Monday, January 10, 2005
The Lucky Hooker
Fishing is frustrating, difficult and, frankly, I am not very good at it. But I love it. The poorly lit cigarettes battered by the Gulf breeze, the lukewarm Coors Light, the hours of frustration without a bite - what could be better?
Today was a perfect day to be on the water. Flocks of white pelicans flew overhead, egrets perched on low lying trees in the thickening fog and I didn't catch a damn thing in the calm brown waters of the Gohegan Canal outside of Slidell, La.
We shoved off in the scrappy 24-foot Lucky Hooker around 2:30 p.m., picking up some live cokahoes and frozen shrimp for bait (they were purely for show of course, as I am the Eddie the Eagle of fishing). Captain Ethan Calder, menthol cigarette in tow, manned the ship, as we cast into the canals of the Rigolese near the Mississippi border, catching mostly mud and the occasional piece of seaweed. We fished into the night and, as the fog rolled in and the sky darkened it felt like we were in the Bermuda triangle. Apparently there are no fish in the Bermuda triangle.
Finally, my buddy, Kerry, caught a bass, breaking our dry spell. So headed for port in poor visibility, hoping not to hit anything bigger than us. When we docked we were cold, wet and smelling of bait, without a single edible fish (we threw back the bass) and completely satisfied - not to mention ready for a cold beer in a warm place.
Today was a perfect day to be on the water. Flocks of white pelicans flew overhead, egrets perched on low lying trees in the thickening fog and I didn't catch a damn thing in the calm brown waters of the Gohegan Canal outside of Slidell, La.
We shoved off in the scrappy 24-foot Lucky Hooker around 2:30 p.m., picking up some live cokahoes and frozen shrimp for bait (they were purely for show of course, as I am the Eddie the Eagle of fishing). Captain Ethan Calder, menthol cigarette in tow, manned the ship, as we cast into the canals of the Rigolese near the Mississippi border, catching mostly mud and the occasional piece of seaweed. We fished into the night and, as the fog rolled in and the sky darkened it felt like we were in the Bermuda triangle. Apparently there are no fish in the Bermuda triangle.
Finally, my buddy, Kerry, caught a bass, breaking our dry spell. So headed for port in poor visibility, hoping not to hit anything bigger than us. When we docked we were cold, wet and smelling of bait, without a single edible fish (we threw back the bass) and completely satisfied - not to mention ready for a cold beer in a warm place.
