My first glimpse of Natalie Armstrong’s “Bayou Swing” collage, which appears on the cover of this “Outdoors” issue, brought to mind an excursion to Lake Martin near Breaux Bridge a few years back. My wife’s sister, whose name is Becky, grew up in Louisiana before moving to California twenty-five years ago to marry a surfer, and she was back with her two young kids for a visit. It was April, and since Becky is a fanatical birdwatcher with a thing for roseate spoonbills, an expedition to one of South Louisiana’s best birdwatching destinations seemed to check all the right boxes. Becky is a doctor, but while going through LSU medical school, she somehow found time to also take an amateur ornithology class, which armed her with enough birding knowledge to be, if not exactly dangerous on the subject of Louisiana bird species, then at least a bit of a know-it-all. “Oh, listen to that prothonotary warbler,” she’ll exclaim upon hearing some generic twittering from the undergrowth, or toss out the scientific name for an Eastern wood peewee after spotting one perched on a fencepost. Finally tiring of hearing her waxing lyrical about the nestbuilding habits of great-crested flycatchers, we made reservations at a Breaux Bridge-area B&B, loaded a trailer with canoes and kayaks, and set out with plans to be on the water at dawn, to catch Louisiana’s spring wading bird nesting season at its peak.
The birds did not disappoint. During springtime, Lake Martin and the nine-thousand-acre Cypress Island Preserve that surrounds it are simply heaving with birdlife. From March through June, mind-boggling numbers of egrets, herons, roseate spoonbills, and scores of other species gather to nest and raise their young in large, rambunctious colonies that turn the preserve’s stands of old-growth cypress trees into a kind of wading bird shanty town. While various swamp tour companies offer guided tours of Lake Martin, and the Nature Conservancy maintains a walking trail around the lakeshore, I think the best way to experience the springtime birdnanza here is from water-level—perched in a canoe or a kayak. This allows an occupant to slip quietly through the groves of cypress and tupelo, gliding up close to the rookeries without disturbing their occupants much. This mode of transport carries the added benefit of being quiet, with no motor to drown out the symphony of honking, gargling, and cackling that the multitude sends up.
Courtship makes males more aggressive, and sensible people don’t take to the water in small, green, alligator-shaped watercraft. You can probably guess where this is going.
But the birds were only the beginning. The other kind of wildlife at the top of its game was Lake Martin’s enormous population of alligators. The morning started out cool, but as the sun burned off the early chill, the alligators emerged. Short ones, long ones, fat ones, and a few real leviathans, hauling themselves sluggishly out of the water to bask in the spring sun. By 10 am, there seemed to be an alligator on every bank and log. This development affected members of our expedition differently. My wife and daughter were keen to give anything remotely reptilian the widest possible berth. Becky quit her kayak for the relative safety of the boardwalk and disappeared into the forest to look for spoonbill nests. The boys, being boys, set about seeing how close they could get to the largest gators possible. With the girls having made themselves scarce, I found myself in charge of our fourteen-year-old son and his nine-year-old cousin, joining them for an inadvisable hour spent sidling beside gators—encounters that usually ended with the beast retreating beneath the murky water … but not always.
Another lesson of springtime in the swamp: wading birds aren’t the only ones getting it on. April is breeding season for alligators, too. Courtship makes males more aggressive, and sensible people don’t take to the water in small, green, alligator-shaped watercraft. You can probably guess where this is going. Having spotted a larger-than-usual snout and pair of eyes protruding from the water, the boys and I were inching our kayaks closer while ignoring the imprecations of my wife, who was bobbing about at a sensible distance. We were probably fifteen feet away when the snout erupted from the water, revealing itself to be connected to the largest alligator I’ve ever seen. Opening enormous jaws, the gator lunged forward, bellowing what might either have been a warning, or a declaration of love. We did not stick around to find out which. Never have three kayaks moved faster. I believe that our “Bayou Swing” cover girl could have water-skied behind us.
But all’s well that ends well: Becky spotted spoonbills, no children got eaten, and everyone came away with not only an unforgettable Louisiana adventure, but a good story to tell, too. Each month, this is what Country Roads sets out to do: make life in Mississippi and Louisiana richer by bringing meaningful, memorable experiences within reach.
If you value this work, I have a favor to ask: this month, we've officially released our Country Roads’ Readership Survey, which we send to our readers about once each decade. In it, we ask how you use Country Roads, what you love, don’t love, and what you’d like to see more of, from this magazine. Your responses will help us to make Country Roads a better guide to the finest that Louisiana and Mississippi have to offer. So please, take a few minutes to share your thoughts, and thank you for being part of Country Roads. We couldn’t do this without you.
—James Fox-Smith, publisher
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