Anatomy of an Evacuation – The Locals

We wound our way up a curvy bayou, looking for fishy water, and around the second curve she spotted a fishy-looking current line running from the western bank across the middle of the bayou and around the curve. We drifted in, and not long after she slung her bright yellow popping cork, it disappeared below the surface.

“F I S H O N!” Patti yelled with as much enthusiasm as a die-hard football fan screaming “TOUCHDOWN!”, and I was as happy for her as she was about reeling in that yellow-mouthed speckled trout.

We continued to pull in fish every few minutes at that spot until boat traffic scattered the fish, making them too spotty to find. Trolling on up the bayou, we cast around a few points that looked like ideal spots for trout to be hanging out waiting for bait fish. However, none of those spots were as profitable as our first stop.

Once we traveled to the end of my GPS bread crumb line and farther than I had ever explored before, we tested the waters. Nothing. We looked for cuts in the marsh, where the bait-filled water flowed into the bayou, carrying the unsuspecting bait to the bigger fish that awaited. We fished a couple of those spots without much luck.