These buildings in the air is how you know you’ve made it to the island. After the Huey P. Long Bridge and that U-turn you cannot take, you head west from New Orleans on I-310 past Boutte and Des Allemands, and take 90 to Raceland, you get on LA-1 south through Lockport and Larose and Cutoff, Galliano and Golden Meadow. LA-1 is going to take a hard knee-bend East before you get to Port Fourchon.
You pass through Chenière Caminada, site of a once-great resort town wiped away by the Great Storm of 1893. It is here when you begin to see houses lifted into the air - whole streets lined with camps and home atop the creosote pilings. Each camp has a name painted onto a sign and tacked to the front. Visiting sportsmen name their fishing camps like New Englanders name their sailboats. Like pirates named their ships. Seebreeze. Ree-lax. Aquaholic. Daddy’s Dream. Tipsy Tuna. Sea La Vie. Double or Nothing. Trouble or Nothing. Laz E Bonz. Six Pack. Time Out. Off Da Hook. Shawnuff South. Car-ami. Wine Down. Other names are ironic defiers spitting in the face of future storms. Letemtakeit. Take Wife Leave Beer. When I was a kid, my sister and I got such a thrill calling out the camp identities as our car crawled along LA-1. We were forever in search of new editions and old favorites. Tacked onto the front of the camp as we pulled up in the wee hours that Thanksgiving - The Courthouse.