On one of those impossibly beautiful speckled trout fishing days in South Louisiana, when the wind was low, the sun gentle, the friends good and when all was right with nature and the boat, I felt, around mid-morning, that familiar tug on my line, and knew we were about to improve on perfection.[…]
For anglers, May is the month of paradoxes.[…]
On Monday, April 26, a new sound will be added to the quiet symphony of the marsh inside Lacassine Pool at Lacassine National Wildlife Refuge.[…]
Pelayo let out a low whistle and pointed ahead.“Ya think…..?”
“WOW!” I gasped. “Antonio outdid himself this time!”[…]
When the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico, Chris Hebert stopped fishing and just watched the day fade to night. No words were spoken because none could do this sight any justice.[…]
Cypress Grove Hunting Club is a throwback to the days of yesteryear, when there weren’t a lot of deer in the woods, and hunting clubs were large, extended family groups that passed memberships down like knightings.[…]
The red was clearly visible, relaxing just on the edge of a marshy point of grass.[…]
The Ouachita River backwater was littered with a maze of live cypress and detritus from trees long since fallen.[…]
I once heard Frank Sinatra say, “A friend in need … is a pest.”[…]
Think the bass spawn is over? Think again. River fish are just hitting their stride.[…]
Many years ago a ladder stashed inside a 20-foot boat in coastal Louisiana waters could mean only one thing: a weekend of camp maintenance in a dwelling only accessible by water deep in the marsh.[…]
March anglers curse the wind. But really, March is supposed to be windy.[…]
To a large contingent of bass anglers, any discussion of water current brings about equal parts anxiety and disgust.[…]
Capt. Bobby Stansel (left) is hoping the speck fishing will be as good this year as it was last year, when he put tackle rep Drew Davis on this lunker Big Lake speck.[…]
Floridians have Lake Okeechobee. Georgians have Lake Seminole. Alabamians have Lake Eufaula.[…]
The poor guy was blinking, shaking his head and seemed to be screaming. My passenger window was rolled up, and Bobby’s radio was BLARING Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone” — “How does it FEEE-EEL!” — at 1972 Warehouse levels so I couldn’t be sure.[…]