A “Spotty”
St. Patrick’s Day
I
Story by Stephen Dalton; photo by a Good Samaritan
t was Friday, March 17, 2017—St. Patrick’s Day. I was awakened by golden light leaking into the
bedroom on Kiawah Island, South Carolina. When I die and am whisked through the Pearly
Gates, I hope to find that I will be spending eternity on Kiawah, easily peddling my bike through
the serene beauty of the Island, walking the wide, uncrowded beach, talking to friendly people,
and most importantly, fishing the salt marshes, creeks, and many lagoons in search of tasty flounder,
vampire-fanged speckled trout, and best of all, hard-pulling muscular redfish.
I am obsessed with redfish. They provide everything I love best about fishing. They strike lures
aggressively with a violent abandon that sends jolts of adrenaline through my body leaving me shaking
after the battle is won or lost. Redfish make long blistering runs into open water that threaten to empty
my spool, bend my light spinning rod to its limits, and leave red marks on my soft belly from the rod butt
while I try to hang on. When I sometimes get the upper hand and slowly regain lost line, they often resort
to their rolling tactic.
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