Dead Fish Don't Swim Fast!

   Fishing is not only a pleasant pastime here on the Bayou, it is also a way to put a meal on the table.  Just today, I baked a nice redfish and made some garlic shrimp alfredo.  Paired with broccoli and crowder peas, things just don't get much better.  Both the fish and shrimp were fresh caught by Mark just yesterday making the meal, not only healthy, but also almost free!  It is times like this that I love living right where I do.

  Earlier, I had been cutting back the Boysenberry vines when I heard a loud screaming.  Three ospreys were busying themselves with catching mullet in the shallows of the Bayou.  One stayed put on a limb of a pine while the other two hunted.  This made it clear that the single one was the offspring that had just fledged.  The parent birds were trying to entice their youngster to try diving for a mullet but it was having no part of that exercise.  Instead, the young bird screamed for a free meal and, soon, mom evidently felt sorry for the lug of a kid and alit in the same tree with a large mullet.  She was not giving in too rapidly however as she made the kiddo work for its meal.  Just as the younger bird would attempt to grab the fish, she would fly to a nearby tree.  Kiddo followed and again tried to snatch the mullet.  Nope! she flew back to the original pine and waited.  After a moment, her offspring came begging.  This went on for several minutes before she actually "dropped" the mullet and the younger one had to fly down after it!  Easy catch!  Dead fish don't swim very fast!  The youngster had its prey and felt mighty proud of itself!  After a squeal of delight, it set to work devouring its breakfast.  In the meantime, Mom and Dad headed out to the Bay to catch their own meals leaving the kiddo on his own.

  The birds don't have the option that we do of stockpiling foodstuffs for when times are bleak.  Two of our freezers are filled to the brim with enough fish, shrimp and crabs to last through hard times.  Add that to the one freezer filled with vegetables and the thousand or so jars of fruit and veggies on the pantry shelves and we shall not go hungry.  The ospreys have to work daily for their meals so it is highly important that their offspring learn the tricks of the trade as soon as they fledge.  Then...they are on their own. It is a matter of survival...

Not Exactly The Plan

   As usual, Mark and I headed to the pier just about daylight.  We had high hopes of catching a few fish for our lunch and to also use as crab bait.  That was the plan...it just did not happen.  He was throwing the net to catch menhaden or little mullet to use as bait when, all of a sudden, that net was about wrenched from his hands!  Whoa!  He had something huge!  As he lugged the thing to the pier, we both had to grimace.  Ugh!  His net had gone over an enormous snapping turtle.  That old fellow was in one foul mood after being ensnared which made it tricky business to untangle him.  While Mark held the net taught to keep the turtle from getting even more tangled, I used the scoop net handle to free the critter.  Once that was done, the turtle made a hasty retreat back into the water. I was in no mood to mess with him any more!  It was then that we noticed the huge hole in the net.  Well...that was not a happy thing.

  Mark got the net from the small skiff and started throwing again.  Whomp!  Yep, he had thrown the net right over something huge again!  This time, there was a lot more splashing going on as he pulled on the rope.  Reaching down, he hauled a huge Black Drumfish onto the pier.  Ugh...again.  We surely did not need THAT much fish!  The fish, like the turtle, was untangled and released.  Also...again...another huge hole was to be found in the net.  Again...not a happy thing.

  It seemed as if fish were not to be on the menu today nor were the crab traps going to be baited.  We may have started out with grand intentions but things did not play out in our favor.  It was time to head back to the Little Bayou House to mend nets and figure out just what to cook for the day.

"Bayou" Mackerel?

   Yesterday's catch from the pier was a gigantic stingray.  I am still a bit sore from battling that monster but it was about as fun as it gets for anyone who loves to fish.  The challenge of landing a huge creature is thrilling.  Thankfully, the stingray will live to see another day.  That catch had me a bit pumped about heading back to the pier this morning.  After catching more menhaden for bait, Mark and I settled in for the morning of fishing.  It was not long before we had a few bites from catfish and trout. The morning looked promising!

  Then...leave it to me...an odd thing happened.  While watching a pod of dolphins making their way toward the pier, my line started zinging out.  Setting the hook, the battle began.  This was not nearly as tough as the stingray but, boy, did that fish jump about the place.  Thinking perhaps I had a ladyfish that are known to do a lot of jumping when hooked, I kept reeling.  Once I pulled the 18in fish onto the pier, I realized that this was definitely not one that I should be catching in our brackish water.  How in the world??  This was a Spanish Mackerel!  This fish should be out in the salty Gulf...not here by the pier!

  Actually, the drought has caused the salinity of the Bay and Bayou to go haywire.  What is normally considered brackish water has become quite salty do to the lack of rain.  This saltiness allows Gulf fish to venture up into the Bay.  With the overload of menhaden around the pier, it only makes sense that the fish will follow.  Without much promise of rain in the forecast, my daily fishing may continue to bring a few surprises.  As with the stingray (which we do occasionally catch here...salty or not), the mackerel went free.  I really did not want to clean that fish with all the "pin" bones.  Call me lazy but I prefer something a bit easier to fillet.  Go free, fishy!  I wonder what tomorrow will bring?
 

Gafftopsail Dad!

   Finally, the fish have returned to the Bay.  The waters are teeming with mullet and menhaden which in turn attracts the larger fish.  This is all fine and dandy except for the fact that those larger fish are mostly catfish.  Both the hardhead catfish and the gafftopsails are following the smaller fish as they come into the Bay to spawn.  Every spring, thousands of these large fish enter the Bay.  Most of the ones we are catching are females and are full of eggs. Soon, the female will spawn (lay the eggs).  The male fertilizes the eggs after the laying and then scoops up the orange, marble-sized eggs.  He  will carry the eggs in his mouth until they hatch which can take up to 65 days.  During this time, the male does not eat.  His whole existence is to protect those eggs until they hatch.  Once hatched, the babies (called fry) still stay with dear, old Dad until they can feed on their own.  Male catfish make good daddies!

  The gafftopsail catfish is named because its dorsal fin resembles a sail of a ship.  This fin rises tall on the back of the fish but can be laid flat.  Both the dorsal fin and the pectoral fins are supported by a sharp spine that can quickly injure an unsuspecting predator (or angler).  It is best to be careful when unhooking one!  While both the hardhead catfish and the gafftopsail are edible, not many folks around here use them for anything other than crab bait. Personally, I unhook and release them unless I am in dire need of bait.  Live and let live is always a good mantra.

Do NOT "De-tail" A Stingray!

   For the past few days, we have not been able to catch a single fish worth keeping for our lunch.  It seems as if the fish have gone elsewhere for the time being.  We cannot even catch any bait which is surprising.  One lone minnow was caught and that brought in one fish albeit not one that I deem edible.  The tiniest stingray was the only thing pulled onto the pier.  The little ray was only about the size of a saucer!  I found it to be adorable...dangerous even at that size...but adorable.  Of course, I was extra careful as I unhooked and released the baby.

  The unhooking made me think of how some people do this fish a terrible injustice.  Instead of carefully unhooking or even cutting the line, a lot of people will either kill the ray or, worse yet, cut off its tail.  Killing is bad enough (if you are not going to eat it, don't kill it!) but cutting off the tail then releasing is just downright cruel.  The poor fish usually dies a very slow death from this due to infection setting in the wound site.  Simply snipping off the barb is the best way to "disarm" a stingray.  Do not mangle the poor fish.  Snipping the barb will not hurt it and the barb will eventually grow back.  That barb is the only defense a ray has against predators.

  Using care, it is not impossible to remove the hook but, if fear keeps you from doing this, simply cut the line as close to the fish as you dare reach then release the fish. Even this is better than removing the entire tail.  It is a fact that stingrays are actually rather docile yet curious beings. They have no desire to hurt anyone but will defend themselves if they feel threatened. Folks, just be kind.

Bundled Up Against The Cold!

   Any fisherman worth his salt will tell you that you need to "get out there early".  Not only are you more apt to catch bait but you will be the "first to get the good spot" since we all know that everyone wants to fish in exactly the same place.  Personally, I stick to fishing from the pier.  Just as many fish can be caught from there and, if I tire of fishing, I can simply walk up the hill to find something else to do.   Still, that firm idea of getting out there before the crack of dawn is a hard trend to break.  Everyone knows that I rise early and head to the pier to start my day.  Not everyone knows that Mark will occasionally rise early and head out in the little skiff.  Different methods but can be a comparable idea.

  Yesterday morning, we did just that.  Rose early, went to the pier, he jumped in the skiff to get that best spot and I headed back up the hillside to plant mustard greens.  As I meandered the slope, I turned just in time to catch a glimpse of him between the trees.  He was throwing the net to catch menhaden or little mullet for bait but I had to ponder just how in the world he managed.  He was so bundled up against the "cold" that it had to be quite the feat.  I am not sure I would have been able to move much less throw the net.  Yes, it was chilly and, yes, I did pull on a sweatshirt but it was not THAT cold!  It made me giggle!

The Day of Variety!

    As usual. our day started on the pier.  Since the redfish are biting, we hustle down before daybreak, catch some little mullet to use as bait and set our lines.  It seems that the reds only want the tiny mullet and refuse to even taste a menhaden.  Personally, that suits me fine as it seems catfish prefer menhaden.  I am not pestered by nibblers that are of no use other than as crab bait.  Before the sun started showing its face above the pines on the far shore, we were ready and waiting.

  The morning did not go quite as planned, however.  Instead of refish, Mark started catching mullet...ones large enough to eat.   With that, I was left watching the poles while he threw the net.  He caught several dozen of the fish and I still had no bites.  Then, he caught a trout and a tiny flounder.  Well, that was different!  These were tossed back into the water as they were too small.  Still no reds, however.

  Oh a whim, I hooked on a menhaden and threw the line straight out from the pier.  Wham!  Woo hoo!  I pulled back to set the hook and the drag on the reel started singing!  I got one!!  Yeah...right.  As soon as I thought I had a good fish, that goofy thing started dancing on top of the water.  I knew exactly what I was fighting...a ladyfish.    I may as well have a bit of fun so I battled the ladyfish.  For anyone who has never caught one of these fish, it is quite the experience.  Picture a fish acting like a pinball bouncing around madly while you try to reel it in.  To top it off, ladyfish are known to be able to throw off a hook in the bat of an eye.  It takes a bit of skill to get one landed.  I did!  Too bad these are not considered to be a "food fish".  I had a nice one!

  After all of the ruckus from throwing the net for mullet and catching a wild and crazy ladyfish, Mark did finally catch that elusive redfish and we went back up to the Little Bayou House with quite a variety of cleaned fish!  Meals for free!  Fun for the day.

The Bird Watchers?

  Early this morning, a lone Brown Pelican was diving around the pier.  It almost seemed to be "too" quiet. Yesterday, a school of shrimp passed through which had the usual following of seagulls, terns and pelicans.  The Bay was "hopping" with activity.   The screeching of the gulls seemed to let every other bird know that the "feed" was on!  Then, overnight, the school of shrimp moved elsewhere and drew most of the predatory birds with them.  The pelican that stayed behind was not in need, however, as massive schools of menhaden and mullet filled the waters.  The bird was fat and happy! It was smart to lag behind and not get caught up in the frenetic doings of the masses. The pelican could lounge about the calm waters and scoop up menhaden and mullet.

  By watching the waterfowl, it is not hard to tell just what is passing below the surface of the water.  With shrimp, the birds are in a feeding frenzy.  Hundreds will dive until their bellies are stuffed.  When the schools are of menhaden, the birds take their dear, sweet time to catch their meal.  The mullet are a different story as the birds have to work harder.  Mullet are fast and travel in much smaller schools.  Local fishermen can all read these signs and know which fish will be biting simply by how the birds are acting.  It is an art! Or maybe a science!  Whatever!  Watch the birds and they will tell you where to fish and what bait to use.

Ms. Gator Comes To Visit

   At daybreak, we were on the pier trying to catch some little mullet to use as bait.  The Bay has been full of redfish so we have been trying to catch as many as we can each day.  These are cleaned and bagged to give to our elderly friends and fill our freezers.  This morning was perfect.  There was a slight north wind and only a few low clouds making the sun broadcast a reddish-gold glow to the Bayou.  You could hear the redfish as they popped little mullet out of the water up on the shoreline.  It looked to be a good fishing morning.

  Mark cast the net for mullet and I baited the hooks and tossed the lines near the shore.  To catch the reds, we fish right against the marsh grass.  The redfish usually chase the tiny mullet along the marsh and easily come across our hooked bait.  Suddenly, Mark said "Uh oh, your buddy is here."  Turning, I saw the female gator swimming across in front of the pier.  I grabbed the camera, leaned against one of the posts and started taking photos.  I was surprised when she turned toward me.  We made eye contact and she stopped about twenty feet from the pier.  There she stayed for the longest time.  I heard my line whistling out and knew my gator visit had come to an end.  Yep!  A red!  I battled the fish and won.  The prize was mine!  Supper!  Meanwhile, the activity piqued the interest of the gator and she eased even closer, looked at us longingly and then turned toward shore.  She wanted that fish!  

  Ms. Gator did not have to wait long before she, herself, had a nice red.  It took about a full five minutes before she was able to gulp down the large fish.  Then, she settled in along the marsh.  Well, that ended the fishing on shore for a while!  No reds were going anywhere near those large jaws.  Mark caught a nice one out from the pier but our "good" day of fishing was limited to the two fish.  Ms. Gator stayed long after sunrise and then swam off into the depths of the Bayou. Hopefully, tomorrow morning, Ms. Gator will stay away and we can catch a few more.  

Fishing, a Spaceship and a Priest

  I had a very fitful night of tossing and turning due to a backache.  I awoke at midnight in a fit of agony and only got intermittent sleep thereafter.  Well, there was nothing to do but get out of bed at 4am and head to my happy place, the pier. Walking seems to be the best remedy for any type backache so walking is what I did.  Since it was still quite dark outside, the pier seemed to be the safest place to do any sort of hiking.  Being several hundred feet long and well above the marsh, I felt relatively safe from stepping on a moccasin.  The pier planks seem to grasp any bit of moonlight and are a lot brighter than any path under the trees.  Back and forth, I hiked the length of the pier twenty times and soon was feeling some better.  It was while I was on the pier that things took a turn to the wild side!

  Once I stepped up on the ramp going to the main pier, it became obvious that a heavy fog had laid in overnight.  Ahh, my favorite hiking time!  Things seem so different when cloaked in fog.  The mistiness can sure make things look kind of creepy but. at the same time, beautiful.  This morning, things were slightly different than our usual, winter fog days.  Now, there were leaves that filled out trees making them appear to be huge monsters but, monsters aside, it was that spaceship that caught my eye!

  Yep, the spaceship is what got my full focus once I was on the end of the pier.  It is not often that you can have an actual sighting!  In reality, the "spaceship" was merely the gazebo across the Bayou but it looked a whole lot different when shrouded by fog.  The imagination ran wild and memories were brought back into the open after being stowed away in the dark corners of the brain.  A story about fishing, a spaceship and a priest.  Does it get any better than that?

  One day after an early morning fishing trip, Pop came home with a pretty wild tale.  This was when I was a youngster and before all of the homes and gazebos were built.  As Pop was fishing from his skiff, his good friend arrived to fish near him.  This friend was a priest from the local church.  The story was related of how they were catching flounders and talking when suddenly on the horizon, there appeared a strange craft.  This "spaceship" came toward them and stopped to hover several hundred feet away.  Pop said it was round, had lots of lights but never made a sound.  After it hovered for about ten minutes, the lights started flashing and it shot straight up in the air until it was out of sight.  Pop went on to tell how his friend, the priest, was shaken and asked if it was a spaceship.  Pop, trying to be strong and reassuring, said he did not know but it sure may have been.  Both fishermen decided to ease their way closer to the old pier and wait until sunrise before venturing any further.  

  To this day, there has been no explanation as to what Pop and the priest had seen.  It could have been anything but it left them both with ideas of it being aliens.  This morning's "spaceship" did not fly off into the wild, blue yonder but sat grounded.  I guess my imagination went a little overboard.  But...that Godzilla like creature that was as tall as the trees sure looked real to me!  

Not What I Wanted At All!

  I have a hankering for some good fresh fish so what was there to do but head to the pier.  Things looked promising as I could see a small redfish breaking along the shoreline as it was chasing little mullet.  I just needed to catch some bait and wait for a strike.  Redfish would make a grand meal!

  As luck would have it, bait was hard to come by this morning.  Finally after about a dozen throws of the net, two little mullet were in the bucket.  Well, little was pushing it as these were a good six inches in length.  It was going to be a large fish to take that bait but I baited the hook, tossed the line and settled in for a bit.  It was a good while before I noticed the line easing out.  Picking up the rod, I waited. That was the slowest fish ever!  Well, I figured I would ease back on the line a wee bit to see what was happening on the other end.  Goodness!  It felt as if I had a log!  Reeling in what was dead weight was not an easy task.  There was no fighting, no pulling back...just dead weight.  Yup!  When I got it to the surface, I had just what I figured...a snapping turtle.  Ugh!  Now what!  As I sat there pondering, the turtle regurgitated that whole six inch long mullet with the hook intact.  Whew!  That was easier than I expected.  The mullet looked a good bit worse for wear but I rehooked it and tossed it back out.  

  After a bit, wham!  Ok, so that acted a bit more like my redfish!  When I pulled back to set the hook, the fish busted the top of the water and rolled just like a red would do.  Now, we were talking!!!  For the next ten minutes, I battled my fish and was so sure that I had supper on the other end of that line!  Finally, the fish was near the pier and I could see what I had hooked.  Nope...not a red.  A HUGE gafftopsail catfish was on the hook.  Oh, geez!  That is something I did not need.  Well, best scoop that thing and unhook it.  Yep, a twenty-four inch long, almost eight pound catfish lay flopping on the pier.  Slime was being slung everywhere!  As soon as the fish settled down, I retrieved my hook, picked up the fish and tossed it back into the water.  Fishing was done for the day.  My hunger for fresh fish did not include a slimy catfish.  Maybe I will have better luck tomorrow!

Two Sunrises and a Nightmare!

  I spend a good many mornings on the pier watching the sunrise.  This is my time to prepare for the coming day as I soak in the peace and tranquility of the morn.  It is relaxing to hear the birds singing praises of the morning as the sun's rays start to peep over the pines on the far shore.  Yesterday, that horizon was blotted with heavy clouds so the sun refused to shine.  What was to the east was a waterspout.  That entity worked its way in the Bay and then fizzled.  This morning's eastern sky was a mix of thick, blocky clouds and brilliant sun rays.  Both sunrises were fascinating, to say the least.  One morning could have turned scary had the waterspout come my way while the other evoke an extreme peace.

  The sighting of the waterspout brought back memories of a terrifying dream that I had as a teenager.  While in dreamland, Pop and I were going fishing.  When we reached his small skiff docked here on the Bayou, we saw dozens of waterspouts making their way across the Bay directly for us.  We hurried back in his old truck and sped home to tell Mom and take cover.  It seems (in my dream) that the waterspouts made landfall and quickly turned into tornadoes throwing this whole side of the Bay into turmoil.  It was a frightening dream and seemed oh, so real.

   The next morning, Pop and I were heading fishing when I told him my dream.  He stopped me mid dream and finished the story for me.  It seems that he had the very same vivid nightmare that I had.  Both of us sat in his old truck for a while looking out over the Bay.  We were both shaken, to say the least, and were almost skeptical about heading out in the small boat. 

  I cannot remember if we ever went fishing that day or if we turned around and went home.  I do remember it being a strange feeling to know that he and I both had the same frightening nightmare of dozens of waterspouts/tornadoes.  I will say, however, that this nightmare never dulled our love of fishing!

Lessons From The Bayou

  It is a rare time that the pier is not in constant use to catch food for the folks of the Little Bayou House and those who come to visit.  Lately, however, the weather has not be considerate enough to allow much fishing.  If there is not a stiff north wind blowing the tide far out from the pier, clouds cover the sky and rains empty upon the Bayou.  Thankfully, during better weather, we stockpile enough fish, shrimp and crabs to tide us over through inclement weather.  

  Today was one of those rainy days.  Although predicted, there were no torrential downpours but a drizzly rain kept me indoors most of the day.  A quick trip to the pier now and again was all that was in order.  On one such trip, a thought entered the mind.  How sad that the crab traps sit empty on the pier even though crabs were wandering about in search of an easy meal.  The crab traps can sit through rain without us having to tend them so it would seemingly be an ideal situation.  Nope...that north wind will leave them high and dry.   If this happens, any crabs inside would surely die and I am not about to let that happen.  There are strict rules regarding things like this.  Around here, if you kill something, you had better make use of it in some way.  

  The thought about the crabs and not killing things evoked a memory from years ago.  A trio of teenagers came to the Bayou to visit Son.  As usual, they wound up on the pier fishing.  I was happy to supply fishing gear, bait and time.  Son came back to the house after a bit to do some chores and left his friends on the pier.  A couple of hours later, I meandered down to check their catch.  The three fellows proudly showed me an ice chest with about two dozen croakers in it.  "Wow!  That is great!" I exclaimed "You will eat good tonight!"  All three boys looked at me in astonishment.  "Oh, we were not going to eat them...just catch them."  Huh?  Not happening, my friends!  I quickly reminded them of the rules of the pier that they agreed to follow and told them that they would, indeed, clean those fish and eat them.  "We cannot.  We do not know how to clean fish." a chorus of voices followed my statement.  Needless to say, those three were quickly plied with fillet knives and a lesson on cleaning fish.  Once they managed to chop (literally) their way through the fish, they were mighty proud but then asked me what should they do with the fish since their moms would not cook them.  "Fry them yourselves." I said.  Well, that seemed to present another problem because nary a one of these teenagers knew a thing about cooking.  I was appalled, to say the least, and immediately told them that a cooking lesson was in order.  "Up to the house, boys. You are going to cook your first meal."

  That said, we all headed to the kitchen where I showed them how to wash their fish, prepare the seasoning, heat the oil and fry fish.  Son came in to help with teaching his buddies on preparing a few side dishes to go along with their catch.  Afterward, we all sat down to a hearty meal and some happy conversation.  The boys were proud of their accomplishments that day and needless to say, they never wasted another fish from that point.  When any of them come back "home", they are quick to remind me of that day and how they learned a lot of lessons from coming to the Bayou.

Catching Mullet

  During this time of year, it is a common thing to see boats dotting the bay with someone in the front throwing a net.  Mullet school as they are heavy with roe and are heading off shore to spawn.  Each female can lay one to seven million round eggs on the sandy bottom.  Many of the eggs are eaten by other fish but after about thirty-six hours the rest hatch.  The little ones are also fair game for larger fish and even birds.  Many do not make it past their first week of life but those that do, head back to the shallows of the bays and bayous.  There they feed and grow to produce another generation.

  The mullet run occurs in late October and goes on through November. This is the time that local fisherman can catch a literal boatload of the fish.  While a lot of uppity folks claim they would never eat a mullet the fish has pulled a lot of folks through hard times.  Down here in the Deep South, we are grateful for what we have and never pretend we are too highfalutin to eat a mullet.  We know how to clean and fry a mullet so that they are actually delicious!  Its a Southern thing, folks, get over it.

  Mark has been catching his share of the fish, lately.  Since we know that mullet are best eaten the same day they are caught, very few will make it to the freezer.  Most of the fish he catches are cleaned and given to a bunch of our elderly friends.  They appreciate the time and effort that Mark takes to provide them with fresh fish.  Most of them have memories of doing just what he does.  

  The net-throwing takes a bit of skill in itself but when throwing from a boat, you had better have good balance, as well. A small skiff like we use to go "mulleting" (I am not referring to a hairstyle here but a way of catching fish) can shift out from under you in a heartbeat!  Let that boat get full of flippity-floppity fish and it gets a bit slippery so wearing a good pair of non-slip shoes is also a requirement!  Mark has this task down pat and comes home with buckets full of the fish.  An hour later, the fish are cleaned, fried and eaten or delivered to our friends!  Life on the Bayou is good.

Advice on a foggy morn...

  The other morning, Son and I were meandering about the hillside when he made the remark "It is almost fog-time." He was referring to the time of year when fog seems to be a daily occurrence.  Little did he know (or maybe he did!), that the very next morning would find us in the midst of a pea-soup thick fog.  Everything was white!  We could not see the end of the pier, the house across the Bayou nor the tops of the tall pines. The fog-time had come.

  In a way, I like the foggy morns that linger into late afternoon.  I feel shut off from the world almost as if I am on my own little island.  The world may be buzzing around me but the thick layer of fog blocks out any evidence.  Even sounds are muted which adds to the mystique.  Usually, these days will find me on the end of the pier with my mug of morning coffee.

 This morning was much the same.  Mark and I headed to the pier but, instead of tarrying there, he hopped into the little skiff.  To him, these days are perfect fishing days!  I stayed on the pier just long enough to watch him disappear into the fog.  I did give him one bit of advice even though he was fully aware.  If fishing on one of these foggy days,  Pop always used to say "Watch the shoreline! You sure do not want to wind up in the channel."  The large tugboats traveling the channels cannot see a small skiff in time and the result could be devastating.  It is best to stay near the shore and not venture too far into the vision impairing fog.  Good advice from a wise man.

Free Food Is Good!

  Mark and I usually head to the pier early in the morn to catch our lunch.  With crabs and fish plentiful right now, it does not take too long before we have a meal in hand.  It appears that in a few weeks, we will be able to add shrimp to that menu, as well.  Each morning, Mark throws the net to catch bait and mullet.  I sit and fish for whatever will bite.

  This morning while throwing the net, Mark caught several small white trout.  These were about 5 inches in length so they got a reprieve!  As I slipped the small fish back into the water, I pondered several things.  What was the true name of the fish and how long before they will be large enough to eat!  Most of the white trout we catch are about 14 inches long so these two have a long ways to go before they wind up on my plate.  As for the true name, the fish are known as sand seatrout with white trout being a local term.  We call them that simply because they lack the specks that their cousins the spotted seatrout  (speckled trout) have.  These fish are mostly white with golden fins.  After their first year, they get a lavender sheen down their backs.  The lavender looks so pretty with the golden fins.  It is almost a shame to clean the fish for food!  Nah.  Free food is good and I gotta eat!

Is That Bait?

  The other day, Mark and I were fishing on the pier.  While we were in hopes to catch a few fish for our lunch, we were also trying to catch "trash" fish to use as crab bait.  The crab pots were empty and, well, to catch crabs, you have to entice them to go into the traps in the first place.  So any fish we caught would be put to good use.  The first few bites we got were pointless nibbles.  The small fish would hit and miss.  Small nips were taken but not the good "run with it" type bites that result in a setting of the hook.  It appeared that it was to be a slow day fishing.

  Then, my line started going out at a nice pace.  This looked better!  I set the hook and landed a nice sized hard-head catfish.  This was not good for our lunch but the crabs would at least dine well!  After a bit. Mark caught a fish.  I had to tease him a bit because his was a tiny gaff-topsail fish.  "Is that your bait?" I ragged him.  Laughing, he agreed that the tidbit of a fish could very well be used as bait.  After a few photographs, the tiny tot was tossed back into the water and told to grow a bit before coming back!

  It seems that the Bay is full of these tiny gaff-topsails and tiny catfish.  It makes you wonder just how these little ones survive out there with no protection from adult fish.  We humans are so protective of our little ones that it is hard to fathom how other creatures have no maternal/paternal feelings whatsoever for their offspring.  In the wild, there are a lot of critters that would dine upon their own young if given the chance.  The recognition of offspring is just not there.  It is especially so with fish and reptiles.  Those little ones had better move along when it comes to meeting the folks.  

The Clams Are Biting........The Fishing Report

  Every now and again, I used to get a call from my elderly uncle who had moved from Mississippi to Missouri.  He wanted to "check the fishing reports".  Uncle Alfred used to live just one house over from the Little Bayou House and loved to go fishing.  He and my Aunt Marie fished just about their entire lives and the love of the water lived on with him even though he moved away after she died.  Before he passed away, he and I would chat on the phone about fishing and his dream of coming back to the Bayou "just one more time".  While he knew the trip was not reasonable at his age of almost 100 but we "dreamed" and made plans, all the same.  The fishing report was about whatever was in the Bay at the time.  It did not matter if I told him about menhaden, redfish or otters.  He loved every minute of the report.  I loved every minute of sharing with him and I miss his calls terribly now.

  The fishing report of the day sort of goes like this.  I caught a nice sized fishing line complete with sinkers and hook!  I was slow-dragging my bait along bottom thinking I may pick up a flounder but hooked into the old line. It was a good pull!  At this point, Uncle Alfred would have made a joke and asked how long I thought the line had been snagged there before I caught it.  We would banter back and forth for a bit before I moved on with the next bit of the report.  Also, the clams are biting really good now!  Mark caught a nice, heavy one up near the shoreline this morning.  He was hoping to catch a redfish that was running the marsh but the clam bit first.  We decided to let it go, however, since we only had the one.  Again, Uncle Alfred would have had some quip about the clam and probably have related a tale of going clamming during his younger days.  The rest of the fishing report would have been filled with tidbits of news about the number of schools of menhaden, recent catches of shrimp and how many crab pots we have at the end of the pier.  Once the report was complete, he and I would, once again, make those plans for his fishing trip.  That fishing trip was never made, at least, not physically.  He told me that he fished from our pier in his dreams and that made him happy.  Talking with him made me happy.

  The truth behind the above fishing report was that I did, indeed, hook and bring in an old line that had been snagged on a log.  Pulling it off was quite the job but I am glad it is no longer posing a danger to the sea life.  Mark did catch a clam on his line but not on the hook.  His sinker weights became wedged between the hinge of the clam shell allowing him to pull the large clam right up on the pier.  These tales would have delighted Uncle Alfred and made those dreams even more exciting.  Even though it has been several years since he passed, I still think of our phone calls and reports.  I sure miss that man!

 

Another Great Day of Fishing....Not!

  My friend, Darlene, returned to the Bayou for yet another day of fishing.  Being a teacher, she was on Spring Break this past week and wanted as much "Fishing Therapy" as she could get. We have been doing relatively well and have caught a good many red drums, trout and croakers.  Of course, we caught our fair share of gafftopsails, catfish and other "trash" fish.  We never complain, though, since we both love to fish and it sure beats staining flooring boards.  She and I can sit for hours with a rod and reel in hand.

  Today, our fishing experience was just that...an experience.  First, the weather did not cooperate.  It was heavily overcast and COLD!!  The north wind proved to be quite icy over the water.  Then, we had a bird steal our bait.  The juvenile Great Blue Heron that has been begging handouts has taken to stealing as of late.  While we were not watching, that rascal emptied our bait bucket of all the little, live mullet except for one tiny one.  There is not much fishing going to happen without bait! I had to throw the net to catch more bait which was quite scarce due to the inclement weather.  I did, however, replenish our stash but nary a fish bit.  We did, however, make a couple of catches.

  About mid afternoon, Darlene said she had a "bite".  Sure enough, her line was being pulled out from the reel.  She jerked back only to say that it was weird.  Yep, a great description.  Instead of a bite, she had something rather different.  A snapping turtle had become tangled in her line.  It took a bit of doing but we finally got the critter untangled without losing a finger in the process.  My catch was just as bad, if not worse.  I really did catch a snapping turtle. That goofy critter ate my mullet...hook and all!  Reeling in a huge snapping turtle is not the easiest thing to do.  Those things weigh a ton!  It felt like I was hauling in a log.  

  The hook was actually embedded in the turtle's tongue but there was no way that I was going to stick my hands in that mouth to unhook it.  Knowing that we use a style of hook that is fast-rusting, I cut the line.  The large turtle slid back into the water.  I am sure that he will have a sore mouth for a few days but, after that, he should be fine.  He just needs to learn to stay away from my fishing line!  Oh, the things that we catch here on the Bayou!

Fishing Is Better Than Politics

 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!