For the past several days, the Bayou has seen its share of stormy weather. Nothing terrible but just enough to keep us inside. Mark and I make short (quick) trips to the pier to check the small skiff but usually get chased in by the rain. Not only has there been copious rainfall, the wind has been churning up the Bay. This is all good by me but has Mark a bit antsy. He wanted to go fishing! It is a no-go, however, as the skiff bounces around like a toy boat in a whirlpool! It just is not safe.
This morning, that desire to fish got the best of him. While on the pier, he threw the net a few times "just to see if there is anything out there". Well, there was not much. He caught one small croaker and that was it! The croaker was photographed then released. It happily swam away unscathed. That croaker got me thinking of days passed when my cousin and I would paddle out in (of all things, a molded plastic lifeboat that we called "The Bathtub"). We were young...probably too young to be out in the middle of the Bay by ourselves but times were different then. We never felt that we were in danger and I am sure my aunt kept a watchful eye on us from her kitchen window.
Croakers were the prize we were set to catch. They were quick to bite and easy to hook. Just about anything could be used as bait as they were not picky. It was our goal to catch as many as we could in the short time we were allowed to fish. Usually, we were told to be home before noon as the fish had to be cleaned for lunch. Neither of us had a watch so our "alarm" was Aunt Marie letting out a yell for us to come home. Her voice would carry across the open Bay with no problems. We, then, would paddle back home with our catch. The fish were cleaned and Aunt Marie would fry them. It was then our job to get back in that little boat and paddle down the shoreline to my uncle's place. He was building a house there and had little time to cook lunch. We toted it to him. Croakers were on the menu quite often.
It is funny how seeing the pretty, little fish with its golden scales started the flood of memories. Those were good times...happy, carefree times. Margie and I had no worries, no fears. Unlike kids today, we spent our summers outside not cooped up inside glued to some electronic device. We played, roamed the woods, fished in the Bay and generally were just being kids. I miss those days.
Greed is not a pretty thing. It causes a lot of pain in more ways than one and, in the end, will come back to bite us in the butt. This is not only true from the human aspect but also with the critters of the world. Let a predator attack something a little too large and old karma is just liable to strike back. The primal urge of greed becomes the ultimate downfall.
This morning, that primal urge was working at its best. Mark and I had settled into fishing from the pier this morning. A few mornings ago, I had caught four red drums and we were in hopes of a few more. The ones this morning were to be cleaned and shared with our sweet elderly friends. We were using little mullet for bait. These were between three and four inches in length and would offer any red fish a delightful mouthful. It was not long before I saw my line lift. Ok! I had a bite. I waited then set the hook. Well, where was my fish? Nothing was pulling back on the line. Something was sorely amiss. I wound in the line to check my bait when I realized that I did, indeed, have a fish on that hook but what a mess!
A small croaker, not much larger than my bait, had decided to take a nibble and wound up getting hooked....and tangled! Once the hook was embedded in the fish, the live mullet literally hog-tied the croaker! Now. both dangled from the line! The croaker was both hooked and ensnared. That fish should have kept to smaller morsels for his breakfast. Attacking a mullet of this size was too much for the small croaker and it became his downfall. Greed has a way of coming back to bite those who practice it. Best keep your mouth shut, Mr. Croaker! You are in a fine fix now!
The dictionary defines "croaker" as a person or animal that croaks. Well, duh?? That makes sense but, here on the Bayou and the surrounding areas, mention to someone that you caught a croaker and they will immediately know that you have been fishing. Here, we talk fishing more than politics, religion or anything else! That is a good way to keep friends. We do not mind sharing fishing tips, bait and tales. Just ask.
This afternoon, I should have known better than to try to fish. There was a stiff wind coming from the south and that makes for rough waters at the pier. It also pushes the tide in and floods the marsh with more water than usual. Fish move into the inlets of the Bayou to escape the beating waves. Still, I tried to catch bait, if for no other reason than to feed the young heron. I threw the net a dozen times only to catch a single croaker. As I was just about to toss the fish back into the water, I thought of how pretty this fish actually is. It is also tasty! While some folks treat croakers as "trash" fish, if I catch a large one, it goes in the frypan! Though quite bony, they have a delicious flavor! Today's fish was tiny so it was released.
Croakers have a sort of pinkish/golden hue about them and the older fish have slightly darker stripes. They do, of course, make a croaking sound (hence the name). They, like several other fish, use muscles against their swim bladder to make this sound but this is the only fish that can lay claim to the name! Some folks brag of catching croakers of four, five or more pounds but that is pushing it. Most are much smaller and weigh in about a pound maybe a pound and a half. I imagine if you were out in the Gulf, they are larger but not here in the Bay waters. The poor fish just do not have a chance to get overly large in the shallow waters since they are eaten by just about any larger fish that can catch them.
Once back at the Little Bayou House, I did a bit of research about the croaker. The "official" name of the fish is Atlantic Croaker and, get this, it is kin to just about every fish in the Bay. The croaker can claim to be a relative to the Red Drum (which I always figured since they look so much alike), the Black Drum, the Weakfish, Silver Perch and Speckled Trout (also known as Spotted Sea Trout). It seems that our Bayou has one big, happy family of fishes!
