The Boat That Got Away

Spring is when the thoughts of red-blooded Louisiana boys turn to fishing. Notwithstanding the fact that he’s half Australian, that’s certainly where our son Charles’ thoughts have been since the last frost. A fishing casualty since he was old enough to walk, Charles caught his first bream at the age of three, a catfish at four, and at the age of eight caused his mother consternation by staggering into the kitchen one summer day swinging a largemouth bass the size of a beagle. Despite not having yet mastered knots and accidentally hooking the dog once in a while, Charles shows all the signs of being a natural, lifelong fisherman. In most things, his attention span is as short as that of any normal ten-year-old; but put the lad by a body of water with a reel of monofilament and something in him switches. He goes still and focused, capable of spending unbroken hours transfixed by the play of light on water, the arc of the line, the movement of the lure, and the delicious possibility that some unseen creatures might be rising to it at any moment.

So a few weeks ago, when I asked Charles if he’d be interested in a kayak trip to chase redfish, there really wasn’t any question as to how he would answer. Fellow St. Francisvillian Andy Green, avid fisherman and founder of Bayou Sara Kayak Rentals, has begun offering guided trips to all sorts of inland waterways and has the fleet of sturdy, stable fishing kayaks to accommodate the venture. Andy’s a big fan of fishing the delicate filigree of marsh that extends through St. Bernard Parish southeast of Chalmette, so when he mentioned that clear water and light winds pointed to good redfishing out of Delacroix Island, it seemed the right time to jump on board. Being a keen fisherman myself, the possibility of taking on a ten-pound redfish from the seat of a ten-foot watercraft—the quintessential Cajun sleigh ride—was one I’d always wanted to experience. I just had no idea how to get started. But Andy, with his boats to rent and absolute familiarity with the St. Bernard marsh, held the keys. While my decision to take my son kayak fishing mightn’t have been entirely altruistic, Charles didn’t mind. In fact it seemed possible he might spontaneously combust.

That’s how he and I found ourselves getting off the I-610 at Franklin Avenue in New Orleans early one recent Saturday. Since Andy was carrying the kayaks he had gone ahead; we were to meet him at the Sweetwater Marina on Delacroix Highway at 7 am. We were riding with my friend, Brian, who had joined us for his own introduction to kayak fishing; and our trip was uneventful until we were surprised to spot a bright yellow, tandem fishing kayak lying on the side of Franklin Avenue. Those familiar with Franklin Avenue near I-610 will appreciate that this is not a part of town where you expect a lot of paddle sports to be going on. And since the kayak was stranded on the top of an overpass like the Ark on Mount Ararat, a likely explanation was that some passing fisherman hadn’t known his knots either, and that his arrival at Sweetwater Marina was going to be an occasion for considerable distress. Passing this strange sight, we all remarked with sympathy at the unknown fisherman’s misfortune before Charles said, thoughtfully, “I’m glad that wasn’t one of Mr. Andy’s boats …”

“Oh my gawd! It’s gone,” screamed Andy into the phone seconds later, when I called to just make absolutely sure the craft lying on the side of a railroad bridge wasn’t anything he was attached to. It certainly wasn’t attached to Andy’s pickup bed anymore, having quietly exited as the result of a broken rope. Since it seemed likely that passing motorists would not leave a perfectly good kayak lying on a public highway for long, and since Andy was miles ahead of us, Brian flung his car into a U-turn and gunned it back towards the stranded boat. Not a moment too soon. We shot back up the overpass to find a pickup truck pulled to the shoulder and a swarthy fellow staggering about in heavy traffic with Andy’s kayak on his head. One brief, heated discussion about boat ownership later, our new friend went on his way in possession of the same number of kayaks he’d had when he got out of bed that morning. After lashing the boat extremely firmly into the bed of Andy’s truck, we did the same.

The redfish didn’t seem to notice. Impressively, the boat wasn’t any worse for wear. It certainly floated well enough and long enough to take Charles and me several miles into the marsh, where, with Andy’s expert and patient tutelage, both of us landed fish after fish large enough to tow us around in circles—an experience I would recommend to every keen fisherman. By sunset we were on our way home with a new respect for redfish, knot-technique, and the fishing in St. Bernard Parish. With rods in hand and a kayak on the roof, Charles and I will surely be spending a lot of time in the marsh this summer. Kayak fishing is an affordable, super enjoyable way to access some of South Louisiana’s finest water. I’m grateful to Andy for showing us the way.

Find him at facebook.com/kayakbayousara.