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"We would tie a chicken neck in each the night before because Dad
said they had to smell just right to tempt the day’s catch. Trust me,
the next morning they did smell just right!"
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When he arrived home at Marietta Street in Chalmette, we would make
preparations for the Saturday morning outing. Yes, I’m a Chalmatian,
born and raised and I still have my white rubber boots!
I
was about twelve years old and preferred nothing more than being on the
water with my Dad. Three dozen crab nets were laid next to our boat.
They were drop bottom nets with large orange corks tied to the towing
strings. We would tie a chicken neck in each the night before because
Dad said they had to smell just right to tempt the day’s catch. Trust
me, the next morning they did smell just right!
So, the ritual continued. Saturday morning we'd hitch the boat and
finish the last minute details. The boat was a beauty. It was a
twelve-foot aluminum bateau with a seven-and-a-half horse Ted Williams
tiller outboard that from Sears and Roebuck. He was so proud of his rig;
you would have thought it was a twenty-foot bay boat. The crab nets were
stashed in the back of his Caterpillar-yellow pick-up truck. Our
then-state-of-the-art Mitchell 300 reels and Shakespeare fiberglass rods
were packed into the truck along with shad rigs, large orange and white
popping corks and a couple of pounds of bait shrimp in an ice chest.
Then would come the command: “Lar-ray, get in the truck!” Dad hailed
from the Irish Channel in New Orleans. Folks in that area have what some
say sounds like a Brooklyn accent. So, he always added an “a” to my
name which came out "Lar-ray"
Our destination was Bayou Bienvenue, just a couple of miles from home.
How close was it? Dad would always say he could smell mom dripping the
coffee when she woke up later in the morning. We would launch the little
boat at the public boat landing and head straight across the bayou. On
the opposite side of the waterway was a barge apparently aground on the
shore. But, what it hid was our secret fishing hole, Bud’s Bayou. Dad
would shift the little motor into neutral and walk the boat around the
backside of the barge. You see, the barge was not docked on the shore at
all: it was hiding a shallow mud flat. The flat was a long narrow canal
about twenty-feet wide that ran about a quarter mile and ended into a
pond that Dad called the “Cul-de-sac”.
Once on the other side of the barge, our work began. We would start
dropping our smelly crab nets down the middle of the flat about four or
five boat lengths apart. Once all the nets were dropped, we would turn
around and begin “running” the nets. I would pilot the boat and dad
would pull up the nets, because most of the time there would be so many
crabs in them that I could not pull and lift them out of the water! We
would repeat this routine four or five times. It only took four or five
times because, as the good Lord is my witness, we would always have one
and a half to two bushels of crabs by then.
After we finished catching crabs, it was time to fish. We would take the
boat to the end of the flat and anchor facing the “Cul-de-sac”. Dad
would always ask, “How many are we feeding tonight?” That would
determine how many fish to keep for dinner. We cast our Mitchell’s
armed with a large popping cork, shad rig and shrimp on each hook into
the pond.
Then…BAM!
It was like shooting fish in a barrel: redfish, specks and bull croakers
one after another. When we had enough to feed our crew, we’d pack up
and head home. Every Saturday we would have a seafood meal fit for a
king!
My Dad and Mom are now in a retirement home. Bud is now eighty-two years
old but still sharp as a tack. Nearly every visit, he and I will
reminisce about the good old days we fished in Bud’s Bayou.
When
we do, Bud always finishes with the same line “You just don’t catch
fish like that anymore!”
You know what? He’s right.
About a month after I wrote this story, my Dad passed away. A week or
two before his passing he told me he was tired and ready to go home to
the Lord. Then he said he wished he could go on one more fishing trip. I
told dad that the Bible says there’s rivers in heaven.
He
looked up at me, smiled and said “If I get there first, I’ll meet
you on the bank."
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About the Author:
Larry Offner is a native of Southeast Louisiana.
He was raised fishing the saltwater bayous in St. Bernard Parish.
He has a passion for photographing the Louisiana images of his
home state.
His photographs have been displayed in several galleries in the
New Orleans and Baton Rouge areas.
In 2002 Larry discovered fly fishing.
Fly fishing is now his passion and mental escape.
He is the Founder
and Owner of www.warmfly.com.
Larry now resides in Denham Springs, Louisiana. |
