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Headed down highway 23 today with an old friend of my dad's that some of y'all know from BR's. Warren Lejuene and I launched at the Port Sulphur Cut (Where my dad grew up fishing) at 7:30am today. Weather was an immediate concern and it would dog us throughout the day. The last couple weeks here have been extremely wet. I don't mind wet, but I don't play with lightning. There would be a bit of a pucker factor with that.
On our way down, I had wanted to get some dead shrimp, but Warren talked me into going arties only. We didn't get too far from the ramp at first, afraid of the surrounding storms and their electric nature. We caught scads of dink trout, Warren measuring each one to see if it made the 12 inch requirement, and me just throwing them back. As one shower came and went, we saw an opening to hit Lake Grande Ecaille and we took it. We stopped at a shoreline where an old hulk of a sunken barge met a natural gas platform. The bottom was shell and the fish were there. Dink trout aplenty away from the platform and reds near it.
I didn't know what I would do without bait, so I reached into my tackle box for one of the many lures I had purchased, but never tried. I grabbed a spinner bait, put it on my snap swivel and began casting. Warren warned me of the treacherous nature of the platform's pilings and the oysters beneath and told me to expect to lose a lot of rigs if I got too close. I knew the reds would be in there and the spinner should keep me up off the oysters. He was spanking the dink trout, but I wanted reds. As we trolled down the line of pilings, I saw a tail between a piling and a steel grate that service crews used to get on the rig. I made a very risky cast and BAM. It was on as soon as the spinner hit the water. I don't know how I kept the fish away from the obstructions, probably dumb luck, but I was rewarded with the most deeply copper red I think I have ever caught. He was simply beautiful. And at 18 inches, just the perfect size. I wanted to hit that spot again, but Warren is one of those relentless trollers. He keeps moving no matter what's going on.
He kept spanking the dink trout and I kept up with the spinner into the pilings and oysters. I was rewarded again with another 18 inch red and Warren had boxed several trout up to 15 inches. We rounded the tip of the structure and I wanted to go back, but Warren assured me that the sunken barge always harbored reds. Being in deeper water, with Warren focused on the trout, I switched from the spinner to a tandem sparkle beetle (Avocado with red flakes) under a cork and I caught twin 20 inchers on a double hookup on the first cast. Then nothing for me for the next 10 minutes, I was flummoxed as Warren continued to catch dinks, one of which I believe he actually stepped on to make it 12 inches.
I was just getting ready to rig something else up when we rounded the end of the structure and came to the barge. I made a very dangerous throw right into the structure and Warren said, "If you don't get a fish, you're done for." as there was no way I would be able to reel the rig out without snagging a barely submerged cross member. I gave the cork a pop and BAM. A nice red hit it and swam right out of the debris. A 19 inch red in the box now. I decided I had better keep living dangerously as it was working, so I did it again. BAM! 20 inch drum. BAM! 16 inch red. Bam! 17 inch red. I had my limit of reds. Of course I wanted to stay right where we were, but the relentless troller kept his foot on the pedal and took us around the barge. I continued to tempt fate, making dangerous cast after cast. Bam 22 inch trout, the largest of the day. Warren never threw near the barge, preferring to throw his imitation squid under a popping cork out away from it. He boxed another small trout. BAM! I was sure this was a rod bender. Alas my dangerous ways had finally caught up with me. I was hung up on a stack of sunken pilings and I lost my rig entirely.
As I rigged back up, I realized that all I had was clear sparkle beetles I like to use under lights. No more avocado.
I wouldn't catch another red all day. We continued to move, down the other side of the reef back toward the gas rig, and I continued to cast dangerously, hanging up time and time again. I lost 3 rigs in short order, wishing that there was an Academy nearby. I went diving into the depths of my tackle box and decided if I didn't have any more, I'd make a tandem rig. While I was doing that, Warren hung into a huge red. I almost needed a bigger net. He measured well past the tape on the tackle box, and I'm guessing he was 40 inches. We tossed him back and went back to it. It was at this time that the slimers and ladyfish invaded. Lot of fun, but not much return.
While all that was going on, each of us fixated on fishing, we didn't realize that a squall was upon us. The thunder clap was preceded only by a light change in the wind. Suddenly the sky was a cauldron of malice and we agreed we were in deep chit. We threw down our rods and got down in the bottom of the boat to ride it out. Heavy rain drops pelted us and lightning crackled around for about 30 minutes. We were both happy to be alive when it passed. Wet to the bone, but in high spirits, we decided to move away from the retreating squall. I just had to hit the barge again though. I lost 2 rigs in short order with nothing to show for them.
We left Grande Ecaille with 5 reds, 1 drum, and after counting, I found we had 15 trout, but only 6 or 7 were what I would call keepers. After surveying the weather, we saw that a squall lay between us and home, with others on the way. Warren figured a back way toward the ramp and we were on the move. We stopped to troll down a shoreline where we picke up 5 more trout, none over 16 inches, and Warren notched a red.
Once again we were in trouble. We battered ourselves with epithets, questioning our intelligence, our upbringing, and our breeding. How did we again not pay attention to the weather. Dang fish will get you in trouble. Again we rode out a squall, this one less electrical than the first, but puckering none the less. While it still raged, Warren said he'd had enough and we began running out of it. I figured the trip was over, but we headed out toward Barataria, rather than home. I was happy.
We explored around and encountered more slimers, but boxed a few more trout. This time we eyed the weather and a huge cell was bearing down before we knew it. To the East, a door had opened, and Warren said he hated to quit early, but we had already gotten too lucky with the weather and not being dead and all. So we ran in.
We loaded up as a rush of cold air descended upon us and as I closed the truck door we were again pelted with relentless precipitation. Warren lit a cigar and said, "Now that's what you call good timing." I agreed. The time was only 11am, but with the mental anguish of lightning popping all around during the storms, I felt as if I had been fishing all day. So 3 and a half hours on the water netted about 23 trout, 6 reds, and one drum. About 9 trout are what I reckoned I'd have kept going by size. We agreed we'd keep what we cleaned and Warren began to set up for a cleaning contest. I went in to take a shower, then coming out, I found he had already gotten started. Cheater. My take would be 3 reds, 6 trout, and 1 drum.
It was a great day, and my first to fish La. since the winter before the oil spill. I'll be heading back out of Empire on Wednesday, but I'll tell y'all, I'll be paying better attention to the weather. - Sandy
On our way down, I had wanted to get some dead shrimp, but Warren talked me into going arties only. We didn't get too far from the ramp at first, afraid of the surrounding storms and their electric nature. We caught scads of dink trout, Warren measuring each one to see if it made the 12 inch requirement, and me just throwing them back. As one shower came and went, we saw an opening to hit Lake Grande Ecaille and we took it. We stopped at a shoreline where an old hulk of a sunken barge met a natural gas platform. The bottom was shell and the fish were there. Dink trout aplenty away from the platform and reds near it.
I didn't know what I would do without bait, so I reached into my tackle box for one of the many lures I had purchased, but never tried. I grabbed a spinner bait, put it on my snap swivel and began casting. Warren warned me of the treacherous nature of the platform's pilings and the oysters beneath and told me to expect to lose a lot of rigs if I got too close. I knew the reds would be in there and the spinner should keep me up off the oysters. He was spanking the dink trout, but I wanted reds. As we trolled down the line of pilings, I saw a tail between a piling and a steel grate that service crews used to get on the rig. I made a very risky cast and BAM. It was on as soon as the spinner hit the water. I don't know how I kept the fish away from the obstructions, probably dumb luck, but I was rewarded with the most deeply copper red I think I have ever caught. He was simply beautiful. And at 18 inches, just the perfect size. I wanted to hit that spot again, but Warren is one of those relentless trollers. He keeps moving no matter what's going on.
He kept spanking the dink trout and I kept up with the spinner into the pilings and oysters. I was rewarded again with another 18 inch red and Warren had boxed several trout up to 15 inches. We rounded the tip of the structure and I wanted to go back, but Warren assured me that the sunken barge always harbored reds. Being in deeper water, with Warren focused on the trout, I switched from the spinner to a tandem sparkle beetle (Avocado with red flakes) under a cork and I caught twin 20 inchers on a double hookup on the first cast. Then nothing for me for the next 10 minutes, I was flummoxed as Warren continued to catch dinks, one of which I believe he actually stepped on to make it 12 inches.
I was just getting ready to rig something else up when we rounded the end of the structure and came to the barge. I made a very dangerous throw right into the structure and Warren said, "If you don't get a fish, you're done for." as there was no way I would be able to reel the rig out without snagging a barely submerged cross member. I gave the cork a pop and BAM. A nice red hit it and swam right out of the debris. A 19 inch red in the box now. I decided I had better keep living dangerously as it was working, so I did it again. BAM! 20 inch drum. BAM! 16 inch red. Bam! 17 inch red. I had my limit of reds. Of course I wanted to stay right where we were, but the relentless troller kept his foot on the pedal and took us around the barge. I continued to tempt fate, making dangerous cast after cast. Bam 22 inch trout, the largest of the day. Warren never threw near the barge, preferring to throw his imitation squid under a popping cork out away from it. He boxed another small trout. BAM! I was sure this was a rod bender. Alas my dangerous ways had finally caught up with me. I was hung up on a stack of sunken pilings and I lost my rig entirely.
As I rigged back up, I realized that all I had was clear sparkle beetles I like to use under lights. No more avocado.
I wouldn't catch another red all day. We continued to move, down the other side of the reef back toward the gas rig, and I continued to cast dangerously, hanging up time and time again. I lost 3 rigs in short order, wishing that there was an Academy nearby. I went diving into the depths of my tackle box and decided if I didn't have any more, I'd make a tandem rig. While I was doing that, Warren hung into a huge red. I almost needed a bigger net. He measured well past the tape on the tackle box, and I'm guessing he was 40 inches. We tossed him back and went back to it. It was at this time that the slimers and ladyfish invaded. Lot of fun, but not much return. While all that was going on, each of us fixated on fishing, we didn't realize that a squall was upon us. The thunder clap was preceded only by a light change in the wind. Suddenly the sky was a cauldron of malice and we agreed we were in deep chit. We threw down our rods and got down in the bottom of the boat to ride it out. Heavy rain drops pelted us and lightning crackled around for about 30 minutes. We were both happy to be alive when it passed. Wet to the bone, but in high spirits, we decided to move away from the retreating squall. I just had to hit the barge again though. I lost 2 rigs in short order with nothing to show for them.
We left Grande Ecaille with 5 reds, 1 drum, and after counting, I found we had 15 trout, but only 6 or 7 were what I would call keepers. After surveying the weather, we saw that a squall lay between us and home, with others on the way. Warren figured a back way toward the ramp and we were on the move. We stopped to troll down a shoreline where we picke up 5 more trout, none over 16 inches, and Warren notched a red.
Once again we were in trouble. We battered ourselves with epithets, questioning our intelligence, our upbringing, and our breeding. How did we again not pay attention to the weather. Dang fish will get you in trouble. Again we rode out a squall, this one less electrical than the first, but puckering none the less. While it still raged, Warren said he'd had enough and we began running out of it. I figured the trip was over, but we headed out toward Barataria, rather than home. I was happy.
We explored around and encountered more slimers, but boxed a few more trout. This time we eyed the weather and a huge cell was bearing down before we knew it. To the East, a door had opened, and Warren said he hated to quit early, but we had already gotten too lucky with the weather and not being dead and all. So we ran in.
We loaded up as a rush of cold air descended upon us and as I closed the truck door we were again pelted with relentless precipitation. Warren lit a cigar and said, "Now that's what you call good timing." I agreed. The time was only 11am, but with the mental anguish of lightning popping all around during the storms, I felt as if I had been fishing all day. So 3 and a half hours on the water netted about 23 trout, 6 reds, and one drum. About 9 trout are what I reckoned I'd have kept going by size. We agreed we'd keep what we cleaned and Warren began to set up for a cleaning contest. I went in to take a shower, then coming out, I found he had already gotten started. Cheater.
My take would be 3 reds, 6 trout, and 1 drum. It was a great day, and my first to fish La. since the winter before the oil spill. I'll be heading back out of Empire on Wednesday, but I'll tell y'all, I'll be paying better attention to the weather. - Sandy
COMMUNITY WITH A LARGE
PROBLEM AND A 
PROBLEM.
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