The heavy fog, which had inundated the extreme southwestern part of the state, was just beginning to break when the 9-pound redfish began its assault on the southern end of Sabine Lake, trying in vain to render the colorful MirrOlure useless for the remainder of the day.[…]
Don’t know about you folks, but I’m really looking forward to settled weather.[…]
Spring inshore fishing can be such a tease. Specks are ready for their reproductive business, but extreme changes in the weather make fish extremely mobile, rendering even the most up-to-date information obsolete.
But that compares little to the games redfish play as they ease into the warm-weather pattern. Reds are more than willing to mass in the shallow ponds and show themselves in all their bronze glory, but getting them to bite is an entirely different matter.[…]
The morning hadn’t gone well. We’d only caught one speckled trout — the only bite we’d had.[…]
It was a typical Louisiana spring day — the wind was howling to beat the band, and the water was, well, less than clear.[…]
We’d just passed the Blue Angel at the entrance to the Naval base when I finally started dozing off. The truck cab was dark and the radio low.[…]
In the days before any European set foot in the New World, the shorelines surrounding Lake Pontchartrain were inhabited by several Native American tribes. Bayougoula, Mougoulacha, Chitimacha, Colapissa, Quinipissalive and the “corn-gatherers,” or Tangipahoa Indians, fished the big lake they called “Okwa-ta,” the wide water.[…]
As a biologist, Jerald Horst has cut out the livers of speckled trout, and examined them under microscopes.
He’s run his fingers through gravid ovaries packed with ripe, orange roe.
He’s opened stomachs to discover their contents.
But there was nothing scientific about Horst’s reaction last month when a trout as long as a man’s arm carved a hole in the water with its gaping maw, and sucked in his She Dog.
The sounds were loud enough to be heard on the other side of the small marsh lake — first from the fish crashing the bait, then from Horst, who jumped to his feet and squealed like a schoolgirl who just caught a glimpse of her favorite boy-band member.
After several earlier near-misses from other fish, Horst practiced great restraint in letting the big trout take the bait for a second or two before yanking the rod upward like Paul Bunyan starting a swing of his axe.
The light-action rod bowed like a noodle, its tip seeming to crawl along the line, refusing to miss a moment of the action.
A veteran angler who has logged more hours than he’d ever admit in the surf at Grand Isle, Fourchon and Elmer’s Island, Horst had caught bigger trout in his life, but this one was special, just like all fish lured to the surface by a topwater plug.[…]
Capt. Theophile Bourgeois has no couth.
He lacks respect for tradition.[…]
The number on the cell phone said Pelayo was calling, from HIS cell phone. I flipped the little sucker open.[…]
In medical parlance, flat-lining carries some very negative associations.[…]
Some people play golf. Women usually like to shop. Kids love the video games. Some people like to piddle in the garden or simply zone out in front of the TV.[…]
The speed of the man’s dissertation was positively stunning. We hadn’t even ordered at the Orange, Texas, Waffle House, and Capt. Skip James (409-886-5341) was in his element, giving me the lowdown on the trip on which we were about to embark.
Flounder biological information, historical catches, feeding habits, basic techniques, advanced techniques, they were all there, being spewed rapid-fire in response to a simple statement: “So, what have you got planned for us today?”
Howard Hammonds of Old Bayside Bait Co. — never one to back down from a conversation — just ducked his head into a menu and smiled, knowing what must be going through my head.[…]
Good fishermen watch the weather for days leading up to their trip.[…]
The Biloxi Marsh is truly one of our area’s greatest assets. I always look forward to any opportunity to fish the area, even if just to enjoy the scenery.[…]
Capt. Ronny Biddy of the Hackberry Rod and Gun Club, a guide on Calcasieu Lake for 11 years, shut down his big engine, jumped to the bow and lowered his Minn Kota.[…]