The time of year was mid-summer. The time of day, dawn. The fishing hole, Lake D’Arbonne. […]
The giant flare was as impressive audibly as it was in a visual sense, giving off a dull roar. […]
Ernie Pyle called it the “thousand-yard stare.” Pyle was a WWII war correspondent who shared foxholes with the boys who won it. He wrote for the folks back home about the grunts and dogfaces and the holy hell they went through while blasting their way to victory — but from a front-line seat. […]
When was the last time you caught a limit of speckled trout? Think about it. When was the last time you and your buddies pulled slime-coated, contorted trout, one by one, from the ice chest, counted them and then picked up your rods to catch the number remaining?
Guides, many of whom are on the water 200 or more days a year, probably caught too many limits over the last year to count, but few weekend anglers, I’m certain, came anywhere close to equaling that level of success. […]
It’s easy to outrun those huge tankers when they’re chugging upriver. They’re like us after a huge champagne brunch. You can almost hear them groaning as they churn slowly upriver, fully-laden, low in the water, every yard gained an agonizing effort. […]
In a world full of eroded family ties, North Louisiana is a place where the true family spirit can still be found. This section of Louisiana that has been titled “Sportsman’s Paradise” by the Louisiana Office of Tourism could more aptly be called “Sports-family’s Paradise.” […]