Fish 2, Brothers 0

The Georgia sportsman websites had convinced my brother and me that sizable red drum would be lining up to take our baits in the St. Mary's River. The only decision would be whether to fish for the lunkers in the deep holes or cast to the smaller shoaling reds chasing mullet in the salt creeks. When we got to St. Mary's, however, we found nary a mention of red drum. The only catches being talked up were whiting; to us, barely worth the effort. There wasn't even a hint of blackened redfish on any dinner menus we saw.

We gave it two attempts: the first, drowning finger mullet and shrimp in deep water just inside the southern tip of Cumberland Island; the second, casting across the flats in Peter's Point Creek. While it is true that the tides were totally wrong, neither expedition yielded anything resembling a bite. We couldn't even lose our bait.

John, in his Tilley ("the best sportsman's hat in the world"), tries to scare up a redfish from Peter's Point Creek.

Why was I standing out on the swim platform? All male fishermen know the answer to that one. And some of the females, too.

The saving grace of the fishing days came after we pulled the boat, when we'd sit up on the porch of the Riverside Cafe. There, overlooking the river, we munched on delectable grouper sandwiches and knocked back a few Land Shark beers. We were served by a very sweet young mother with three kids under seven. Her dad was the local postman.

On Thursday, we headed north to Beaufort, South Carolina.