It's not unusual to catch a bull red around Louisiana's many oil-field structures. Photo by Pete Cooper Jr.

Almost two decades have passed since that day of particular revelation -- a bright early-summer morning tailor-made for sight-fishing for reds in the broken marsh between the bays southwest of Buras: clear, calm, not quite hot. But I remember the events almost as clearly as if they'd occurred yesterday.

The enthusiasm that had built within me by the time I pulled away from Joshua's Marina faded rapidly after I arrived at a favorite flat to discover a gill net stretched across it. A second spot was cursed with the same plight, and two boatloads of commercial guys were just leaving the third spot that I pulled up to, their webbing woven across the shallows in such a manner as to render it completely unfishable.

For a long moment I just sat there in my skiff, wondering if there was any way I could reap a few ice-chest benefits from such a fine day. And then I noticed the small production facility a short distance across the bay.

At the time, I'd caught a few reds around such structures, though those had been much larger and in much broader bays than the one that'd just piqued my curiosity. However, the thought arose that the waters around it just might be considered too difficult for deploying nets, and could hold a few fish.

I approached the facility slowly on the trolling motor, noticing on the way in that the pipework around it was badly corroded, some of it having actually rusted through and fallen into the water. Plenty of snag potential here, I thought as I lobbed my jig to a point between two of the platform's pilings, allowed the lure to sink a bit, began a slow retrieve with easy pumps -- and almost immediately felt resistance.

Snag! was my first reaction, but then a couple of violent headshakes proved me wrong. For some unknowable reason, the fish decided to make its bid for freedom in open water rather than to dive into the structure's pilings, and a while later I netted a 11-pound red that was larger than any other I had taken so far that year! But not for long! By working the perimeter of that rather small, run-down production facility, I caught well over a dozen more beautiful reds, one of which was even larger than the first.

On that quite memorable morning, a pattern was formed that has since led to some outstanding redfishing throughout all seasons of the year, and often at times that have seen the competition in some difficulty.

Up and down our coast, oil-field-related odds and ends constitute perhaps the most valuable form of inshore redfish structure. The best of that is iron; the best of that is old.

The aforementioned production facility is a prime example. So much corroded iron lay on the bay bottom around it that the reds, especially the bigger ones, had little trouble cutting a line on it. Because of that, the place became fondly known as "Hell Hole Number One" -- and those friends to whom I introduced it quickly learned the reason!

Still, losing reds around such structure is simply part of the exercise. I once tried to determine if flipping would lessen those losses; it didn't, But I'll tell you this: The results of slamming the hook into a 6-pound red that's only a few feet away from you can be quite entertaining. If you feel that your redfishing has become somewhat tame lately, try short-range flipping for them around some oil-field junk.

But don't even think about doing so with your regular gear, or you'll assuredly be shopping for replacement tackle shortly thereafter. A heavy 7 or 7 1/2-foot actual flipping stick, 30-pound mono, and a reel with the drag screwed down to "stop" will be required. Think that sort of gear isn't sporting? Try it and see!