The TPWD “Other” Tab The inter-webs are pretty cool. You know, you can go to the Texas Parks and Wildlife (TPWD) website and find a bunch of info on pretty much any fish or wildlife species found in the State of Texas.
For some species, like black drum (“Pogonia cromis” if you want to get scientific), TPWD will tell you the life history, habitat and distribution, as well as how to catch, where to catch, and how to eat black drum.
TPWD also goes further in the “Other” heading and tells you even more stuff you may or may not know about “tambor” (even throwing in some Spanish, here, too).
But we here at The Possum Cop Chronicles, go even further. Here’s a story, and a lesson learned, about black drum you won’t find on the web page.
It was a dark and stormy August night, I think. I really can’t remember, but it was danged-sure night. Come to think of it, it was probably a moonlit night and quite bright; those in the business refer to it as a “netter’s moon”.
I was watching a floodway weir dam on the El Sauz Ranch near the Lower Laguna Madre west of Port Mansfield. When I saw the silhouettes of four men walking down the concrete riprap of the dam, I knew they were trespassing.
I snuck down close to where they were, flipped on my flashlight and said the usual, “State Game Warden – y’all having any luck?”
They were pulling in a gillnet; bad luck for them, for sure. I got their ID’s, patted them down and told them to finish pulling in the net.
There were several redfish and black drum entangled in the clump of monofilament they piled on the shore. I gathered the clump, hiked it up the bank to my 1988 Dodge Diplomat patrol car and stuffed it all in the trunk. I handcuffed two of them (I only had two sets of handcuffs) and placed them all under arrest.
When you’re by yourself in the middle of nowhere, it’s important to let others know what’s going on. I called the Willacy County Sheriff’s Office dispatch on the radio to let them know I’d be hauling four dudes to jail.
Game Warden Henry Balderamas heard my call and came running. He met me as I pulled up to the jail. While I was busy booking the netters, Henry handled the stinking mess of monofilament and fish in the trunk of my car.
When I was done with all the paperwork, he gave me an inventory of everything he took out of the trunk, and I headed home.
I got to bed well after midnight, got up early and hit the road. I don’t remember where I went, but I was gone for several days.
When I got back home, something didn’t smell right. Then I noticed the flies. They were everywhere, with the highest concentration being in-and-around the trunk of my beloved 1988 Dodge Diplomat patrol car. I ran inside and got my keys, but I was afraid to use them. I gathered myself, fought my way through the flies, found the right key and opened the trunk.
The funk that gave a hint of its foulness through whatever seams in the car the August heat had forced it through, was mind-numbing once the trunk was fully open; in a word - vomitous. Struggling to hold back the hurl, I cupped my hand over my mouth and nose, and made out the form of a bloated, maggot-riddled black drum carcass sticking from under the spare tire cover. Thanks for the help, Henry?
I never did get that smell completely out of that car.
To this day, Henry swears it wasn’t left there on purpose, but sometimes I wonder.
Jon Brauchle spent 29 years as a game warden.