Fishing in the Big Easy
by Tony Vinciguerra
We utilized the 200 horsepower Yamaha on the stern of the 24-foot boat. We skipped across the bayou for about 15 minutes before coming to a stop not far from a grassy inlet.
The fishing report was for us to catch a few speckled trout. (What they call speckled trout in Louisiana are not related to trout. They are what we call weakfish on the East Coast.) We expected the trout to be between 12 to 15 inches.
Parker had six rods rigged identically. Each had a cork bobber and a ¾-ounce jig with a white shrimp jig on it tied to 10-pound test. We would add a piece of shrimp to the jig for scent. Why the cork bobber? We were fishing in a foot-and-a-half of water. Below the water was mud--several feet of it.
We lined up with the 20-mph wind at our backs and cast. We popped the cork once or twice, and then let the jig sit for up to a minute. We'd then repeat the process. After a few hits, Clay broke the ice with a nice speckled trout in the 20-inch range. Clay caught a smaller trout soon after. A few minutes later, Vince caught a nice trout. Steve and I had a few hits, but we couldn't hook one.
Suddenly Vince hooked a nice redfish (also called a red drum). After a five-minute fight, we saw the fish as it approached the boat. Just as quickly, it was gone. Vince's line was cut clean. Parker told us about the sharp gill plates on redfish.
All four of us stopped getting hits after that. Steve and I had thoughts of getting skunked. Then Vince hooked another large fish, but not as big as the redfish he'd lost. It was a black drum. Then I hooked a black drum. As I was landing it, Vince caught another.
Steve kept quiet, and was no doubt frustrated. His patience paid off, however. He hooked a large drum. After a substantial fight, Parker netted it. He shook Steve's hand in congratulations.
Vince, Steve, and I each caught a couple more black drum and some trout. I even caught a sheepshead. For a while, it appeared as though Clay would lead us all in size and number of trout, but he might not catch a drum.
We then entered a 10-minute lull in the fishing. We passed the time discussing topics from Bourbon Street to politics to environmental issues. “The weird thing lately is that I have been hanging out with this younger woman,” Parker said. “She's not my girlfriend. At least, I don't think she is.”
Clay was standing alone on the bow, staring intently at his bobber until it disappeared. His rod doubled into a “C”. His reel screamed for mercy. Clay hasn't fished much in his life. Truth be told, he was only on this trip because I wanted to go so badly. Seeing him make a few rookie mistakes, such as reeling against his drag, Parker and I tried to talk him through fighting this fish. I tried to fight my urge to bark commands at him. I lost that fight.
Ten minutes into the fight, the fish came along side the boat. Parker, who had crouched next to Clay, gasped. “Holy cow,” he said. “That took my breath away. Tony, grab the net.”
I followed orders. But when I looked at the net and measured it against what I had just seen in the water, I said, “This little thing? What good will that do us?”
“I'm hoping to tuck his head in there,” Parker said. “Maybe you could put on a glove and grab its tail.”
After a few more runs, we attempted our strategy. I ended up grabbing part of the net because Parker couldn't lift the fish into the boat by himself. It was a huge black drum—over 40 pounds. After taking a few pictures, we released it. Parker shook Clay's hand. It was hard to tell who was more excited. “The only thing bigger than that fish was the smile on your face,” Parker said to Clay. The same could be said for Parker.
We fished two more hours and only caught about four more fish, a small drum and a couple of trout. Steve and Vince had a couple more break-offs. In all, the four of us caught 18 fish in six hours. We kept 12 to feed us and our wives.
A flock of white pelicans followed us to the marina, hoping for an easy meal. Parker filleted all the fish with a double-bladed electric filet knife and made the pelicans' day.
The ride home was long. We were exhausted, but we were happy. It was only Monday. We still had six more days to spend in the craziness of the French Quarter. Most of us felt right then that we'd probably had our best day of the trip already.
Click here to view the photos we took that day.
-- ASV