Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/433799
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 1 4 3 B efore I became a fisheries biologist, I was a fisherman. I grew up within arm's reach of a fishing rod and caught bluegills in local ponds at age 4. Before I earned a driver's license, I fly fished for brook trout in the high country of New Mexico. During graduate school I entered the field of fisheries biology, and my love of fishing gave way to the cold, quantitative realm of research. At first, I could not reconcile the conflicting views. Fisheries biologists study fish, and fishermen catch them. It was that simple. As time passed, however, this perceived conflict began to fade. I never forgot the thrill of that niggling pressure on the line, the anticipation of setting the hook, and the rush of adrenaline when the line screams from the reel. So I picked up a rod again and began fishing alongside the captains and crews of our research vessels. We fellowshipped over fresh fish for lunch and stocked our freezers for the winter. I attended data workshops alongside experienced charter boat captains and seasoned biologists, as the scientists confirmed their findings with the captains' innate sixth sense of the fishes' movements and behaviors. F or years I waffled between these two identities but united them shortly after I accepted an invitation to visit Cabin Bluff, a world-renowned hunting and fishing retreat along the coast of southeastern Georgia. The lodge is framed by an expansive network of tidal marshes on the mainland and sits across the Cumberland River from Cumberland Island National Seashore. Andy Ippensen, Cabin Bluff's director of marketing, invited me to experience the resort's superb fishing for its two signature species, spotted seatrout and redfish. I had monitored these species while conducting research for the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources. But this time I would be the fisherman instead of the biologist. Spotted seatrout are a prime game species along the southestearn coast. While not related to freshwater trout, they reach about the same size, with distinctly silver scales dappled in dark spots. Then there are the redfish, the premiere saltwater sportfish of the South. Reds possess astounding beauty, from the rose-gilded bulls in the open ocean to the coppery juveniles in the estuaries. Their scales are the colors of the sun: orange-red blending to bright white, with dramatic black spots on their tails. Redfish go by several monikers, but fisheries biologists refer to them as red drum—and for good reason. During graduate school I volunteered at the South Carolina Aquarium, diving and giving presentations in the Great Ocean Tank, which included several five-foot bull reds. On one particular dive, I felt Cabin Bluff offers excellent accommodations and lodging. Below: Carly Altizer pits her skills and trusty Abu Garcia rod against a 30-pound redfish. Opposite: Capt. Toby Mohrman and the author prowl the salt marshes of coastal Georgia.