Armand Bayou (Mud Lake) by Kayak

  In 1970, an armed robbery tragically ended the life of Armand Yrmategui, a tireless defender of Houston-area wetlands. It's a good thing everyone called him Armand, because the body of water then-known as Middle Bayou was named in his honor, and Yrmetegui Bayou Nature Center would have caused all sorts of spelling anxiety for the elementary school children who go there on field trips.

   The TPWD Paddling Trails are split into two groups, inland and coastal. After the last two kayaking trips, I really missed the saltwater and actually catching fish, so I decided to explore a coastal trail. Armand Bayou starts as brackish where it connects to Clear Lake before transforming to freshwater upstream by the Nature Center. Interestingly enough, this means that in certain areas you can target largemouth bass and redfish at the same time! Even more intriguing is the possibility of being mauled by a bull shark while an alligator is still in mid-death-roll after flipping your kayak.

  While most trails have distinct starting and ending points, Armand Bayou Paddling Trail is more of a branching system that encompasses a lake, so for today, I only explored the saltier portion named Mud Lake, just above Clear Lake. My objective was to catch some redfish, the golden creatures that have decorated the cover of so many Texas fishing and outdoor magazines. Unfortunately, I didn't begin my mission until around 8:30, since no bait shops in Clear Lake open before 8am. This is the grievous equivalent of a stock broker on Wall Street waking up at noon!

A goofy bird under the bridge. Snowy Egret, actually. Easily identified by its clown shoes.

    Armed with a bucket full of live shrimp, I launched out of Clear Lake Park, right by the bridge that separates the lake from Armand Bayou. I have distinct memories of this park from many childhood family picnics. Although we were quite successful at crabbing, I never once saw anyone catch a fish in this seemingly desolate lake. For the uninitiated, crabbing is the ingenious redneck activity of throwing a perfectly good chicken drumstick off a dock, and slowly retrieving it, along with a clinging, palm-sized crab, inside of which you may find about a quarter ounce of meat if you break the claws just right and save all the stringy white shreds.

   After maneuvering my kayak under the bridge, I realized that the difference between this area and Clear Lake, at least the part by the park, is the existence of cover and structure to fish around. Tall grass lined the bank, and some kind of floating plant littered the water beyond that. I believe these clumps of floating life are water hyacinth, an invasive and destructive species, but I could be wrong. A log jutted out of the plants, and a dark blue, hipster-looking bird wearing a mohawk loitered confidently atop it. It glided off before I could snap a blurry picture, but based on my research, I believe it was a Belted Kingfisher. Pretty cool, although I'll have to come back to view the rest of Armand Bayou's famous wildlife, including some very unique-looking birds called roseate spoonbills and even nesting alligators in a branch named Horsepen Bayou.

Mud Lake, Armand Bayou. How many egrets can you spot?

   As I drifted parallel to the grass, I used my fancy bass rod to attempt to entice fish with a brownish soft plastic lure attached to a small spinning spoon. I had a good feeling about this setup when I bought it at the store, but my fisherman's intuition has never gotten me very far when it comes to using artificials. With my cheaper rod, I threw in a live shrimp and let it soak. Skilled fisherman call this technique "cheating".

   Within a few minutes, my live shrimp was hit, and line was zipping off  the Walmart rod as the culprit made an attempt to escape. It didn't put up too much of a fight, and I scowled at the sight of my first catch. It was a hardhead catfish, basically the worst fish ever. They are slimy, have sharp spines armed with a painful toxin, make disgusting croaking sounds, eat more garbage than mullet, and steal any live bait you may put on your hook. In fact, among my regular fishing buddies, hardheads count as negative points when competing for daily fish counts. 

Why

     Soon after, my rod went off again, except this time, the fish weaved and fought like it valued it's own life, so it couldn't possibly be a hardhead. Almost losing it in a clump of plants, I swung the fish into my kayak and smiled as I recognized my target species. Rarely do I analyze a new spot and catch the fish I am seeking, so even though it was a dinky 12-inch red, I was pleased that my score was back to zero. I released the fish, since it was well beneath the legal limit, and gave up on artificials, switching out my plastic lure for a shrimp under a floating cork, so I could keep an eye on it while holding the other rod which was rigged with a second, free-lined shrimp. 

That golden sheen

   While unhooking another hardhead, I saw my orange and green cork shoot under the water while the line let out a satisfying zzzzzzzzz. Cursing the catfish's mother in 3 languages, I threw it overboard and grabbed my second rod, reeling fast to catch up with the fish. I let it tire out a bit while fighting it steadily to the yak, keeping the pressure up in order to avoid losing the fish. "Yes!", I said to no one as I saw the golden sheen of it's tail swiping the surface. I knew it was a redfish just from a flash, since it's color contrasts starkly with that of a hardhead's gray with copper highlights, the exact tint of a rusty bucket used to contain human waste and vomit in a medieval torture chamber.

The safe way to hold a catfish is under the arms (fins) like a baby. A disgusting, croaking, slimy, baby that you must immediately hurl to the bottom of a bayou.

   As I netted the fish and scooped it into my boat, I stopped holding my breath to celebrate. I opened my tackle box to take out my stringer, preparing to keep the fish fresh for later consumption. As an afterthought, I decided to measure it to make sure it was legal. I didn't have my tape, so I used the tackle box as a guide, only to realize the impressive looking fish was still undersize....by about 3 inches. In Texas, redfish must be between 20-28 inches to keep, which seems pretty oppressive, but I guess there is a science of conservation and such behind it. I reluctantly slipped the fish back into the water and fished for a bit longer before deciding to try another spot.

Looked big enough to me. Damn

   I reached mile marker number 2 soon, and stopped near some more grass. I had trouble fishing without any structure to tie my kayak to, and made a note to bring an anchor next time. I didn't make much more of an attempt to explore Mud Lake, as it seemed pretty bland to me, so next time I will start at the Nature Center and try to catch bass, as well as a glimpse of a gator or spoonbill.

There's always a spider, somehow

  On my way back to the launch point, I stopped at my first fishing spot. Deciding to finish strong by fishing a shrimp on both rods simultaneously, I realized my cheap rod had disappeared, probably while I tried to anchor myself in a mess of floating plants and grass. Oh well.

"You're gonna get hop ons"

   I let a stranded lizard perch on my shoulder while I caught one more seemingly nice redfish, but again, it came up a bit short. At this point, I decided to do one good deed for the day and take the lizard back with me, since he may have gotten stuck on the clump of hyacinth and I'm not sure if normal lizards can walk on water. It was nice having a paddling buddy, even though he had no haiku-writing skills whatsoever.

Fishing buddies. He looks like a Thomas.

    Most of my remaining shrimp were dead by now, so I decided to call it a day. If I come back to this spot again, at least I'll know where to look for reds (west side of Mud Bay along the grass, just a few hundred yards after the bridge) , although I would try to get shrimp the night before and fish at dawn for a chance at larger fish. On the way back, I saw a large pink canoe, rowed by a pink-clad army of girls, and led by a woman wearing a pink tracksuit and barking orders while they counted loudly in military fashion. I'm not sure what was going on here, but my guess is that this was the most hardcore group of girl scouts in Texas earning their rowing badge the hard way.

   While loading everything back into my car, I realized that Thomas was gone. You just look away from your lizard for a few minutes and.....I hope he reached safety, but after losing my rod and my fishing buddy, I needed a pick-me-up, so I met some friends at a nearby coffee shop. If you are ever in Clear Lake, definitely check out El Lago Coffee and Antiques. 

Some actually useful antiques

   It is basically an older couple's house that they have transformed into a tiny cafe/antique shop. I don't really believe in antiques, especially in this case, since it was basically a permanent garage sale with useless and obscure junk. But the man roasts the beans in his backyard, where you can enjoy the aroma while dining on homemade cranberry scones. The coffee is also excellent, especially the Red Cloud variety, which they import from Guatemala. After a mostly sleepless night, I was worried about driving home, so I ordered a cappuccino to keep me awake. The espresso was so strong, though, that I have been fired up all day, and wrote this whole post in one sitting, without any breaks or even punctuation between sentences! That's what editing is for, anyway. So although this paragraph has nothing to do with paddling trails, I want to promote this cafe in case anyone wants to take after the Belted Kingfisher and be anti-establishment instead of going to Starbucks.

An "antique" book I kind of wanted for my coffee table. But no price was listed and I figured it would be very outdated anyway. Also, I don't have a coffee table.

The next post should be action-packed, although it also has nothing to do with paddling trails, but everything to do with the most intense shark fishing tournament in Texas. Just 57 1/2 trails to go!