Three years. Like most three-year-olds, we here at SCOF have finally stopped pissing and pooping on ourselves and have moved up
to big boy Underoos (this morning Scooby Doo, in particular). Also, like most three-year-olds, we now think the words “pee” and “poop”
are hilarious. What’s funny is that in web-based magazine years, our paltry three equals 60, which is almost as old as Steve is in human years. In the three years we have been schilling our unique brand of tomfoolery, we have had the pleasure of meeting hundreds of Southern fly fisherman. Whatever this thing is we do, makes us seek out the same affliction in each other. It’s why we are uncomfortable in social situations around non-fishing civilians. It’s why our specific brand of humor can sometimes awkwardly silence a room with the
uncomfortable sense of, “did he just say that?” being the only thing left lingering.
We have been conditioned to have no filters as we have spent years on rivers and oceans where filters weren’t even considered to be part
of the lexicon. It is also the reason why we have no problem striking up a conversation with a stranger with no pre-qualifications aside
from the hat he’s wearing.
So after three years we would like to thank everyone that we’ve met along the way. To those of you we haven’t met yet, I’m sure we will,
and when we do I’m sure we’ll be thick as thieves in no time. Enjoy our third anniversary issue — we had a pretty damn good time making it.