The drive from Morgan City to Natchitoches was a long four hours after I knocked off from my day job at 5 o’clock. And, by the time my wife and I checked into the Chateau Saint Denis Hotel downtown, it was after 9 p.m. — and I was just hearing from Pure Fishing ambassador Jimmy Jeansonne.
It’s a long boat ride down the Calumet spillway to the Atchafalaya Delta Wildlife Management Area’s Wax Lake Unit. It’s also a straight run, which makes it a perfect time for reflecting. In other words, once you push your throttle forward and get your boat heading south, for the next 30 minutes or so you have time to go over mental checklists or anything else that comes to mind.
Calling white-fronted geese can be a challenge, but quite often a quality call can make all of the difference.
Riceland Custom Calls have large bores and are easier to blow than other commercial models.
The mottled duck’s ongoing population struggles, which prompted officials to reduce the daily limit to one bird eight years ago, now are the reason for a telemetry study designed to help researchers locate their nests to determine nesting success.
Clint Ward dropped his 1/32nd ounce jig into the water. Attached to it was a multi-colored curly tail plastic, tipped with a little piece of Berkley Gulp Earthworm the size of a small snow pea added for enticement. Nowhere in his rigging was a float. What’s more, the lack of a cork gave me pause mainly because I was accustomed to using one where panfish are concerned.
Lake Fausse Pointe is a 17,000-acre system located in Iberia and St. Martin Parishes. Contiguous to the Atchafalaya Basin, the lake is essentially a catch basin for northern runoff and as a result is somewhat shallow when compared to public systems north of Interstate 10. But, that shouldn’t prohibit bass anglers from keying in on and fishing this particular lake for largemouth bass.
Jonathan Cheely walked behind his father Jamie in knee-deep water and rain to make an afternoon deer hunt near Bayou Boutte in the Atchafalaya Basin swamp.
Over the past few years, the father-son team had become almost inseparable, as the younger Cheely decidedly became a deer hunter.
The first time I ate crabs was way back in the summer of 1984. I’m not talking about those Alaskan king crab legs that are rapidly processed, quick-frozen and shipped to a chain restaurant or grocery near you.
It certainly wasn’t good old Louisiana blue crabs.