Fishing trip with Uncle Warren became a story often told

Quite a bull rider, but not so much a fisherman, Uncle Warren reluctantly consented to go fishing with my brother Mike and me.
November found the bayous surrounding Lafitte, La. to be cold and damp. Our destination, Barataria Bay, was a straight 20-mile run south out of Lafitte.
For Mike and me, the pretense of a fishing trip served as a sufficient excuse to ice down two cases of beer and drive our 18-foot boat through the bayous. The good uncle remained unaware of our fishing practices. Poor man just thought we really wanted to catch fish. And on some level we did.
Our uncle, not being an outdoorsman, came to the adventure wearing light-weight shirt and pants, a flimsy windbreaker and his Sunday-go-to-meeting black, smooth-soled shoes - not the best attire for a cold ride in a wet boat.
Although Uncle Warren occasionally enjoyed a few beers himself, he had to ask, "Why two cases of beer? Will we be gone that long?"
Mike's reply was based on past experience, "Well you never know what may happen. The engine could fail to start or we could run up on an oyster bed and break the prop. We don't want to be stuck in Barataria Bay with nothing to drink."
Uncle Warren didn't question this reasoning or the fact that we had not concerned ourselves about having any food, drinking water or a radio aboard for such emergencies. Fishing gear and bait made the trip and would probably be used in case of extreme boredom.
The weather-beaten little Lafittian helped us launch our little boat at Babe Cochara's Barataria Marina. A bayou village of resourceful, hard working and drinking fishermen, the Lafittians' gene pool is alive with strains from about every race on earth. The young and old, male and female, proudly wear their white rubber boots. My friend Sam, who fishes there often, swears that the babies come into this world wearing little white rubber boots.
Once we got underway in the Barataria Waterway itself, Mike and I had a couple of beers for breakfast. Uncle Warren seemed a bit concerned about this practice, but displayed the courage of a bull-rider and didn't question us.
Lafitte skiffs roared past us at full throttle. Lafitte fishermen have two throttle settings, off and wide open. These flat bottom, shallow-draft, boats are designed to catch shrimp in the bays and bayous of South Louisiana. 354 Chevy engines converted for marine use power these swift-working boats. Lafittians favor these fast boats so they can get to the prized shrimping spots first and to outrun the conservation police.
We jumped the wakes of crew boats and supply boats transporting men and equipment to the offshore oilrigs in the Gulf of Mexico. The cold, wet, jarring ride compelled Uncle Warren to grip his seat until his knuckles turn white. Before long, he joined us for a beer - probably to combat the cold and anxiety.
When we reached Barataria Bay, the very place that Jean Lafitte - famous pirate and hero of the battle of New Orleans - hung out, we navigated our little craft to a favorite oyster bed. We made sure no other boats were in sight, broke out some homemade tongs and dredged up a few of the salty delicacies for breakfast. We failed to convince Uncle Warren this was a better breakfast than bacon and eggs.
By noon, we had consumed the beer and made room for a nice mess of speckled trout. When the beer ran out, we headed for home. About the time we got into the waterway heading north, we hit a half submerged log and tore off most of the lower unit of our 75HP Johnson.
A Lafitte skiff skipper returning with a good catch of Brazilian brown shrimp towed us back to dockside. In payment for his efforts, we purchased a champagne (70 pounds) of his fresh shrimp.
That very afternoon back home, we boiled the shrimp together with corn and potatoes in spicy water. Neighbors, friends and relatives joined us at newspaper-covered tables to wash down the highly seasoned food with beer chilled in galvanized tubs filled with ice. This went beyond Uncle Warren's customary diet of pork chops, collard greens, pot liquor and cornbread, but he dove right in.
For years, Uncle Warren related the story of the fishing trip with his irresponsible nephews, embellishing it a bit more every time he retold the story.  

Tom McGee now makes his home in Walton County. He writes stories about growing up in Louisiana and his professional life in the courtroom. Some spice has been added, as with any good gumbo, and some identities disguised to protect the guilty. E-mail him at sunnews@link.freedom.com.