fish). Fred told them he was available anytime they needed help and so, that's how Fred ended up fishing with me.

Fred works as a civilian Department of Defense employee advising and training US uniformed service personnel in the maintenance and operation of F / A-18 aircraft, but he seems to be able to get time off to fish whenever he needs it and he seems to need it often. I told Fred that if he signed the fishing contract, he would either fish with me or donate 100 hours of volunteer work to the nature conservancy and he said, ''I win either way" In one of his letters he wrote, ''I will make every effort to make this portion of 'Fishing America' the most comfortable, affordable, successful and interesting part of your work." That's the kinda guy he is.

The second character, Yemassee, is a town of 1100 people located in the South Carolina low country. It boasts of 15 churches and 4 liquor stores. The oldest flagpole in town has had five flags hanging on it; the French, the Spanish, the British, the Confederate and "Old Glory."

Our third character, the Combahee River, flows through the town of Yemassee and on through the brackish tidewater swamps and plantations that once were our counties major rice producers. The river had gone into flood mood the day before I arrived and it stayed in flood mood until after I left.

The last character, the redbreast, a member of the sunfish family with a bright red underside and a preference for fast moving water, was supposed to be the main character. That's called foreshadowing. You now have the major players and part of the plot, so here's what happened:

Fred met me at the Village restaurant out by the freeway. We both drove to his house and after parking my pick-up in his driveway and after he took a redbreast out of the refrigerator so I could photograph it, we were off to see the redbreast. On the way to the Sugar Hill boat ramp and to my delightful surprise, we drove past the Auld Brass Plantation which was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright after he lost his "design services" in a poker game. The boat ramp was home to a 4 foot by 20 foot banner, "Beaufort County welcomes Larry Stark-Good Luck Fishing." Three reporters from area newspapers waited to see if we were worth writing for.

"How do you combine sports, photography, art, writing, and whimsy? You go fishing." - Laura J. McKenzie, The Hampton County Guardian

"The inherent problem with writing a book of fishing stories is that nobody is ever going to believe it." - John Clayton, The Beaufort Gazette

"Larry Stark hung out in San Francisco in the Sixties. Fred Covert was deployed to Bahrain in the Nineties. Fishing makes strange boatfellows." - Dan Johnson, The Press and Standard

Five times in four days we fished the low tides using spinner jigs and ultra light poles. We caught enough crappies the first day for a feast. The second day we caught largemouth bass, one 3 pounder caught on my fly rod. Talk about fun. I nailed a young striper that got to do the old "pose in my hand for a photograph" before going back in the river to take its place in the aquatic food chain. I get excited by big fish and I get excited by new species of fish and this fish was new to me. Fred must have thought me "strange," photographing a five inch fish. We take our environments for granted and we tend to forget life's "firsts."

The first day was Fred's favorite day, because he now has a story to tell about what he calls my "Bug, macho, no pest control" attitude. Here we are in the middle of the river in a nice breezy no bug environment and he asks me if I would like to put on bug spray. "Heck No!" I said, not knowing if a guy from a town of 15 churches would allow me to say it the proper way. He didn't say any more. I was in a tee shirt enjoying the breeze when we glided into a canal cut in out of the wind. We fished for about ten minutes when I noticed my arms itched all over. Fred recalls: "The bugs had taken him to his knees. He was on the boat floor scratching and hollering." He also says, "Hey! I tried to warn him." Now I know why they are called "no-see-ums." After I got my sweatshirt on it took a couple of hours for the itching to subside.

With the itching gone, the second day was my favorite. Dan, one of the reporters I'd met the day before came over to Fred's house to look at my art and talk about fishing and art and writing and life. He pointed out that I had been the object of pack journalism the day before.

Back at the river, a news reporter from Beaufort's public TV station went out in the boat with us while we tried to catch a fish for his camera. We didn't catch anything while he was in the boat or afterwards either.

That evening the mayor of Yemassee, Jack Guess and his wife Isle held a party in their back yard. Isle's brother Ad, made barbecue Lemon/Pepper Chicken for about 50 townsfolk. I wished I could have spent more time with Ad because he is quite an interesting guy. A bachelor, probably in his late 6O's, he is one of the last commercial fisherman on the Combahee River. Earlier that afternoon, while I was out on the river I saw Ad's boat tied to a dock in one of the plantation canals. It is the last wooden john boat on the Combahee and it is beautiful; a perfect example of form following function to create good design. Ad has spent most of his life huntin', trappin' and fishin' among the snakes and gaters in the Combahee River and its adjacent swamps. Fred learned almost everything he knows about the river and river fishin' from Ad. Ad once caught a gator, wrestled it over on its back and rubbed its belly until it was asleep. While he was turned around talking to a friend, the creature woke up and jumped him, raking his lower left arm and hand, ripping the skin off and leaving conversation starting scars.

Part of my motivation for fishing every state is to point out the relationship between work and play. Those of us fortunate enough to work at something we enjoy are not able to distinguish between the two. Sometimes when Fred and I would fish an area of the river, Fred would say, "We worked that bank the best we can." He never once said, "We played that bank the best we can." I think that says it all.

Fred and I didn't get our targeted fish species and the high water was probably to blame. Fred was more disappointed because he believed the fishing contract implied, "we must get our fish." He didn't have to feel bad, the fishing was good and the fishing trip was great, even though we didn't get the targeted redbreast.