I am writing today because I have an update to one of my favorite recent adventures. Once you read the report below you will understand. Us humans never cease to amaze me. Maybe this story is the reason why I finally started blogging and not just write long emails to people, some of which could care less. In my eyes this story had to be told to a new audience, something a little different than your average fishing web site which is where I usually post stories like this. In the past year I have thought about my New Orleans trip a few times and the great southern hospitality I experienced. But I never thought I’d hear from a guy I met down there ever again. But then, in the back of my mind, maybe I did. It truly was a once in a lifetime experience and I was definitely in the right place at the right time. Well, shortly after I returned home and wrote this report up on www.tidalfish.com, I finally got around to mailing it to my new friend and barber. A whole year and a few months have passed now and I never heard back. Maybe the story got lost in the mail. Maybe he didn't like me. Maybe I should have contributed more gas money? Well, this weekend I get a phone call from an unfamiliar area code. I almost didn't answer it but then thought it could be for some dream job in Montana offering me 6 figures to fish for a living. Okay, maybe not. Well, it was my friend Jack, the barber inviting me back down. I couldn't believe it. I have since lost his contact information and thought I'd never see that place again. Plus I was certain the oil spill devastated his camp. Well, not so much. The place is alive and well. A little more fresh water in the marsh this year than usual but the fish are thriving still. Might just have to check out some flights.
Live New Orleans Report 11:30pm, Saturday February 20th, 2010
I'm here because my wife has a conference starting tomorrow. We decided to take a few days and arrive a little early to see the city together and make a little vacation out of it. But, this also just so happens to be near one of the greatest red fish destinations on the planet. The last two nights have just about cleaned me out and killed every last remaining brain cell. I'm in early tonight because I have an appointment of my own at sunrise.
I can only imagine how insane the super bowl and actual Marti Gras was. Forget New York. This is the place that doesn't sleep. We retired last night sometime before sunrise, returned in the afternoon and the bars were exactly the same as we left them. The locals we talked to were begging for a reprieve from the partying that hasn't stopped because every weekend the place exploded when the Saints were in the playoffs and just last week was the official Marti Gras. I don't think it ended.
Quick story about my luck yesterday. I was walking down the streets in desperate need of a haircut. I found a little barber shop hidden down some alley (actually (Corner of Canal and Decatur Street). My wife and I walk in and were the only customers. I was told to sit down and there like as if it were destiny, on the mirror I'm facing are several pictures of bull red fish, exactly what I was looking for. The rest is history as we talk fishing for who knows how long as my wife sits a little impatiently and reads through every one of their magazines. This guy is the real deal. We talk about 1/8 oz jig heads and their quality and strength, popping corks to braided line, high speed closed face reels to floro carbon and tarpon toad trailers. Then someone else pops in for a quick word to say hi and they talk about his next trip, tomorrow, back to the bayou at his own fishing lodge. He shows me pictures of the shack style home on stilts that can only be reached by boat and was one of the only places in the area that survived Katrina. Plus it had a nice 19' bay boat beached along side. He says he can easily collect a dozen oysters right off his deck and it’s located practically at the end of the world, just north of Venice where the only inhabitants are red fish, and plenty of them. His last trip down he caught over 200 trout but that was Thanksgiving. I mention how I'm desperately trying to go fishing and how I have my waders and may drive to Biloxi or somehow shove a kayak in the back of a ford focus. I try my best to pick his brain. Right then he offers to take my wife and I fishing. I look to my wife for approval and she's fine with it. She says she'll be busy with classes and business until Tuesday and didn't need me around till our departure flight. A warming trend has arrived and the sun even came out today. Temps are expected to hit 70 on Sunday but then another front moves through for Monday. I even saw a magnolia in bloom today!
But I also have a guide booked for Monday and the guide found someone else to split the trip with me so I'm only paying half the price for a full day. But the barber guy definitely knows what he's talking about and he's fishing through till Monday. I brought a fair amount of tackle with me in my large duffel bag, including two rods, a travel spinning and a 9wt fly rod. After a couple pairs of my wife's shoes and my fishing gear, I barely had enough room for one other change of clothes. But who cares. I'm going fishing and that's all that matters right now. The clock is ticking. I was so tired today that I fell asleep in a deafening 4D show at the WWII museum where you feel as if you are right there on the beaches of Normandy taking on heavy fire from artillery. The last few days and nights in and around Bourbon Street have completely kicked my tail. But why do I sit here now on the edge of my seat, writing to you guys and filled with anticipation of hitting the bayou at first light? I need to go to sleep as I'll be navigating past endless drunks in a tiny rental car before sun up tomorrow. If I can just find my way out of the city, I think I'll be okay. Wish me luck.
I can only imagine how insane the super bowl and actual Marti Gras was. Forget New York. This is the place that doesn't sleep. We retired last night sometime before sunrise, returned in the afternoon and the bars were exactly the same as we left them. The locals we talked to were begging for a reprieve from the partying that hasn't stopped because every weekend the place exploded when the Saints were in the playoffs and just last week was the official Marti Gras. I don't think it ended.
Quick story about my luck yesterday. I was walking down the streets in desperate need of a haircut. I found a little barber shop hidden down some alley (actually (Corner of Canal and Decatur Street). My wife and I walk in and were the only customers. I was told to sit down and there like as if it were destiny, on the mirror I'm facing are several pictures of bull red fish, exactly what I was looking for. The rest is history as we talk fishing for who knows how long as my wife sits a little impatiently and reads through every one of their magazines. This guy is the real deal. We talk about 1/8 oz jig heads and their quality and strength, popping corks to braided line, high speed closed face reels to floro carbon and tarpon toad trailers. Then someone else pops in for a quick word to say hi and they talk about his next trip, tomorrow, back to the bayou at his own fishing lodge. He shows me pictures of the shack style home on stilts that can only be reached by boat and was one of the only places in the area that survived Katrina. Plus it had a nice 19' bay boat beached along side. He says he can easily collect a dozen oysters right off his deck and it’s located practically at the end of the world, just north of Venice where the only inhabitants are red fish, and plenty of them. His last trip down he caught over 200 trout but that was Thanksgiving. I mention how I'm desperately trying to go fishing and how I have my waders and may drive to Biloxi or somehow shove a kayak in the back of a ford focus. I try my best to pick his brain. Right then he offers to take my wife and I fishing. I look to my wife for approval and she's fine with it. She says she'll be busy with classes and business until Tuesday and didn't need me around till our departure flight. A warming trend has arrived and the sun even came out today. Temps are expected to hit 70 on Sunday but then another front moves through for Monday. I even saw a magnolia in bloom today!
But I also have a guide booked for Monday and the guide found someone else to split the trip with me so I'm only paying half the price for a full day. But the barber guy definitely knows what he's talking about and he's fishing through till Monday. I brought a fair amount of tackle with me in my large duffel bag, including two rods, a travel spinning and a 9wt fly rod. After a couple pairs of my wife's shoes and my fishing gear, I barely had enough room for one other change of clothes. But who cares. I'm going fishing and that's all that matters right now. The clock is ticking. I was so tired today that I fell asleep in a deafening 4D show at the WWII museum where you feel as if you are right there on the beaches of Normandy taking on heavy fire from artillery. The last few days and nights in and around Bourbon Street have completely kicked my tail. But why do I sit here now on the edge of my seat, writing to you guys and filled with anticipation of hitting the bayou at first light? I need to go to sleep as I'll be navigating past endless drunks in a tiny rental car before sun up tomorrow. If I can just find my way out of the city, I think I'll be okay. Wish me luck.
It’s Wednesday and I’m safely back at home now already dreaming of endless marsh habitat, fresh oysters and blackened redfish. The camp was located right on the water about 30 miles north of Venice, near an access canal to the Mississippi and Marina called Empire. It is located on west side of the river surrounded for as far as the eye could see in either direction in salt marsh. The closest other building was miles away and was an oil rig. Unfortunately muddy water and cold temperatures slowed down the fishing but even I was capable of forgetting about fish for a minute and absorb the breathtaking scenery. We managed a few reds and the knowledge and experience of the two gentlemen I fished with surpassed my fishing ability by 100 fold. Even if they were loaded up with ugly sticks and large gold snap swivels and I had st croix rods and floro carbon armed with berkly gulp, their techniques were the ticket. But the experience was second to none. We ate oysters that I caught while wading in less than 5 minutes, we had fresh red fish, blackened by a true, native from Louisiana. I made a few friends for the future and learned a thing or two too. I'm already planning on returning when the weather gets warmer and the trout and reds invade the area by the thousands. My two new friends Jack and Gerry have been fishing there for over 40 years, owned boats for equally that long and have built three camps in that area since the 70's. They both said they have never seen the fishing that slow. But come spring or after a prolonged warming trend, things change very quickly. A guide would have cost me several hundred dollars and would have only have been for a day. This trip was closer to 36 hours of the best of southern Louisiana hospitality could offer. I originally thought I’d only fish for the day and use the guide the next day. But after a little convincing on their part, and numerous comments of “don’t be bashful” I found myself on the phone to my wife (unbelievable we had cell phone service) and spending the night. All I brought with me was a few granola bars and a bottle of water. We ate like kings for two days and their cooking out surpassed any meal the French Quarter had to offer. The camp had all the comforts of home with satellite TV, AC/ heat, gas stove, bathroom with a shower and new mattresses. It was powered by a 10kw diesel generator and they collected fresh water from roof runoff. However, it had recently been so cold that a PVC pipe had burst cutting off our fresh water supply.
I learned how to shuck an oyster, pop a “cwaark” (popping cork), blacken a red fish and distinguish all the different holding areas red fish prefer. Numerous times I tried to chime in and say one area looked better than the other. Actually I was awestruck by every nook and cranny as it all looked too perfect. Deep channels and rips that I’d fish back home were void of fish because these areas were patrolled with larger predators such as dolphin. The secret to the fishing was in the furthest back bays and ponds only a few inches deep rendering GPS completely useless and only accessible to the most experienced captains. The channels were littered with prop destroying tree trucks hidden like mines in areas that were once recently dry land. The center of the bays would be void of fish. Your lure or bait had to be right up against the grass as the reds patrolled these areas where smaller bait fish and crabs took refuge.
I learned how to shuck an oyster, pop a “cwaark” (popping cork), blacken a red fish and distinguish all the different holding areas red fish prefer. Numerous times I tried to chime in and say one area looked better than the other. Actually I was awestruck by every nook and cranny as it all looked too perfect. Deep channels and rips that I’d fish back home were void of fish because these areas were patrolled with larger predators such as dolphin. The secret to the fishing was in the furthest back bays and ponds only a few inches deep rendering GPS completely useless and only accessible to the most experienced captains. The channels were littered with prop destroying tree trucks hidden like mines in areas that were once recently dry land. The center of the bays would be void of fish. Your lure or bait had to be right up against the grass as the reds patrolled these areas where smaller bait fish and crabs took refuge.
Now for the pictures
Bourbon Street on an average Thursday night.
My Wife Courtney and I atop some balcony. I had to be careful with the picture taking.
My new found friend and barber, Jack as we depart Empire Marina loaded down with essentials and siding to repair the camp.
Looking back at the Marina and Highway 23 bridge which was destroyed during Katrina. A picture made the national news where a large ship had washed up onto the highway at this location. Plus a Dolphin snuck into this shot when I took the picture. I had no idea it was there and just got lucky.
Here's Jack and I on plain moving at 40mph weaving and bobbing around oyster reef markers.
Some fishy looking habitat miles from anywhere.
Home sweet home for a couple days.
Diesel Generator allowing for all the comforts of home. What you can't see in this picture is how Jack jumped when the flash went off. We were struggling a little bit trying to get it started. There was smoke, sparks, coughing sounds, you name it. Well, I took the picture with a flash and Jack thought the whole thing just exploded. Sorry about that.
Keep an eye on that cork, pronounced cawwarrk, aka float in the steelhead world.
The view from the porch.
Net job on a 10 pound red. For some reason didn't get a clean picture of this fish that Gerry caught but it was the largest fish of the trip and more than comfortably fed the three of us that night. Accompanied with fresh salad, French Wine, fresh bread, green beans and mushrooms.
What happens when you try and pick up oysters without gloves. Rookie mistake.
Some hot sauce from the French Market.
A highly recommended char broiled,smothered in cheese oyster dish from Dragos. They are famous for this dish. I could have eaten 4 dozen, easy.
