Bayou Choupique, Louisiana
The other day we tried to stop in a beautiful bayou off the ICW. I know, when someone says "bayou," most people think about the filthy brown water of a canal, bordered with concrete, that if you ever fell into, you would take five showers or baths to wash yourself off. This was definitely not the case here.
Bayou Choupique looked like the perfect place to spend a night or two. Fishermen stood in flat-boats, reeling in dinner and drinking beer in the warm sun; birds flew past, fished, and just sat in the marsh so common in Louisiana. This would have been great - stopping here would have prevented a twelve hour travel day to the Mermentau River. Instead, we would stop here and continue for only six hours the next day.
"Why leave tomorrow anyway?" I thought while staring at the flocks of gulls, pelicans, and Black-Necked Stilts. It just looked so nice and peaceful, like you could stay forever.
I think that we all stared for a while at the abundance of bird life wading in the flats and sleeping on the miniature islands. Mommy loved the pelicans. Josh was intrigued by the spoonbills, and I focused on the ibises - magnificent birds that are identified by their long, curved, pink beaks. While we stared with our jaws dropped, Dad was behind the wheel of the boat getting nervous. The depth was getting a little shallow. If it became any shallower, we would run aground.
Dad found what he thought was a good place to drop the anchor, and we all got ready for the procedure. There was a shoal, a shallow bank, too close, though, and we almost got stuck. We tried another spot, but now the wind was blowing against the current, causing the anchor to set in a weird position. It didn't look like this was going to work out. Every one of us was tense: Dad, because it was his job to get the anchor to hold, and he didn't want us to run aground; Mom, because she didn't want the anchor to drag and get us stuck on the shore or another shoal; I, because if anything else bad happened, I knew we would be forced to leave this tranquil environment.
Then it happened. The depth dropped to six feet, leaving us almost aground, the anchor was not holding well with the combination of wind and current, and we all wondered what the depths would be when the tide went out. Tides here drop only about 2 feet, but 4 feet of water would leave us hard aground. We realized we could not stay here.
When we had pulled up the anchor and were leaving the bayou, a flat-boat with some fishermen in it motored up to the side of our boat and said, "It's good you're leaving because in the morning that place you were trying to anchor in will be a mudflat."
Now that our shallow-water theories were confirmed, we quickly left to get to the Mermentau River as early in the evening as we could. I spent the next few minutes thinking about how truly disappointed I was that we could not spend the night in Bayou Choupique. If we had stayed, I was going to ask Dad if we could drop the dinghy, a little inflatable rubber motorboat, to go bird watching. It couldn't happen now. I wondered what the wildlife would be like on the Mermentau.
Though it was a bit disappointing, the whole experience was awesome. The birds, the fishermen, and the warm sun and breeze all added to the affect the land had on me as it weaved in and out, dotting the flats with little islands. It made me feel like I could sit and stare at everything that bayou had to offer forever. It was a tranquil place.
Bayou Choupique looked like the perfect place to spend a night or two. Fishermen stood in flat-boats, reeling in dinner and drinking beer in the warm sun; birds flew past, fished, and just sat in the marsh so common in Louisiana. This would have been great - stopping here would have prevented a twelve hour travel day to the Mermentau River. Instead, we would stop here and continue for only six hours the next day.
"Why leave tomorrow anyway?" I thought while staring at the flocks of gulls, pelicans, and Black-Necked Stilts. It just looked so nice and peaceful, like you could stay forever.
I think that we all stared for a while at the abundance of bird life wading in the flats and sleeping on the miniature islands. Mommy loved the pelicans. Josh was intrigued by the spoonbills, and I focused on the ibises - magnificent birds that are identified by their long, curved, pink beaks. While we stared with our jaws dropped, Dad was behind the wheel of the boat getting nervous. The depth was getting a little shallow. If it became any shallower, we would run aground.
Dad found what he thought was a good place to drop the anchor, and we all got ready for the procedure. There was a shoal, a shallow bank, too close, though, and we almost got stuck. We tried another spot, but now the wind was blowing against the current, causing the anchor to set in a weird position. It didn't look like this was going to work out. Every one of us was tense: Dad, because it was his job to get the anchor to hold, and he didn't want us to run aground; Mom, because she didn't want the anchor to drag and get us stuck on the shore or another shoal; I, because if anything else bad happened, I knew we would be forced to leave this tranquil environment.
Then it happened. The depth dropped to six feet, leaving us almost aground, the anchor was not holding well with the combination of wind and current, and we all wondered what the depths would be when the tide went out. Tides here drop only about 2 feet, but 4 feet of water would leave us hard aground. We realized we could not stay here.
When we had pulled up the anchor and were leaving the bayou, a flat-boat with some fishermen in it motored up to the side of our boat and said, "It's good you're leaving because in the morning that place you were trying to anchor in will be a mudflat."
Now that our shallow-water theories were confirmed, we quickly left to get to the Mermentau River as early in the evening as we could. I spent the next few minutes thinking about how truly disappointed I was that we could not spend the night in Bayou Choupique. If we had stayed, I was going to ask Dad if we could drop the dinghy, a little inflatable rubber motorboat, to go bird watching. It couldn't happen now. I wondered what the wildlife would be like on the Mermentau.
Though it was a bit disappointing, the whole experience was awesome. The birds, the fishermen, and the warm sun and breeze all added to the affect the land had on me as it weaved in and out, dotting the flats with little islands. It made me feel like I could sit and stare at everything that bayou had to offer forever. It was a tranquil place.
