A Special Day in The Marsh

It’s negative seven degrees as green slime sprays our left wing on the Missoula runway. We are leaving winter in pursuit of Louisiana Redfish. This adventure is several years in the making, piggy-backed by an absence of a Water Master Rafts adventure. So, goodbye minus seven! Hurricane Ida took out our Airbnb last September. So, we gave it four months. I struggle to imagine what we are about to witness and what the residents must be enduring.

Two easy flights leave us a truck rental and an hour drive south to the city of Houma. I am surprised at how slight damage I see in New Orleans. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and debris is scattered, but the residents are resilient. It’s hard for me to envision all of this being underwater. As we cross the Mississippi River, heading towards the gulf, we enter a gap in civilization. There’s nothing out here. Pale brown vegetation fences off any existence beyond the pavement. What’s out there? I have nothing to look at, there isn’t a thing taller than our vehicle. Finally, civilization begins to appear, but quickly reveals destruction on a new level. Either the roof or business signs on all the buildings seem to be absent. Converted garbage trucks hitched two together, are sweeping up people’s trash like giant vacuums.

Our Airbnb occupies the corner lot of a well-kept multi-block neighborhood. We settle in as the scent of fresh-cut grass causes me to feel some sort of time warp.

“What are you thinking for dinner?” asks Rich.

“Seafood,” I quickly reply.

So, “Big Al’s Seafood.” The oysters on the half shelf do not disappoint. They were world-class, extremely inexpensive, and put my catfish Po’boy to shame.

Arriving a day early allows us the chance to explore New Orleans for the day and also builds in an additional flex day in case of harsh weather. Walking through WWII history followed by Bourbon Street ought to be a great emotional mix for our first day. This sacred memorial has been on my list, especially after having the honor of walking Omaha beach myself, several years ago.

Emotionally drained, we stroll down bourbon street at 5 pm on a Thursday. My kind of pace. I get to see where all the action happens without having to partake in the chaos. It was nice to see “Nola,” which presents itself well, but what I really want to see are Redfish eating my fly.

My sleep was reminiscent of Christmas eve as a child. In and out every hour, until the anticipation and daylight trumped my will to sleep. I bleed excitement, soaking in the early morning warmth. Leaving Houma, we drive south forty minutes, exhilarated by the spring weather and anxious for what lies ahead. The anticipation of success sandwiched between years of experience renders me numb. It is hard to think about casting to Redfish when everything visible astonishes me. I love this place; there are boats everywhere. Everything around here has history, it has wear and tear, and character. With every mile, the more character we see. Everything is on stilts, six to ten feet off the ground, or set atop manufactured hills. Debris is scattered everywhere, and every canal (or bayou as I was corrected) collects it all. Hurricanes scatter all kinds of unimaginable products of humankind.

“Is that a boat in a tree?” I ask looking back to make sure. I cannot imagine this being underwater, and this happening every few years. The locals are hard-core, resilient characters who love living in this beautiful country.

Paul, our guide, greets us with warm southern charm, as I inhale the fresh Louisiana air.

“It’s going to be a special day in the marsh fellas,” comments Paul. That is what you want your guide to say, but suddenly I feel a little pressure on us now. What does that mean?

We idle through a narrow bayou affording us the time to hurl a million questions. This is incredible, and as I bundle up, we fly thirty miles an hour up various bayous, across wide-open lakes until the motor seizes. The quiet quickly resumes, and the warm air overtakes us.

15461945 A6B4 4B70 9A37 DD3629DB1640 1
a1 1

I strip layers of gear from my body as Paul regurgitates a fabulous five-minute speech, everything a person needs to know about catching Redfish. He has done this before, I think, at least he has his spiel down. So, we are good, right? It reminds me of flying bush planes in Alaska, you are too distracted by the excitement. I still cannot get over the boat we’re in, this thing is impressive. I am chomping at the bit and cannot wait to film Rich catching a fish we have been talking about for a long, long time. Paul kills the motor, climbs up his pedestal, and Rich steps into the cage upfront first.

The blue above stretches into eternity, as the sun begins to assert its presence. The wind seems to have missed the memo as a thin fog gently releases itself from the surface exposing all living creatures in the three feet of salt water.

“Forty yards at one o’clock, you see him?” whispers Paul.

“Yep, I got him,” answers Rich beginning his back cast. Things became a blur quickly soon thereafter, but I swear it was his first cast, at his first Redfish. Using a 9wt rod and 30lb test leader, Rich was soon holding a gorgeous 15lb Louisiana Redfish.

“Wow, that was the coolest eat I have ever seen,” exhales Rich smiling ear to ear.

“That was cool, brother,” answers Paul. “Sweet dude,” I chime in.

“Go get another one man, that was awesome,” I reluctantly say wanting desperately to get into that cage. I was impressed by our start, and so happy for Rich that this long-awaited journey has started off this way. The very next fish we came across swam five feet to inhale Rich’s shrimp pattern fifteen feet in front of the boat.

“Nice, dude.” I utter, trying not to sound too much like an idiot as I am filming a Redfish working Rich all around the boat.

b1 1
b2

What a couple of “Studs” to start our trip off. These fish are even more special when you witness your friend finally holding one glistening in the Louisiana sun.

“Nice work man,” as we fist bump each other.

“Nice fish, but those are just junior varsity boys, we’ll find bigger,” utters Paul climbing back onto his tower.

I could tell Rich was reluctant to give up the cage, saw me eye-balling my rod, and realized that that was pretty quick and easy.

“You want to jump up there Jeremie?” he said.

“Yeah, I do. I want some of that,” I said stripping line from my reel and closing the gate behind me.

It is a different world standing in this cage. I can see everything, and there are fish all over the place. As we glide through the marsh, Stingrays, Sheepshead fish, and Mullet scatter in all directions.

“Okay, forty yards at your eleven, you see him Jeremie?” I hear Paul behind me. “He’s facing left.”

I make one short cast landing my shrimp pattern three feet from his nose, I twitch the fly once, and watch this huge mouth open and engulf my fly. As soon as he turned his head, I tighten my line, and he proceeds to be terribly upset with me for the next several minutes.

“Wow, that was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,”

I mumble fighting as strong a fish as I have ever wrestled with. As I gaze at this magnificent creature glistening in the sun, I store away my mental notes before feeling his spotted tail slip from my grasp and watch him settle underneath the boat.

“These fish are aggressive when they are up here in the shallows like this.” Instructs Paul. “Pretty cool.”

I quickly land another beautiful Red and find myself back behind the camera. My hands are still shaking as the adrenaline surges through my veins. It is an indescribable feeling when you dream of something for so long and finally can act it out in real life. It is a special day in the marsh!

c1 1
c2 1

Before I could digest what I had just done, Rich promptly lands another stellar Red and immediately follows with our first Black Drum. As much as we celebrate our successes, we both know there is more to play with. Paul is already push polling, and I quickly follow suit landing a Red followed by my first Black Drum. I collapse into the front seat/cooler and eat a sandwich watching dolphins crash the shoreline crushing Mullet. Albino cranes, waterfowl of all kinds, and everything with wings are going about life as Paul silently pushes us through the marsh. “Sportsman’s paradise,” is not much of a stretch if you ask me. I struggle to eat because fish are everywhere we look. Some would spook, some just would not eat, and the rest crush our flies in ways we’ve never seen before. I am used to spooking fish, not the other way around. Replenish calories, or film your friend? Rich set the tone from the very first cast this morning and the rhythm of the day has continued.

Paul pushes around a point as I step into the cage fly in hand. “Okay Jeremie, twelve o’clock there is a fish crawling in the mud. Do you see him?” Paul whispered.

“Oh, yeah,” I say pointing with my rod.

“I’m going to ease you in there okay, it’s your call when you want to cast,” instructs our guide. After several false casts, I land my shrimp pattern ten feet from the fish directly in line with its path. My heart is pounding, and my knees are shaking as I hold my fly dead still. As he approaches, I twitch and strip and he crawls by without seeing it.

“Lead him again Jeremie,” Paul whispers. So, I pick up and cast three feet to the left and snag the bank. I quickly rip my fly out of the weeds and drop it in front of the tailing Redfish all in one motion.

“Good now bring it in front of him and let him see it,” Paul instructs. I twitch the fly three times and feel pressure as the fish swallows my hook and turns away.

“Nice work Jeremie, that was cool,” barks Paul from his pedestal laughing.

“Way to compose yourself,” he adds as I am watching this fish strip line off of my reel.

“That was hard,” I add, still trying to get a grasp on this beast.

“Anytime you can see a Tarpon rolling, a Bonefish tailing, or any fish in its own situation, and just observe it, it’s super cool.” (This is a direct quote from Paul, that I will never forget).

This fish is forged into my memory. What an epic stalk and hookset. I am so fortunate to interact with nature in such a pure and raw manner.

C7CB28E2 58E9 46BB 99D5 EF7D5C5A4112 1
63F3175B A445 4899 B26D A2B7ED3A00E9 1

Rich steps back into the cage and abruptly finds himself tangled in fish and wrestling another Black drum. The afternoon was special in the marsh as Paul had predicted. We could not have experienced any better conditions in mid-January. The fish are happy and cooperative, there are no bugs, and not a snake or a crocodile anywhere to be found. It is like Grizzly Bears, if you see one (running away) it’s cool, but I’m good not crossing paths with one either.

Creeping towards our last bayou and the conclusion of a fabulous day, I find myself in the cage staring at a twenty-plus pound Redfish sitting fifteen feet from the bow looking straight at me. I whip a quick roll cast and land my shrimp two feet in front of his face. Paul did not even have time to say a word before I saw this massive white mouth open, inhale my fly, and turn as if nothing happened. The hook sank into the corner of its’s mouth and the head shakes continued for six minutes before I stood holding the biggest fish I have hooked, fought, or landed on a fly rod. My left arm burns as I strain to smile, trying to pose with this massive fish. Man, I’ll tell you, I am so fortunate to be here right now, in this situation, and to have this experience on my first day fishing for Redfish. I honestly don’t know how to react. These are the coolest fish I have targeted and cannot believe that we haven’t seen one other boat doing what we are doing. We have the entire Gulf of Mexico to ourselves. Rich did his research and found Paul, who made all the difference today in finding the fish and coaching us through each hook set. I feel like I made a lifetime friend today.

9BE2D36B 6993 4450 BE9B 6741065B800A
5DF9B037 7AF7 4CBF 8F63 909B8344C7B8 1
38B25BD7 B70B 43BF AE5A 73D187747D41

Tomorrow, we expect wind and will be using the spinning gear, hoping to get a few hours in before the storm. As we fly across the bayou, I’m ecstatic, while Paul texts his crab buddies for bait, simultaneously soliciting his wife to pick it up for us. Can we eat our bait if we don’t use it? I love salt water! It’s going to be a much different scene come sunrise compared to today.

Previous articleHell’s Bay Boatworks & Yeti Team up with Captains For Clean Water For a Dream Giveaway
Next articleNext Step in Protections for Bristol Bay: Take Action Today
Jeremie Loble is head of production Water Master Rafts in Stevensville, MT. He has been building rafts since 2000. He is a graduate from the University of Montana with a bachelor’s degree in Business Management. He divides his time between his addiction to fish, and raising his two daughters. Born and raised in Montana, Jeremie has devoted over forty years towards angling, hunting, and conservation. His goals each angling season include: fishing a new body of water, catching a new species, putting in more angling days than the previous year, and most importantly, go fishing with someone new.

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here