Phantom Railcar to the Delta

Exploring South Louisiana with my Dad.

Never underestimate the baroque power of a  chunk of Iowa woods. I met up with my family for 2 days in Iowa before driving south to New Orleans with my dad. This is an old wooden railcar we discovered in high school near a favorite swimming hole. We found cowboy toys and old record player and Playboys from the 50's. I returned 20 years later to find it sinking but intact.

Cray Cray.   In the Marigny, New Orleans. This neigborhood - just east of the French Quarter - is a delight to the senses. I highly recommend Mimi's bar and Bargain Center thrift. Both great recommendations from New Orleans resident Dulcie Dick via a good friend Amy Putney.

Every god damned square inch of the French Quarter...Just thick with it man.  Could not get enough on a quiet morning

Place d'Armes Hotel.  in pool....exhaling

Cypress Cove.  Saltwater gators are normally shy. So - Some gator sightings - maybe 10 the whole trip -  but we arrived 5 days after gator hunting season so they were extra shy.

Riding out to fish some vast expanses of really shallow water. At the edge of the Gulf of Mexico the Mississippi craggles out into an endless maze.  The water smells like green salt blood - all the nutrients of a nation dumping into the sea. Of course I felt really at home here.

Working boats everywhere.  Oysters, Blue Crabs, Shrimp. Often the food we had was astounding. Prejeans in Lafayette was incredible.

Brian Esposito's flats boat - with poling platform in back. This guide rocks. He is part of a group of 4 guys that come over from FL to guide on the shallow water bull reds from Oct 1 to Thanksgiving. Brian is booked solid the entire time.

Fly Sight fishing to Bull Redfish. Almost nothing better in fishing. Brain Esposito spots individual cruising fish at about 100 yards out. You wait to cast until you can land the fly directly in front of them and then generally strip as fast as you can. And then hang on and watch all of your stripped line bandsaw back out through your hand when they hit. Then the fish hits your drag and that sweet sound of a tortured clicking drag on a massive fly reel.  damn.

Better have a 9 weight rod. Brian said "50 feet at 9 O'clock !  Drop it! Pop it !"  And the water exploded as the fish pulled the fly off the surface and then a ton of line off the reel. These fish were busting on mullet and came ready to play hard and fast  - behaving more like a Jack Crevalle by running down mullet in open water. 

Huge huge  grasshoppers near the Halliburton compound at Venice. All of the areas we visited were basically just oil refineries and seafood production.

My dad trying boiled peanuts in a cemetery south of Houma, LA. Spanish moss dripping from Live Oak.

Star Destroyer. Working boats at Bayou Du Large, LA. Some of these rough looking guys told me they get 45 to 80 sacks - big burlap bags of oysters per day.... And the street value of those on Bourbon Street is $$$$.  It made me want to help them Unionize... hahaha !

That moment when you are electrified by a fish.

A rodbreaker..... the guides rod.... I guess honey badger better step up to meet the Black Drum.

Shrine at the canal. Bayou Du Large had 3 churches and no convenience store.

Swamp Lily. I'll have what I'm having.

Tagging Redfish with Captain Bill Lake.  Of the thickest cajun cracker accents in the world.

A Sheepshead caught by my dad at Grosse Savanne.  At 17,000 acres this private reserve moved with life all over the bay bottom unlike anything I have ever seen.  The guide - Mike - tossed a throw net and caught prawn-sized shrimp all over the place almost everywhere in about 5' of water ... solidly primeval.

Baby Gator Gar. still cute size.  And yes they will hit flies. 

Inside the railcar.

A couple more from the rail car. Ghosts of an old horse pen and an ancient Schwinn bike. And there was a plank that read "J & K Railway New Orleans, USA"

Hood of the low rider from my last post.  In memory of mother.

I'd hit that. Pulled this pinata out of an Iowa ditch on an early morning run. Interesting  thing happened to me through online dating... I developed a huge crush on someone I met right before I left on this trip. I was even accused in Bill Lake's thick thick cajun of being distracted from fishing by this girl's texts.

Exploring Grande Isle, LA.  Dolphins were working the mullet using synchronized feeding. A pleasure to watch but absolutely nothing more terrifying for fish than dolphins on the prowl. I've seen them jump into the trees in the Everglades to get away from dolphins. Fall had not really begun here yet.  The really big redfish had not moved into the shallows. But the big schools of mullet were doing their methodical migrations just beyond the shorebreak.

My dad and I played "Name that Tune" in as few notes as possible on the drive down. Ironic that I got Sharp Dressed Man fairly quickly but Wayward Son took a bit longer.  Cedar River Backwater, Cedar County, Iowa. Winchester 70 and fun with GoPro.

Fish No Demon Harder.  Fishing over for now.  Fishing go Bye Bye. We killed the fishing and it did it for me for a long time.  My dear awesome friends that are winter steelheaders... I shall live vicariously through you for the next few months or so.  The fishing monster that dragged on my soul slipped backwards into that gulf and closed it's eyes.

For All That Wander : Iowa at Summer's End

 Now look back close to Home : Iowa Farm Pond

I just got back from a family visit in Iowa. I've been a lot of places this year

but this part of the world really surprised me this time around. I had an intense conversation with the native Largemouth Bass. Fly fished the Mississippi River. Held a baby - Woodson Whitacre.  Had more than my share of great cooking and enormous solitude.

An average Farm Pond under extraordinary circumstances. At an acre and 15 feet deep. A fresh rain and summer water temps prime the Bass to explode on food items as large as mice and frogs. At times attacking dragonflies along the shore.

 

                                       

Downtown Muscatine, Iowa near the Riverside Cafe. I need to do several long walks around my hometown every time I visit.  Noting changes and noting stalwarts.  My big heartbreak is the corner of downtown near here that no longer contains Maid Rite sandwich shop. They do still exist at other locations though and serve "loose meat" (sloppy joe)  sandwiches.

My Parents collaborating on a flower arrangement. Gary and Mary gearing up for a party.

Getting lost on a few acres. The summer creates a small Iowa jungle. Insects thrive here in a way they don't back in Oregon. I had my own personal Everglades for days. This past week and this pond will forever float in my memory as magic.

Real art along Muscatine's south side. I always appreciate low riders. Something wonderful is airbrushed on the hood as well.

My dad said this had been in the garage refrigerator for "at least 3 years". Sadly it does not take much of a "situation" for me to drink one of these. I put this one back in the time capsule though.

My mom fishes in a relaxed manner while I prance about with fly rod.  This is at a new park called "Deep Lakes" - an ecologically  unique network of sand lakes surrounded by "artificial desert" - an area of very sandy soil with rare plants and animals - including Prickly Pear cactus, Whiptail Lizards,  Hognosed Snakes and Eastern Box Turtles. We saw a giant Gizzard Shad (big river fish) zip by us right here in the stillwater.  My dad has a long history of fishing this area - which has always been called the "Gravel Pits". Up into the 1970's it was lawless with lots of swimming, drinking and fighting.

Bluegill fight hard for their size. 50 years ago I would have said "They give a good account of themselves on a fly rod." Boldly feeding in the same areas as the MUCH larger Bass and creating a zipping popping sound when pulling a fly off the surface. The Bluegill is the fish that started it all for me. 

Curiosities along the Old Burlington Road. Ruins of an ancient gas station at the base of the river bluff. (We could not get any more photos as they were about to shoot a dusty Robert Plant music video. hee hee)  Hey... in all seriousness though this is near where they found a huge hibernation den of Blue Racer snakes when I was a kid.

Raising a ruckus. With a face only Nascar could love. Alert and with great eyesight. Stalking XL mice "flies" under the moss for a great distance. The heavy midwestern stillness shattered by electrifying surface crashes as they busted right through the moss - never missing the mouse on top. Fly fishing is not all just Trout - at its most indelicate it looks like this. If you haven't fished - I suggest not starting for these kinds of perfectly violent reasons. I had over a dozen Bass do this - and it scared me everytime.  These Bass overwintered last year under a full 2' of ice on this pond dreaming of these kind of moments. I would hate to be a 4" Chewbacca or Boba Fett for that matter trying to make a crossing.

        A short video of me catching a cruising Bass :

                                                     https://vimeo.com/103328999

Portrait of Perseverance. My mom will do 10 mile walks at the drop of a hat. Blood and conversation flows. 

A note on my alcohol consumption: Before I left Oregon I stopped and camped at the Kalama River - it was dusk and I watched a big flock of Swifts come out over the river to take advantage of the evening's insects. I was mesmerized by the flight patterns. The Swifts left as twilight set in and a group of Bats then came out as it grew truly dark - the shift change happened fairly quickly.  The Bats flying with radar and a different pattern. I was quite drunk at a picnic table watching this and it troubled me that the Bats and Swifts were not enough. What fear had caused me to be at this campsite blitzed on that particular evening ? I felt something dark in the hard buzz and I did not like it. But it also provided a certain clarity. As we head into fall - I will be pursuing alcohol with less fervor.

Farewell Shot :  My cousin Eric took me out on the Mississippi River in his boat. He and his dad Richard generally run diddy poles for huge Flathead Catfish. With the help of his expert local knowledge I managed to catch  some Smallmouth and White Bass on fly. The White Bass is an open water speedster of midwater attacks - and known locally as a "Striper". I had to a least try throwing a few flies here in the Big Muddy. Twain could have something clever to say about me flailing this storied water with the long wand.         Goodbye Iowa and family !  See you at Christmas !

Roll Damn Trout: My Time Spent up High Recently

What I want you to think most of my trip looked like.

Excerpts from a long walk in the mountains this past weekend.

 As per my usual blog format:

All the photos are right here at the top for you visual people.

Down below all the photos are a few paragraphs in more detail about this  alpine experience.

What my desk sees right before one of these trips.

Rowan hiking in. This hiking part should be enough fun for most people.

We truly hoped these jumbo backpacks would help us cut a larger profile for cougar safety. What mine would probably do is flop me over backwards so the cat could more easily disembowel me.

Plants make good art. Josh Raleigh lets me know that this is Corn Lily.

Ridic. 

Male Brook Trout. with attitude.

Closer up on another Brookie.

A Native Rainbow! Conjured up from the depths through use of spinning gear.

Native and Introduced Range of the Brook Trout. Which is actually a Char !

Although I am aware that it is illegal to use fishing to talk about other things in life ...

 I press on.

Hiking in to high lakes in the Cascade Range of Central Oregon.

     These overnight backpack-in to camp at alpine lakes trips are not for everyone.
Some of the gear can be pricey. And it was hard on the 7 year olds that we made carry the majority of our gear.

     The month of May in this area still means ultraclear snowmelt streams trickling 38 degree water into clear cold lakes.  Bald Eagles snatching trout from the waters surface. Very light black bear pressure and no other people save my friend Rowan are foolish enough to take 3 days off  to get cold, wet, huck gear and catch tons of pretty polka-dot trout. Somebody found occasion to use the phrase "up the yin yang".  I guess rightfully so.

Enter Brook Trout or "Brookies":

     These particular polka-dot trout out west here are actually Eastern Brook Trout.
Native to Appalachia and the Great Lakes. We white folks brought them here to the West generations ago - around 1900 -  and they have done quite well. Some say too well. What Brookies are good at is ganging up and blocking the larger native Rainbows and Cutthroat from prime feeding areas. When traveling with a fish biologist like Rowan - you get some inside info. What we saw this time of year - the Brook Trout controlled the edges of the lake -  the drop-offs in 6' of water.  Prime real estate in May at this elevation for insects and crayfish. Though we did catch a few big Rainbows and one native Cutt - we caught more than 90% Brookies. 

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     So it seems at first glance that a fish so far from its home waters surviving and thriving to the point of dominating larger species is counterintuitive. But it is this cooperation of packs of Brook Trout that allow them to do this. Imagine intimidating teenagers keeping you from wanting to hit your favorite empanada place as often. kinda. So we did eat some of these allegedly invasive brookies. They were orange fleshed - possibly from eating crayfish? and of course really good.

     The list of Invasive Species we humans have aided in their legacy is long and varied: Horses, Norway Rat, Carp, Starlings, English Sparrows .... I imagine a child dumping his goldfish into a canal and setting feral goldfish in motion forever.
And even Crayfish cross county lines in GTO's going 140mph. all. the. freaking. time.

And I know:

     A small hole is created  in the universe every time a white person utters the words "invasive species".  That phrase should get sucked into a void when spoken.... but through some fluke of bullshit I am allowed to say it.  Out West here the cute and noble and mos def spunky Brook Trout is "Invasive".

     But...Roll Damn Brookies.


     So about the therapeutic camping:

 All you need to do to experience the beauty up there is get an expedition sized backpack, hiking boots, headlamp, tiny cook stove w fuel, smart wool everything, extra socks, rain shell, tarp, dry food, compass, map, toilet paper, sun hat, extra shoes, gloves, toothbrush n paste, sunglasses, dry bags, water filter, possibly fishing gear, camera, wilderness permit, and a lack of responsibility toward all the nice folks in your life.... for 3 days or so. 

     At present, I may be running away to nature to avoid human relationships.
But I still love you all.  Hiding in the profound to avoid the intimate.  Or maybe just running away from one profound thing toward another profound thing. Or sometimes I  just like it quiet. But lets not overthink it. :) These are indeed somewhat turbulent times but I am trying to make them fun times. 

     Before I close and run off to the end of the earth again... I want to give a nod to facebook. I understand aspects of it are evil... but it has helped me connect to folks I have lost touch with for 20 years and sometimes more. Call me if you want to talk. No don't - I think facebook is perfect for us right now.

Thanks for listening!

Neil 

Hamm's is the beer refreshing