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When the sun starts sinking low over the Albemarle Sound on a hot humid breathless summer night, and the yellow flies and mosquitoes are already flying in formation, it's getting close to flounder gigging time. With a canoe or inner tube in tow to hold the car battery that is lighting the underwater lights held in one hand and a long spear-like gig in the other, wading along the sandy banks looking for flounder eyes at night is about as fun as it gets. This mode of fish harvesting was practiced by the Tuscarora for centuries during their summer migration from the hunting grounds along the Roanoke River to the banks of the Chowan River and Albemarle Sound. For light they built a fire on the bow of their dug out cypress tree canoe in order to see the shallow bottom where the flounder cover themselves with sand to wait in ambush for smaller bait fish. With a slow methodical approach and a quick downward thrust with the gig, landing a big flounder in water only inches deep can be quite a thrill.
Being a nocturnal hunt in the summer and early fall, giggin' can even make us mortals not only walk but run on water when the infamous water moccasin shows up out of nowhere under the lights. Last year during one of the hottest nights I've ever seen, a few of us were creeping along the shallows of an undisclosed location when Jodie Rhea screamed in terror and literally ran on top of the water to get back in my boat. He downed a beer and finished a cigarette in one inhalation while telling us about the enormous snake he just saw under a sunken log. He never got out of the boat for the rest of the night. A couple of months later, Chip Warren and I were wading along about the same location and laughing about Jodie, when we walked upon two moccasins tangled up in a breeding dance right under our feet. We, too, levitated and ran on water as well. I left one flip flop floating on the surface and haven't laughed about Jodie's encounter since.
