| Other Articles |
John N. Felsher's Other Adventures
 | |  | |  | |  | |  |
| Articles and photos on this website are for the viewing pleasure of patrons of this site. All articles and photos on this site are protected by the copyright laws of the United States. Any unauthorized usage is strictly prohibited. If you wish to purchase an article or photo, contact John N. Felsher as listed in the contact section. |
| Articles and photos on this website are free for your viewing pleasure, but it takes money to keep this site up and running. If you would care to help keep this site up and running for the use of all outdoors patrons, you can make a cash contribution. If you care to donate, contact John N. Felsher as listed in the contact section. |
| Protected by Copyright |
| How you can help keep this site operating |
Long, long ago in a parish far, far away, my older sister planned the
perfect Easter weekend family activity.
“Daddy,” she said, “you and John get up early Saturday morning, go
out into the swamp and catch a bunch of crawfish. Come home about noon
to clean them, so Mom can cook them. Tell her to put plenty of corn and
potatoes in the pot. When the crawfish are boiled and ready to eat, Mom
can call us and we’ll get out of bed, come over and help you eat them.”
My sister did not like us to kill anything for food. Repulsed that we ate
animals such as deer, ducks or squirrels, she made an exception for
crawfish, crabs, chicken, pork, steaks, hamburger and fish, but only
boneless fillets.
“That’s horrible that you would kill something just to eat it,” she said.
“How could you eat something that was once alive? If you want meat, why
can’t you just eat chicken, pork chops, hamburger or a steak instead of
killing something? By the way, can I bring a few friends over Saturday for
the family crawfish boil?”
I must admit, my sister planned one heck of a day and executed her
plan brilliantly. Dad and I caught about 80 pounds of mudbugs. Mom
cooked them to perfection for an old-fashioned Cajun crawfish boil. After
we all stuffed ourselves with succulent crustaceans, my sister, her family
and friends headed home just about the time we started to clean up the
mess.
“This was a lot of fun,” she said walking out the door. “I had a great
time, but Dad, buy more drinks next time. Why do we have to wait for a
holiday to get together? Let’s do this every weekend! Just don’t kill
anything.”
In fact, when I was growing up in Slidell, La., my dad and I enjoyed this
ritual nearly every Saturday during the spring, with or without my sister
planning the operation! Starting on the first warm Saturday after the end of
duck season until about the end of the school year, we pursued those tasty
morsels vigorously in nearby swamps.
Dad bought a few dozen nets. Wires formed a pyramidal frame and
stretched a mesh net at the bottom. We baited the nets with fish heads,
chicken necks or other oily, bloody baits, but beef melts always worked
best. Using a shower curtain clip, we attached the bait to the net.
Starting near the road running through the swamp, we placed nets in
likely spots so that the mesh sat on the bottom and at least the point of the
wire pyramid protruded above the surface. We attached bright orange or
yellow ribbons to the net frames to help us find them. When we
approached a net, we gently slipped a long stiff stick through the pyramid
wire to lift the net from the water.
Weighted by the bait, the net trapped any crawfish in the bottom as we
lifted it with the stick. We dumped the crawfish into a floating ice chest that
we dragged along with us. Rebaiting and relocating nets as necessary, we
slowly worked our way deeper into the swamp.
When we reached the end of the line, we sat on a stump for a brief
break, about as long as it took Dad to drink a cup of rich Community coffee
and chicory and smoke a cigarette. Then, we started checking the nets
again in the opposite direction as we worked back toward the road. At the
road, we dumped the catch from the ice chest into a large sack staked in
shallow water and repeated the process.
We often caught more than crawfish. Sometimes, we picked up
bream, small bass, garfish, turtles, sirens, (snake-like aquatic amphibians)
or other creatures in the net. Sometimes, we picked up even less desirable
creatures. We always kept a .22 revolver strapped to our hips in case we
happened upon water moccasins, usually seeing one or two every trip.
Sometimes, we only caught a few crawfish and let them go to grow.
Often, we caught 20 to 40 pounds. Occasionally, we caught more than 100
pounds.
At home, we dumped the live crustaceans into a vat containing clean
water and added salt to purge them. We rinsed them several times in the
flowing brine until the water in the vat looked clear. Then, Mom took over
the operation at the boiling pot.
As much as I enjoyed catching and eating crawfish, I think I enjoyed
watching what accounts for a change of seasons in south Louisiana even
better. Bare trees nearly devoid of life and frosty temperatures greeted us
on those first trips to the swamp in late January or early February. Early in
the season, we wore hip boots to walk through the barren swamps.
As the spring sunshine warmed the swamp, small green buds burst
from branches. The water steadily warmed. Various creatures emerged,
shaking off the winter chill. Eventually, we put the boots away until the
following hunting season, preferring old shoes and shorts to walk through
the tepid swamp water shaded by a leafy green canopy full of life.
Today, I fear this unique Louisiana experience may fade into history.
Few public areas offer good crawfishing opportunities. Few people allow
access to private lands, often leased for deer, duck or turkey hunting. Now,
most people buy crawfish harvested on commercial farms. New
generations may never experience the thrill of picking up a net full of wild
crawfish warmed by a spring sun or even the fear of watching a snake
slither through the mesh.
perfect Easter weekend family activity.
“Daddy,” she said, “you and John get up early Saturday morning, go
out into the swamp and catch a bunch of crawfish. Come home about noon
to clean them, so Mom can cook them. Tell her to put plenty of corn and
potatoes in the pot. When the crawfish are boiled and ready to eat, Mom
can call us and we’ll get out of bed, come over and help you eat them.”
My sister did not like us to kill anything for food. Repulsed that we ate
animals such as deer, ducks or squirrels, she made an exception for
crawfish, crabs, chicken, pork, steaks, hamburger and fish, but only
boneless fillets.
“That’s horrible that you would kill something just to eat it,” she said.
“How could you eat something that was once alive? If you want meat, why
can’t you just eat chicken, pork chops, hamburger or a steak instead of
killing something? By the way, can I bring a few friends over Saturday for
the family crawfish boil?”
I must admit, my sister planned one heck of a day and executed her
plan brilliantly. Dad and I caught about 80 pounds of mudbugs. Mom
cooked them to perfection for an old-fashioned Cajun crawfish boil. After
we all stuffed ourselves with succulent crustaceans, my sister, her family
and friends headed home just about the time we started to clean up the
mess.
“This was a lot of fun,” she said walking out the door. “I had a great
time, but Dad, buy more drinks next time. Why do we have to wait for a
holiday to get together? Let’s do this every weekend! Just don’t kill
anything.”
In fact, when I was growing up in Slidell, La., my dad and I enjoyed this
ritual nearly every Saturday during the spring, with or without my sister
planning the operation! Starting on the first warm Saturday after the end of
duck season until about the end of the school year, we pursued those tasty
morsels vigorously in nearby swamps.
Dad bought a few dozen nets. Wires formed a pyramidal frame and
stretched a mesh net at the bottom. We baited the nets with fish heads,
chicken necks or other oily, bloody baits, but beef melts always worked
best. Using a shower curtain clip, we attached the bait to the net.
Starting near the road running through the swamp, we placed nets in
likely spots so that the mesh sat on the bottom and at least the point of the
wire pyramid protruded above the surface. We attached bright orange or
yellow ribbons to the net frames to help us find them. When we
approached a net, we gently slipped a long stiff stick through the pyramid
wire to lift the net from the water.
Weighted by the bait, the net trapped any crawfish in the bottom as we
lifted it with the stick. We dumped the crawfish into a floating ice chest that
we dragged along with us. Rebaiting and relocating nets as necessary, we
slowly worked our way deeper into the swamp.
When we reached the end of the line, we sat on a stump for a brief
break, about as long as it took Dad to drink a cup of rich Community coffee
and chicory and smoke a cigarette. Then, we started checking the nets
again in the opposite direction as we worked back toward the road. At the
road, we dumped the catch from the ice chest into a large sack staked in
shallow water and repeated the process.
We often caught more than crawfish. Sometimes, we picked up
bream, small bass, garfish, turtles, sirens, (snake-like aquatic amphibians)
or other creatures in the net. Sometimes, we picked up even less desirable
creatures. We always kept a .22 revolver strapped to our hips in case we
happened upon water moccasins, usually seeing one or two every trip.
Sometimes, we only caught a few crawfish and let them go to grow.
Often, we caught 20 to 40 pounds. Occasionally, we caught more than 100
pounds.
At home, we dumped the live crustaceans into a vat containing clean
water and added salt to purge them. We rinsed them several times in the
flowing brine until the water in the vat looked clear. Then, Mom took over
the operation at the boiling pot.
As much as I enjoyed catching and eating crawfish, I think I enjoyed
watching what accounts for a change of seasons in south Louisiana even
better. Bare trees nearly devoid of life and frosty temperatures greeted us
on those first trips to the swamp in late January or early February. Early in
the season, we wore hip boots to walk through the barren swamps.
As the spring sunshine warmed the swamp, small green buds burst
from branches. The water steadily warmed. Various creatures emerged,
shaking off the winter chill. Eventually, we put the boots away until the
following hunting season, preferring old shoes and shorts to walk through
the tepid swamp water shaded by a leafy green canopy full of life.
Today, I fear this unique Louisiana experience may fade into history.
Few public areas offer good crawfishing opportunities. Few people allow
access to private lands, often leased for deer, duck or turkey hunting. Now,
most people buy crawfish harvested on commercial farms. New
generations may never experience the thrill of picking up a net full of wild
crawfish warmed by a spring sun or even the fear of watching a snake
slither through the mesh.
Unique
Louisiana
experience
fading fast
into memory
Louisiana
experience
fading fast
into memory
Billy Healy checks a
crawfish net in the
Honey Island Swamp
near Slidell, La.
(Photo by Bill Healy)
crawfish net in the
Honey Island Swamp
near Slidell, La.
(Photo by Bill Healy)