Down on the Bayou

I was watching a fishing show the other night that featured a guide who was willing to go out in any weather to catch fish. He would get a call from a customer on a rainy day who was wondering if they would still go out or if they should cancel. He would tell them that if they were willing to get wet, he would make sure they caught fish.

I think it takes a lot of guts to make that promise, and I think that that is the true test of a fisherman--being able to catch fish in even the worst of conditions.

Today I stopped by Coffee Pot Bayou on the way home to test out my ladyfish spot with my small Gotcha lure.

As I was fishing, a man with a white beard loped up and asked me if I was catching anything. I told him that I hadn't, but that I thought I'd be able to in a few minutes.

He stopped and started to shoot the breeze with me, and at first, I was annoyed. I think of fishing as a solitary activity, something to quiet my mind, so when this old chap was chatting me up, all I could think of was how long it would take for him to move on.

Instead, he stayed. And when I caught my first ladyfish, he told me that it just made his day to see me catch a fish. He was a little emotional about it, then told me about his two tours in Vietnam, and how all he wanted to do was to go fishing, and then he proceeded to tell me four or five fish tales in a row, the last one culminating with him and a friend catching 200 bass and 150 perch.

In one day.

Overall, I caught four ladyfish and a lizard fish over the course of our conversation. Each one he lauded like it was a champion snook.

It was a unique and special moment to share a bit of my fishing with this man, who watched me fish for thirty minutes in the blowing wind, with the water choppy to the point of zero visibility, on a day that even the castnetters stayed home.

I was glad to help him get back to his old memories, to guide him back to happy days of bass and bream.