The French were the first Europeans to sight Cat Island, in 1699, and named the T-shaped barrier island for the raccoons that prowled its forests and tried, with mixed success, to feast upon oysters fresh from the Mississippi Sound. (In a rare display of uncreativity from the language that brought us all those verb endings, the common New World French term for raccoon was “chat sauvage,” or “wild cat.”) Over the next two centuries, this island played minor parts in the French dithering over where to place the capital of colonial Louisiana—Mobile, Biloxi, and a relocated Biloxi all had their turns, as did the ultimate winner, New Orleans—as well as the grand wars among the European powers over issues like who should be king of Spain (some Frenchman), whether the queen of Hungary would have her revenge (no), and, most delightfully, who had cut off a given sea captain’s ear (a Spaniard). One would think the vengeful Hungarians and musical chairs for the Spanish throne would have been the interesting part, but the recorded history of Cat Island was just getting started. Pirates, record-breaking-parties, rum runners, quarantined yellow fever victims, Seminoles fleeing the Trail of Tears, and an irresponsible number of Belgian rabbits would all go on to make their marks on the island’s history. “People in my family think the island still belongs to us,” said John Cuevas, a descendant of the Cuevas family that was one of the first (and among the most colorful) owners of Cat Island. Cuevas was fascinated at the thought of his family owning an island and researched the matter as an adult. He found no evidence supporting the Cuevas claim to still be the rightful owner of the island (“though 99% of the Cuevas descendants still think we were cheated”), but he did find an island that, in terms of excitement per square foot, rivals Manhattan—and as far as natural beauty is concerned, blows New York out of the water. Cuevas’ research has led him to write two books about the island: 2011’s Cat Island: The History of a Mississippi Gulf Coast Barrier Island, a history, and this year’s Discovering Cat Island: Photographs and History, a collaboration with photographer Jason Taylor. “People tell me they wish they could see it—well, now they can,” said Cuevas.
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Though he has recently returned to the Mississippi Coast, Cuevas lived near Atlanta during the writing of Discovering Cat Island. He’d seen Jason Taylor’s nature photography and admired it (as most people who see it do) and approached Taylor about a collaboration. Cuevas knew the island and its history well enough that he knew what needed to be photographed, and he knew just the man to help Taylor find his way around the island. Walter Gaudin, the “Mayor” of Cat Island, had lived on the island for twelve years as a resident caretaker. The well-loved Cajun outdoorsman delighted in showing visitors the wonders of Cat Island and provided the local support and knowledge needed to produce the book. Sadly, Gaudin passed away unexpectedly shortly before the book’s release; one can imagine, though, that he would have considered his contribution to the striking photos of his home a fitting memorial.
One would think the vengeful Hungarians and musical chairs for the Spanish throne would have been the interesting part, but the recorded history of Cat Island was just getting started.
And what a memorial it is. Discovering Cat Island is the rare photo-heavy book that’s remarkable as much for the images as the prose. Taylor’s photographs show the drama of the islands’ natural beauty and the ruins of some of its structures as testament to hubris—you can build here all you want, but even before your work is done, the wind and salt air will begin the busy task of wearing it away. The portraits of raccoons and birds are compelling, but the true star is the island itself, an improbable redoubt of lushness in the Gulf, bounded by sand and driftwood. Cuevas’ accompanying prose is broken into short, more or less anecdotal chapters, with a raconteur’s sense of what people will remember (and want to retell). His attractively wry brevity is peppered with just the details that make history sing: to give one example, a Prohibition-era rumrunner once crashed on the island and lost his cargo, remnants of which were occasionally salvaged for years. His crash site became known as Good Scotch Point.
Jason Taylor
Visitors are allowed on Cat Island—it’s about an hour by boat from Gulfport, and there’s even a snack bar—but to prepare yourself for a trip to this beautiful, historical gem, pick up a copy of Discovering Cat Island, which is a beautiful, historical gem in itself, a guide to a place that still manages to be out of the way in an increasingly connected world while also having seen more excitement than most people could ever guess. Here’s hoping that in a hundred years, strange things are still happening on Cat Island—and that there are still Cuevases around to report.
Discovering Cat Island
by John Cuevas; Photography by Jason Taylor
200 pages. $40.
