City Limits — Lake Charles, Lake Prien full of winter speckled trout
Capt. Nick Poe just knew back in June he would be having one of the most hellacious fall and winter fishing seasons he had ever experienced on the Calcasieu estuary.[…]
Capt. Nick Poe just knew back in June he would be having one of the most hellacious fall and winter fishing seasons he had ever experienced on the Calcasieu estuary.[…]
I always wondered while fishing during the winter if all those ducks I kept jumping in the river lakes just off the Ouachita River between Monroe and West Monroe would eventually return to that same spot.[…]
This past teal season didn’t exactly knock Capt. Chris Pike’s socks off. The Delacroix charter captain and duck-hunting guide hunted every day, and although he had some decent hunts, most days ended with a few empty spots on his duck strap.[…]
Scrunch, Scrunch, Schrunch! The heavy frost on the vehicle’s windshield wasn’t yielding easily to my efforts.[…]
It was a hypnotizingly peaceful afternoon. I shuffled along the banks of Little River, head down, searching intently for a pottery shard, an arrowhead — anything that the area’s first inhabitants might have left behind.
The sun’s rays felt good on my back, but the air still had a cold nip to it from a front that had passed the day before.
The sound of dogs barking in the distance echoed through the bare trees. The occasional cawing of crows seemed especially sharp in the dry air.
Otherwise, there was silence.
I felt rather than heard something behind me on the riverbank. I turned but saw nothing. It happened again. The third time, I barely turned my head and peeked out of one corner of my eye. […]
Gerald Ducote of Melville had reason to be optimistic on Dec. 26.[…]
It was Jan. 7 of this year and Alton “Tadpole” McLeod was hunting an area of Tensas National Wildlife Refuge he had not previously hunted. He found a deer trail and a suitable tree for his climbing stand overlooking the trail and got set up.
Around 4 p.m. buzzards (of all things) began to congregate at a roost tree nearby.
“They were making a lot of noise, landing, flapping wings and breaking branches,” McLeod said. “There must have been 30 or 40 of them.”
Tadpole was discouraged and did not expect any deer movement due to all the noise. He considered moving, but since it was so late in the day he decided to sit it out till dark.
Around 5 p.m. he heard something moving in the palmettos, coming from the direction of the buzzard roost. He suspected either a deer or bear.[…]
Maybe you’ve thought of Myrtle Grove as a mere blip in the road, a tiny hamlet somewhere between Ironton and West Pointe a la Hache, a place you whiz by on your way to more notable destinations, such as Buras, Empire and Venice.
But it’s time to think again.
Certainly, many old timers remember Myrtle Grove as an outstanding wintertime bank-fishing destination, where you could pay a small fee and pull your car or truck up near the edge of Wilkerson Canal and fish for trout and redfish.
It was well known for producing excellent catches of specks and reds in the most inclement weather. It actually seemed that the colder and more bitter the winter weather was, the better your chances of catching fish.[…]
We used to say at the deer camp not to shoot the does, now it’s don’t shoot the bucks. My how things have changed![…]
“One fish. Two fish. Red fish. Blue fish. Black fish. Blue fish. Old fish. New fish. This one has a little star. This one has a little car. Say! What a lot of fish there are.” Dr. Seuss[…]
Dr. Bob Weiss knew where some keeper trout were holding. He knew he could yank up his anchor, start his motor and high-tail it to feeding speckled trout at the L&N Bridge in the Rigolets.[…]
Long before daylight, Cole Romero laid flat on his back along the floor of the boat, the back of his head resting on a gear bag positioned on the front deck like a pillow.[…]
As a soldier in a field-artillery unit based in Baumholder, Germany, three words drilled into my government-issue brain were shoot, move and communicate.[…]
Ryan Bergeron’s huge buck turned heads last season; more trophies are sure to fall this year.[…]
In search of vegetative foliage, five bucks — a mature 8-pointer, a 3½-year-old, two spunky spikes and a curious button buck — go single file along the forest edge, ascending a bluff.[…]
I can’t remember exactly where I was when someone first told me “Keep it simple, Stupid.” I do distinctly remember that I was a little insulted — being called “Stupid,” and all that.[…]