Q: I am looking for the true coordinates to the “Quida Rocks” or some name close. There was an article in Louisiana Sportsman that gave coordinates for it in the Vermilion 200-block area, but I went to it and the coordinates are for the rig in Vermilion 200 block. […]
The towering thunderheads to the south were beginning to intermittently glow a dazzling bright orange color reminiscent of a carpet of bombs exploding in the wake of a passing B-52 Bomber. […]
The vast wild region that extends some 250 miles in all directions from West Yellowstone, Mont., is home to snow-capped mountains, rolling ridges and valleys draped with towering trees and golden meadows, high desert plains with stark buttes that shoot into the sky, geysers, waterfalls and the widest variety of flora and fauna found in North America. […]
Venice and the Bassmaster Classic just haven’t mixed. […]
The murky predawn glow of the ride across the coastal Terrebonne Parish marsh had broken spectacularly into a beautiful sun-soaked morning as we broke free of the rich salt marsh. […]
Capt. Aaron Pierce was waiting at the dock when we arrived. Daylight was peeking over the horizon, and our steed for the day, a 26-foot Glacier Bay Catamaran, reflected the early morning light. […]
What luck. The doggone drawbridge was open on the Causeway. Just what I needed. […]
Draw a line on a map between the Cameron Jetties and the 18-mile light out of Sabine Pass then back to the Sabine Jetties, and you have a triangle. […]
It’s difficult to keep a positive attitude about a fishing trip when certain things take place on the long, predawn drive from New Orleans to Venice. […]
Bass can get finicky this month, but hybrid stripers more than pick up the slack on some lakes. […]
Sometimes getting out of the boat in July puts the odds in your favor, as it did last year for John Dean on a trip to Grand Isle. […]
These didn’t look ANYTHING like pick-box draftees. None wore the battered sneakers and long-sleeved work shirt. None wore that huge straw sombrero and baggy pantaloons. None looked like Edith Bunker or Phyllis Diller. No, the sight of these had us RIVETED. […]
It’s difficult to imagine an offshore fisherman who goes on an overnight fishing trip every doable weekend for four or five months being called “soft” or “a wuss,” but that’s what Dr. Russell O’Steen gets for finally admitting he’s reached the point where he no longer “goes regardless.” […]
I pulled out my hand-held GPS to check our speed. Once all the satellites kicked in, it registered the incredible velocity of 2.4 knots. That’s right, two point four. […]
The early morning sun had scarcely peeked over the cloudy horizon when shrilling cries of sea gulls dive-bombing for bait awakened us. […]
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