Morning on the river

My little yellow cork disappeared under the tannin-stained water, and when I tightened up on the line, I realized that I had a good one hooked. The taut line made a distinctive, high-pitched hum as it cut through the current toward deeper water. This was the first fish of the day, and I knew that it was a good start.

My son, Clayton, and I were fishing for sunfish on the Edisto River below Branchville. We had put in just after daylight at the hunt club's private landing, Ruples Ramp. July is hot and humid, and one of the best ways to beat the heat is to get on the water.

It was early morning and still relatively cool from the night. There was a slight breeze and some dappled shade from the surrounding hardwood forest. Just a beautiful morning. The only sounds were from songbirds that flitted back and forth through the emerald green trees and the murmur of water as the strong current pushed the black water through fallen tree tops, on toward the sea.

That first fish was a slab-sized Warmouth, or "Molly," and it was a nice one, too. I was hopeful there were some more in the area. Little ones will nibble and bob the cork, but the bigger ones, the keepers, just take the bait and go. The cork will disappear.

Soon I had another fish on the line. This one was a good-sized Bluegill or "Bream." We got some more nibbles but nothing big. It was time to move on.

At a wide section of the river, we stopped to fish the mouth of a deep creek that flows in from the dark, shadowy woods. The stream current and the river current meet and create a swirl of slower currents that actually turn upriver for a little ways at the stream entrance, while the main river current races by, headed downstream, just yards away.

Depths in the river average three to four feet deep, with a deeper central channel that winds around the bends and turns. This spot is eight to nine feet deep. It's probably a good catfish hole, but we were after something else. I cut the motor out in the main channel, and we let the boat drift up toward the stream entrance. Clayton slid the anchor over the side and tied the rope to hold us in position.

With his first cast, as soon as his cork hit the water, it disappeared. He had a big fish on. We could see the flash of red and gold through the dark water and knew that it was a big Redbreast. This is what we were really after. Nothing fights and pulls with the strength of a big Redbreast. I think living in the swift current makes them strong.

We caught a few more here, but they eventually quit biting, and we decided to move on. It was heating up now, and I wanted to try another spot a little farther upriver before we called it off for the day. Our destination was a turn in the river with a deeper hole off to one side, adjacent to a private landing, known as the Turkey Pen.

That fiery orb in the sky was higher now, and we had no shade out in the main channel, where we needed to position the boat. At least we could face away from the sun and fish the deeper water back toward the small boat ramp.

There is a patch of water lilies in the calm water just out of the main current. We fished the edge of the lilies and caught a few small ones that we threw back. We moved up into the lilies, and I had to concentrate on holding the boat at the edge of the current and let Clayton cast toward the deeper water near the boat ramp.

I sat and watched as dragonflies skidded over the water's surface and Clayton made one perfect cast after another. It was obvious now that the fish had quit biting. Over in the woods, the summer sound of cicadas echoed through the sultry heat that was building toward midday. Yellow-billed cuckoos called from the treetops. The morning was gone now, and it was time to head back to the landing.

As soon as we turned downriver and hit the shade, the cooler air washed over us, and we both sighed in relief. It had been a good morning, but I had some painting to do back at the clubhouse, and Clayton wanted to go looking for arrowheads before we headed home. The fish would be there when we returned.

Reach Dan Geddings at cdgeddings@gmail.com.