Bogue Chitto

For the past five days Kat, Jackson, and Pink have camped at Bogue Chitto, a south Lousiana state park off blue highway LA 25.   It’s ten miles north of Folsom (not the one with a famous prison) and six miles south of Franklinton.  Bogue sounds like Bogart’s nickname, and Chitto rhymes with “ditto”, not “Cheeto”.   Unlike our previous Louisiana parks, Fountainebleu and Riverside/Fairview, you get some serious quiet five days a week at Bogue Chitto.  And there’s fresh water fishing in deep abandoned gravel pits, biking on paved roads, and all kinds of hiking if your knees are up to it.

A couple days ago we had our Leer tonneau cover installed.  The pictures of Pink do her justice; mine border on a misdemeanor.   The cover really dresses up the Red Sled while giving us some secure, dry storage space.  I suspect that the very van-ness of her truck is why RV Sue (and the Canine Crew) refer to their puller as the Perfect Towing Vehicle: it has enough power and plenty of storage.

The Red Sled has crazy power and adequate storage.  That’s a fair trade for the mountains, we hope.

Kat bought a Black Widow fiberglass cane pole Wednesday.  It came with line, a sinker, a float, and a hook.  Bait was extra.  Neither of us has ever had much success fishing, and this week has been no exception.  But Kat did catch A Fish!  Being newcomers to blogging, we forgot to bring the camera, so you can’t see how close our catch and release fish came to being a keeper.  (About four ounces, in my book.)  She caught a lively white perch on a worm and was deservedly pleased with herself.

Today we rode our bikes 6 or 7 miles on a wildflower tour.  Despite having grown up in this state, I had no idea that wild azaleas grew here.  This park has plenty, along with enough other specimens to hit our goal of a dozen different flowers per bike ride.

The short chunky thing other than the turtle in the pictures is Rosie.  When I first saw her I thought “This is the first armadillo I’ve seen leashed up and wagging its tail.”  Rosie is a miniature pot-bellied pig.  The guy fishing in his Bud Light pj’s is her papa.  He and we agreed that only in Louisiana, or New York City, can one order a beer and fish wearing pajama pants.  Here. it’s laid back.  There, it’s chic, or maybe deranged.

Vive la great outdoors!

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