Mostly that title has nothing to do with what I’m about to write, but it’s hard to go to Savannah and not hum Moon River, or ponder the possibilities in a box of chocolates, or try to remember the story line of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. I needed to work at least one of those in somehow, but couldn’t think how. So there. Done.

The fish I caught near Savannah was not really one of my best fish. It was maybe 20 inches, so on the small side for redfish. It may have been a second year fish. It had good redfish color though, and I was really proud of that fish. For a combined full day of hard fishing, half a day for trout on Noontootla Creek in North Georgia in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and half a day in the Vernon River near Savannah, it was the only fish I caught in Georgia. Even if it wasn’t a trophy fish, it was a great fish.

I also caught it by luck. I was blind casting where the guide told me, under a bridge between the pylons, and when I picked up my line to recast there was a fish on my fly. I didn’t see that fish and cast to it. I didn’t feel the take. I thought at first I’d hung up on something, but then there it was. My Georgia fish. What a spectacular fish.

I also landed an oyster. It was also catch and release.

I could be less honest and tell you that the redfish was a bit bigger, maybe a lot bigger, and that it was all skill–my perfect cast fell exactly where I knew the fish would be, and when I began to lift the fly ever so gently–a Leisenring Lift in saltwater!–the fish slammed my fly hard and fast. It almost jerked the rod from my hands!

Did I mention it was about 24 inches?

Wait, wait, sorry, I was getting carried away, and Kris and our guide, Chad DuBose of Tall Tides Charters, would like as not call me on it. Not that I would ever tell you anything but exactly what happened, ever. Really.

And anyway blind luck is the way I catch a lot of fish. And I gotta admit I caught that fish by blind luck.

I was kinda sorry to catch that fish. I liked Georgia, especially Savannah and wouldn’t mind having to go back, especially to Savannah. I liked North Georgia, too, but our half-day was hard. We wade-fished, so we had to haul waders and boots and wading staffs from Texas. That’s heavy and bulky, and only gets heavier when wet. The stream where we fished, Noontootla Creek, was high, there were slick rocks and overgrown banks, and my new wading staff kept coming apart when I needed it.

Wading the Noontootla wore me out. I felt old.

The Noontootla is a small stream on private land, and all the fish were wild, none stocked. Normally it would have been terrific fishing, but they’d had rain and then some more rain, so the creek was running high and the fish were either sulking, dispersed, or already over-fed in the wash off. Our guide, Randy Bailey with Reel ‘Em In Guide Service, started the morning confident and ready to spend the day netting fish, and then we actually fished.

Randy must have adjusted my flies a half-dozen times trying to find something that worked. Early on I got one slap from a small fish on an indicator dry fly, and Randy caught a nice rainbow when he flipped out a streamer just to test the water. Otherwise nada. I should have known we were in trouble when the guys at the Fish Hawk in Atlanta told me we were going to catch a lot of fish. I should have knocked on wood, burnt a candle, and turned around three times and spat.

We fished nymphs. We fished dry flies. We fished nymphs under dry flies. We fished streamers. I even fished the girdle bugs they sold me at the Fish Hawk. Our friends Shelley and Mark fished a different beat with a different Reel ‘Em In guide, Chris Bradley , and Shelley caught a nice fish. She might tell you that she didn’t actually land the fish, that it came off when it was almost to hand, but if she won’t tell even a little white lie then I guess I’ll have to do it for her. Shelley caught that fish, and Mark got a photo, if not of the actual fish who’s to know?

Mark didn’t catch a fish. Kris didn’t catch a fish. I didn’t catch a fish. We fished hard. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful creek and by noon I was exhausted. When we were done I slept for about 18 hours, with no breaks except of course for lunch and dinner. I gained about eight pounds in Georgia, so I didn’t miss any lunches or dinners.

Google Maps

The next day Mark and Shelley flew back to Houston from Atlanta. Kris and I drove the half-dozen hours to Savannah, out of the mountains, through Atlanta and Macon, and into the Coastal Plain. Georgia’s a pretty big place, and there were plenty of places to fish that we missed. We didn’t even fish for bluegill in that pond behind the barbecue place, though I was tempted.

Savannah is a great vacation town. You can shop in Savannah. You can eat in Savannah and drink in Savannah, you can go to the beach, and you can just look around and see history. Best of all though, not far from the town, you can fish this.

I love coastal marshes. Sometimes I think it comes from growing up in the Great Plains–it’s flat and mostly treeless and covered with grass, just like home, and if it weren’t for all that water it could be West Texas. I lived years in Houston before I realized that there was wildness just an hour away, and that it was full of stuff no one would ever see unless they took some trouble.

Fishing for redfish near Savannah is a little different from fishing for redfish on the Texas Coast. Instead of fishing in the bay flats inside the barrier islands, Chad took us upstream on the Vernon River, away from the Atlantic into brackish tidal water. There were alligator gar and marsh grass and oysters. We could hear marsh wrens, and a quarter mile away, high in a dead tree, we could see a bald eagle. In the river, we could see dolphin fins while they cruised. The place we were, where land joins ocean, is rich with life, and while you’re there it demands your attention.

We fished out of Chad’s Hell’s Bay Professional, which is a fine Florida poling skiff. He poled the boat along the banks and called out the redfish–there were plenty of fish cruising the banks, and even if they didn’t take we got plenty of casts to cruising fish. While the water wasn’t always clear enough to see the fish themselves, the big pushes of water were unmistakeable. Even the May weather was great, sunny and warm with mild wind.

Chad knew the river, had grown up on the river, but he was also so proud of his city that it was contagious. Sure, he knew the fishing, but he also knew the restaurants, the neighborhoods, the hotels . . . It was fun just sitting back and listening.

And I’m game for more Savannah. There are more fish to catch, and Chad’s right, it’s a special place. Like I said, I’m kinda sorry I already caught that fish in Georgia. I’m ready to go back.