Lousiana Adventures
December 19, 1997
A commercial fisherman reported to the office of the Delta National Wildlife Preserve in Venice, LA that someone was stealing the bait from the hooks on his trotline. An officer was sent out to investigate. Near one of the trot lines, he slid his pirogue (pronounced pee’row) into the Phragmites cane brakes out of sight and waited for the culprit to show. Soon a single grackle landed on the main line that was strung between two poles anchored firmly in the mud. Drop-lines, with hooks and bait on the ends, dangled down from this main line into the water. The grackle approached one of the drop-lines, reached down and lifted the line a couple of inches with its beak. Then while standing on one foot, it used its free foot to grasp and hold the line. Then - still standing on one foot - it reached down with its beak to pull up another couple inches of line. It continued this process until it reached the baited hook, ate the bait and proceeded to the next drop line. Mike Guidry (the refuge officer) - who told this story - did not know whether the grackle was a boat-tailed grackle, common grackle, or great-tailed grackle, but maybe we can guess that it was a boat-tailed grackle because they are commonly found along the gulf coast. I wonder how the grackle learned this trick. They are certainly intelligent and resourceful birds.
Folks in these parts use a strategy similar to the trotline to capture alligators. A long pole is stuck in a mud bank at an angle so that the tip hangs above the water of the marsh. A rope - tied to the end of this pole - dangles down toward the water. A large hook is tied to the end of the line and baited with large globs of chicken fat, whole chickens, or sometime grackles. (Alligators have a fondness for grackles.) The other end of the rope (a very long rope) is run down the pole across the mud flats and high up on several Phragmites where the canes tied together as a group. Alligators grab the bait and pull it down into the water. Because they swallow their prey whole, they swallow the bait and hook without chewing and detecting the hook. Then when leaving to look for more food or something, they reach the end of the rope, pull it and the hook becomes set in their gut. The harder they try to escape the deeper the hook sinks into their intestines. The canes to which the rope is tied functions like a fishing rod - giving but not breaking - so they are capable of holding a large alligator. After a while, the pain becomes so intense that the alligator stops struggling. The hunter arrives hours or days later and sees the tangled rope and other evidence that the alligator has taken the bait. He carefully follows the rope to its end, finds the long-suffering alligator, and kills it with a shot in the head. To save money on ammunition, some carry an ax for the purpose.
After hearing this story, I wondered if the grackles learned how to steal bait from trotlines while eating chicken fat from alligator hooks.
Mr. Don Delesdernier, a local “rancher” who owns thousands of acres of marsh and land near the wildlife preserve, also hunts and raises alligators. Last year he claimed to have raided alligator nests on his property and took over 1000 eggs. This is justified, he claimed, because the mother alligator urinates on the nest, making it so heavy that it often sinks the eggs underwater so many eggs are lost. Also, raccoons eat lots of alligator eggs. He uncovers the eggs using a three-pronged rake. Knowing that mother alligators are not terribly fond of egg predators and protect their nests, I asked about the hazards of the job. He replied “I have been bitten twice in my life, but fortunately they did not hold on. The real danger is when they hold on, they begin to twist and will break off whatever they have bitten. My nephew is missing two fingers from such an encounter. One uncle was bitten on the butt - the only thing that saved him is that he was carrying his three-pronged rake in his hip pocket so the gator spits him out.” According to the law, it is OK to remove eggs from the nests. These eggs are hatched and raised in alligator farms as long as a certain percentage are returned to the wild. If returned when too small, their survival rate is very low. Consequently, they are released when about three feet long.
The alligators are sold for the hide and meat. We saw alligator hamburgers advertised along the interstate and sold by the pound in the Super 1 grocery store. The Cajun folks that live in these marshes and swamps have historically eaten alligator and many other kinds of wildlife. Some of the food they have eaten is not terribly tasty. Consequently, they have learned how to season food so that it tantalizes the palate - or they cover the taste with something like Tabasco Sauce. Most Cajun dishes are cooked in a pot. According to Mike, “Cajuns could cook dog doo-do and make it taste good.” But historically, the Cajuns (an abbreviation for the “Acadians” who moved here from Nova Scotia) were rather poor folks that lived off the land. Jambalaya is one of their favorites. In the swamp, they cooked bec-T (French Acadian word for an ibis) jambalaya, grosbeak (French Acadian word for heron) jambalaya, and would add snake, nutria, possum, armadillo, robins and other assorted critters. Robins were a favorite! But for the tourists, jambalaya might include only sausage and rice. Jambalaya with dog doo-doo would evidently require a special order.
Mike regales these stories as we drift leisurely down a small creek in the marsh. The water is the dark brown stuff that flows out of the Mississippi River when it rises from heavy upriver snow-melt and rain. The weather is almost perfect, about 65 F, no wind, and full sunshine. The water is glassy smooth so that the 14-foot whaler glides across the marsh with no hindrance from those pesky waves. The afternoon sun reflects from the red leaves of the Chinese Tallow trees growing on a small island of high ground. Mike refers to them a “popcorn trees” because in winter the seed pods are white and shaped like fluffed popcorn. (Yes, after three months on the Great River Road we are still seeing fall colors.) Mike listens carefully for sounds of poachers shooting out-of-season. Or for the whine of outboard motors where they should not be. We also watch for Nancy Walters, a graduate student from LSU who is starting research on the nesting and movement of mottled ducks. Mike worries that she might get lost in the complex of canals, passes, and creeks that wander through the miles and miles of marshland. Getting her boat stuck in the shallow mud is another hazard.
We cross by a park boundary marker that warns against trespassing. We are entering a zone where no one can enter without permission. I feel honored to be able to accompany Mike into this forbidden zone. Only by volunteering my help at this wildlife preserve - so that I am an official part of the staff - has this trip been made possible. “Ducks need someplace where they can rest without worrying that someone will shoot them,” he says. We observe pairs of mallards, mottled ducks, teal, nutria, yellow-legs, killdeer, red-tailed hawks, osprey, kingfishers, sparrow-hawks, and other ducks too far away to identify. “It was too nice a day to stay in by the telephone,” he says. A little drowsy in the warm, afternoon sun, I answer “Yup!”
The previous day I had answered the phone back in the office - it was a call from Chevron Oil Company. “There has been an oil spill on the refuge near Dead Woman Pass.”
“How in the world could this happen!” I wondered. Had I just received the first announcement of the next Valdez oil spill? Horrible visions of nasty black oil spreading out over this beautiful marsh entered my mind. Pat and I might be cleaning oil from the feathers of waterfowl for weeks. “How much was spilled?” I asked.
“Five gallons and it has already been cleaned up,” he replied. I felt the simultaneous feelings of disappointment that we would not be part of an important environmental story and tremendous relief that this refuge had not been environmentally traumatized. “Have Mike call me and I will send a full report.”
Later when I reported the event to Mike, he replied the “Chevron serves as an ecological model for oil companies. They quickly report all spills on the refuge and try to clean them up immediately. In the past, some oil companies might simply spread a dispersant over the oil to give the appearance of having been cleaned up.”
It makes me wonder if some good did not come out of the Valdez disaster in Prince William Sound Alaska. Oil companies now recognize that it can be very expensive paying for cleanups of oil spills so that they are much better prepared to handle small and large disasters.
After a couple of weeks on this preserve and since there are no oily birds to clean, our itchy feet now drive us toward Texas. We may or may not be there for Christmas. How about a Cajun/Creole Christmas in Lafayette?
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