108 
FOREST AND STREAM 
March, 1921 
HUNTING AND FISHING IN LOUISIANA 
THROUGH THE BROWN MARSHES AND ALONG THE GOLDEN SAND REEFS 
OF THE FAMOUS BAYOU COUNTRY SOUTH AND WEST OF NEW ORLEANS 
I HAVE never read in our fishing and 
hunting periodicals any accounts of 
fishing or hunting over the wonder- 
ful territory to the south and west of 
New Orleans, embracing the bayou and 
bay country of the Louisiana Coast of 
the Gulf of Mexico. There are over 
three thousand square miles of what I 
consider a truly wonderful country for 
the sightseer, as well as for the fisher- 
man and hunter, and, perhaps, if better 
means of transportation were available, 
this country would be the favorite win- 
ter playground of the Unted States. 
For those who are sufficiently inter- 
ested, it might be well to take a map of 
Louisiana and note the outline of the 
Gulf Coast, and find the central point 
of interest at Grand Island and Cam- 
inada Bay. The native inhabitants are 
mostly French and Spanish, descend- 
ants of the early Spanish and French 
explorers; and the Arcadians, with a 
sprinkling of Japanese, Malays and 
Chinese. Nearly all are fishermen, 
hunters and trappers, living in rudely 
constructed huts of thatched roofs and 
pole foundations from four to six feet 
above the ground, and they are uni- 
formly kind and hospitable. 
In one neighborhood there are about 
two hundred members of one family. 
The ancestral parents are still living in 
one of the smallest and rudest huts, the 
man over one hundred and one years 
old, and his wife past her ninety-ninth 
year. Both are hale and hearty and 
all their twelve sons are still living in 
the neighborhood and some of them are 
great-grandfathers. This answers all 
questions as to the healthfulness of this 
section. 
Our party, consisting of four — a 
lawyer, a Catholic Father, a plantation 
owner and myself, all beyond middle 
age, and all lovers of the out of doors 
and rod and gun — was invited for a 
week of hunting and fishing at and 
about Grand Island. Our host was 
born and raised on the Chenier, across 
the Pass Caminada to the west of 
Grand Isle. The local meaning of 
Chenier is a rise of land covered partly 
by trees and surrounded by marsh and 
water. The Chenier Caminada was 
swept by a tidal wave following a hur- 
ricane some years ago and about eight 
hundred of the inhabitants lost their 
lives. The father and mother and sis- 
ter of our host were swept away and 
never seen again. 
Our Government has under construc- 
tion a life-saving and refuge station at 
Grand Island where all may find safety 
and refuge, las these storms and tidal 
waves come gradually and the Weather 
Bureau gives ample warning to all. 
Our boat was large and staunch, of 
shallow draught and spacious accom- 
modations for our party and crew of 
four, our host acting as pilot and guide. 
BY HARRY 0. PENICK 
Our lockers were well filled with bread, 
fruit and wine, and enough bacon and 
salt meat for game and fish. Our racks 
were well stocked with pipes and the 
fragrant weed. 
A BOUT midday we slipped away 
from dock at the Harvey Canal 
locks, opposite New Orelans, and 
covered five miles through Harvey 
Canal in about half an hour. Even 
now we were in the wilderness of marsh 
and cypress swamp, opening out into 
Bayou Barataria, with only a fishing 
camp here and there along the banks. 
Although late in December, the sun was 
shining warm, and we sat on the upper 
deck to enjoy the scenery and a balmy 
breeze from the direction of the Gulf. 
Now and then we passed a village of 
Our boat was large and staunch. 
fishermen and hunters and found these 
villages provided with good schools 
through the wise administration of the 
officials of Jefferson Parish (Counties 
are called Parishes in Louisiana). 
Further down we passed Lafitte Post 
Office. Here was the headquarters of 
Lafitte, the pirate and smuggler of 
early days. We passed luggers loaded 
with shrimp, oysters and fish on their 
way to the French market in New Or- 
leans. 
Toward evening the inward flight of 
ducks began. Shortly after sundown 
we crossed Little Lake into Bayou St. 
Denis. It was cooler now and wie 
brought out overcoats so that we might 
continue to sit on the upper deck and 
enjoy the rich afterglow from the set- 
ting sun. We could hear the splashing 
of water-fowl as they settled into the 
lagoons along the bayou, and now and 
then a porpoise would rise gracefully 
and dive a few feet from our boat. 
The cook called supper and we went 
below to the' most delicious oysters in 
stew and fry. An oyster lugger in 
passing had left a sack of thirty dozen 
fine oysters fresh from the cold salt 
water of the bayou. The table was set 
between the bunk seats in the main 
cabin. Our cook was a half breed 
Spaniard and Mexican of fifty years 
experience, and had our host not cau- 
tioned him our oyster stew would have 
been filled with tobasco, as the cook 
loved things hot! 
After supper, with the table removed 
to its place behind the big duplex en- 
gines, we found it too cold for Comfort- 
out-of-doors, so under the swinging lan- 
terns we brought out our pipes, our 
guns and shells and made our hunting 
clothes and boots ready for a 4:00 a. m. 
start for the fresh water lagoons be- 
tween the Bayou and Mississippi River 
country. By 9 o’clock ,-the sliding door 
between, the engine room and cabin was 
closed and we were all snug under our 
blankets with a cool salt breeze blowing 
over us through the cabin windows. 
We reached our landing place about 
10 o’clock and were soon tied up to a 
stunted oak on the bayou bank. 
At 3:30 a. m. the cook woke us with 
a cup of hot cafe-au-lait with cigarettes 
and matches on the saucer. By the time 
we were dressed bacon and eggs and hot 
biscuits and coffee were ready, and a 
pirogue or canoe for each man was ly- 
ing ready alongside. In each pirogue 
were placed our gun, a cushion life- 
preserver for a soft seat, and a small 
waterproof bucket, air tight, containing 
250 shells. 
Our host took the head pirogue with a 
lantern at his feet land led the way 
up the bayou about two hundred yards, 
then turned sharply to the right into 
a little slough not more than a yard 
wide and twelve to eighteen inches deep, 
about half water and half mud, with 
marsh grass and switch cane thick on 
either side. These are natural outlets 
from the lagoons into the bayous, and 
are paths for prairie rats, deer, otter 
and other prairie and marsh animals. 
W E paddled and used our paddles 
for push poles through particu- 
larly muddy passages, and after 
traversing a mile and a half in about 
an hour and a half we came out into a 
wonderful fresh water lagoon about 
three miles long and a half-mile wide, 
ful of hummocks of marsh grass and 
rosos (small marsh cane) that made 
natural blinds. 
We separated, each to a blind, and 
pulled our pirogues up into the grass 
and gathered the tops of the rosos 
over the pirogue, stretched our legs, 
opened our shell buckets, lighted our 
pipes and prepared for the flight of 
duck so sure to occur. One man at 
either end of the lagoon and three of 
us at intervals along its length, each 
with eight decoys and a duck call. These 
lagoons are natural feeding grounds. 
The water averages about eight inches ] 
deep and the bottoms are masses of 
water moss, mud and disintegrated | 
shells, with seeds and insects in bounti- 
ful supply. 
