By James O. Fraioli

A clear sunny sky, glass-calm sea, and not a hurricane in sight. What more can you ask for during a day’s fishing in southwest Louisiana?

How about a half-dozen species of hungry fish milling around dozens of “secret” spots marked by giant steel signposts?

That’s what we were heading for as we entered the Gulf through the Ship Channel of Calcasieu Pass aboard Capt. Erik Rue’s 24-foot bay boat. Outdoor photographer Kevin Guthrie and I listened intently as Rue gave us the overview of the fishery here in Lake Charles.

“Most anglers want to fish for speckled trout for the cooler, which we target in Big [Calcasieu] Lake,” said the 40-year-old Louisiana resident.

“Others venture into the Gulf to deepwater oil platforms to mainly target red snapper, considered the top-eating reef fish. But what everyone overlooks around here are the inshore oil and natural gas platforms,” says Rue.

There are more than 4,000 oil and gas production platforms in the Gulf of Mexico, and there are dozens where we were headed that morning. Most, if not all of these monolithic “islands of steel,” provide a safe haven for a variety of gamefish. Cobia, tripletail, jack crevalle, kingfish, pompano, bluefish, Spanish mackerel, ladyfish, blacktip shark, spadefish, sheepshead…they all flourish near or around these manmade structures. There are also 28 miles of navigational buoys along the shipping channel beginning at the mouth of Calcasieu Pass. These buoys hold fish, too.

“If these structures are home to so many fish, why doesn’t anyone fish them?” I asked Rue. His answer somewhat surprised me. He says anglers prefer to keep their catch so the focus is always on the speckled trout, red snapper and sometimes redfish.

“What anglers don’t realize,” Rue added, “is that these shallow-water structures hold inshore and offshore fish, depending on depth, for anyone who ventures outside the breakwater.”

Kevin and I couldn’t wait to get there.

Idling up to a large platform seven miles from shore, Rue stealthily positioned the boat on the north side.

“Platforms fall into three categories,” Rue noted as we bobbed languidly alongside the rig. “The first, within six miles of land in less than 35 feet, hold speckled trout and redfish. Platforms between six and 12 miles out in about 40 feet are chock-full of different species. The third are offshore platforms 15 miles and beyond, home to red snapper.”

We concentrated on the second tier of platforms to see how many species we could muster.

We fished with bass tackle. I was handed a 7-foot casting outfit loaded with 50-pound-test braided polyethylene line, which certainly holds up around hard structure better than mono. Plastic-tail jigs, those you’d use on trout and reds anywhere, were Rue’s choice. We fished 4-inch chartreuse Norton Bull Minnows rigged with 3/8-ounce Hogy jigheads with 5/0 hooks. We cast the jigs close to the platforms and let them sink for a moment. An erratic retrieve enticed fish to follow but not to commit. That way we could see exactly what was lurking beneath the shadow of the platform, before actually targeting a specific predator.

“Tease the fish out where you can see them, and then pick a target,” says Rue. “Otherwise, a 5-pound cobia might strike your lure before you spot the 50-pounder just below.” Eager to test his theory, we cast our jigs beside the platform and paused for a moment before making a rapid retrieve. Darting shadows zeroed in, some larger than others. Flashes of silver and blue arose, and for a second I felt I was peering into an aquarium. My mind raced—I didn’t know which one to focus on first. Rue helps me by pointing over my shoulder.

“To the right!” he barks and points. I crank in my line, flip the artificial to the right, and sure enough, a sleek cobia rockets in, snatches the jig and the battle begins. Rue thrust the boat in reverse to help me get the fish away from the structure’s piling and cable. I marvel at the fish’s strength. Cobia (known in Louisiana as ling) are powerful, not to mention great on the table, so I really have to wonder why anglers limit themselves to fishing for reds and trout in Louisiana. After a feisty 5-minute battle, I ask Rue to release the 15-pound cobia.

Shortly, Rue hooks into a large jack crevalle, which clobbered a smoke-colored jig. It takes 10 minutes to land it. The jacks seem to rule the place so we motored to the next platform well within eyesight. A different cast of characters were on hand—after a cutoff, we tied on wire and boated a couple of respectable kingfish before squadrons of ladyfish, bluefish and Spanish mackerel moved in. There was no getting a jig to bottom at that point. The action attracted several highly aroused blacktip sharks, and even they hammered our chartreuse jigs. At this point I imagine what livebait fishing would produce, but catch myself and think, why bother? Besides, Rue says that live baits and chumming tend to attract sharks.

At another platform, we encountered a similar mixed bag, with a few fat, delicious pompano mixed in. Then we switched gears. Since this area is a major port of call for the offshore oil and gas industry, navigational buoys denote the channel for tankers and container ships. These are super fish havens, too. With a 28-mile-long string of buoys to select from, the fishing is virtually endless.

“I’ve landed some big cobia and tripletail fishing these buoys,” says Rue. “They offer shade, baitfish and something for fish to orient to in otherwise open, featureless water. Fish naturally congregate around them, just as they do around the platforms.”

On the buoys, Rue uses an unorthodox approach of attracting any fish that may be lying in ambush below. Revving the engine, he zips around the buoy several times, churning up water. “This actually excites the fish,” he says, gunning his outboard as if ripping doughnuts in a parking lot.

“In a moment, fish will come out to see what the heck is going on.” And sure enough, we spot a large tripletail, sometimes called a “buoy bass,” bouncing in the whitewash. Tripletail have a body that appears to have three tails. They resemble a crappie if crappies were body builders, and lounge–sometimes even float–around buoys or under sargassum weed.

I launched a chartreuse swimbait into the turbulent brine and immediately the charcoal-colored fish gulps my lure and makes a powerful deep dive. “Fish on!” I holler, amazed that we have revealed yet another species. This is a fish you do not land by hand. Despite their small mouth, tripletail have teeth and their sharp fin spines can puncture you. As I swing the fish in close, Rue reaches for the net. As the afternoon draws to a close, I am astounded by the variety and numbers of fish. Similar platform fishing is available off northeast Texas, but out of Lake Charles, the fishing pressure is light in the nearshore Gulf. That’s something to consider if you’re ready to take on more than trout and reds on your next trip to Louisiana.

SWA