Up Shit Creek: SCOF

Folks imply they'd do all sorts of heinous acts for the chance to tug against a slab brown trout. Well, would you get electrocuted into a pile of fresh cow dung for one?

There's this one spring creek that runs through the foothills of rural Virginia that I hate: single hook artificials only, no booze, no wading, no fun. To abide by the unwritten rules of spot dropping whose relevance fades with every GIS app development and ill-cropped Instagram post, we'll just call it Shit Creek. Anyone who has sniffed I-81 can guess where I'm talking about; they've even got a fly shop named after it. 

Read the rest here in SCOF Issue 52 pg. 162