When I was a girl my dad would take us fishing often in the spring and summer. We lived in New Orleans and places to fish were everywhere. On the West Bank we would go to Lafitte or Grand Isle---later in Gentilly we would go to Lake Pontchartrain--or drive to the Rigolets or even the Mississippi coast.
It was nothing fancy or complicated. Early on it was cane poles, and later we had cheap rods and reels. We always brought crab nets, and if fishing was slow we usually had some crabs to bring home for boiling or gumbo.
The smell of the ocean, the sounds of sea birds and splash of water, the colors of sea and sky were feasts for the senses. Gazing at my fishing line wondering what was happening beneath the surface, the excitement of the big "tug" and trying to reel in the "big" fish were all part of the magic.
For me going fishing was truly about the journey and not necessarily what went home in the ice chest.
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