The outdoorsmen who know so much about deer, squirrels, rabbits and other wildlife and the environment in which they live are enthusiastic about the upcoming hunting seasons on wildlife management areas in Louisiana.
I’m the world’s worst procrastinator.
Don’t fool yourself: You might be a bad procrastinator, but my procrastination would run circles around your procrastination.
Take for example the time 20 years ago when I was in a college nutrition class with my future sister-in-law.
We were assigned to keep up with everything we ate for one week and make a chart of our caloric intake on poster board.
Some folks say crappie are the new bass.
For decades, crappie fishermen have pretty much been cane pole-and-shiner guys, or maybe jig polers with double-rigged lures.
Bass fishermen hace all the fancy equipment and techniques.
Do you remember how we used to try to fix things by hitting them? We’d smack the side of the old TV to straighten out the picture or hit the radio when it wouldn’t pick up a signal.
Since my son was onboard, the worst expletive I could muster was a gruff, “Dad gum it!”
I’m normally slow to anger and even slower to speak, but this was the third fish I had lost in less than 10 minutes.
“You can’t get frustrated, Chris,” Capt. Lane Zimmer told me as he grabbed my line to tie on another hook. “That’s part of fishing this way. You’re going to lose fish.
They’re familiar. Second-nature, perhaps. A utilitarian element that’s just always there.
But, while jigheads might be far from fancy, they’re also far from inconsequential.
We left the dock at 7 p.m.
Yes I said p.m., not a.m.
Everything else in Delacroix was dead quiet. All the sports had gone home and were digesting their supper.
The 2014 season ended with a lot of hunters scratching their heads and wondering what was going on.
Five years ago Louisiana Sportsman ran a feature story about a gang of school kids who caught scads of fish from Metairie drainage canals right in the heart of the New Orleans metropolitan area.
Kenny gaped — then he looked around the room frowning, his eyes like cue balls. Suddenly he smiled, reached into the cooler, and grabbed another brewskie.
“I’m in!” he laughed while popping open the beverage.
Then he waved it around the den of Doc’s Venice boathouse, toasting the whole gang.
My plan was well thought out for the opening day of teal season, but apparently the birds didn’t get the memo, e-mail, text — aw, heck, whatever method birds use to communicate one to another.
September is an awesome time to get to the nearshore rigs for incredible mangrove action. And hunting seasons are upon us, so you can find out what public lands offer the best options.