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Port Mansfield — A Texas Land's End
by

E`Lane Carlisle Murray from South Texas Informer & Business Journal, May 1990

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No white cliffs rise above a surging channel but the sudden sight of Port Mansfield and its pier-slashed waters is "Land's End" to me. From Corpus Christi down Highway 77 the stretch of land is straight and unbroken. At Raymondville a sharp left turn onto State 186 leads through 25 miles of mesquite and brush country. Then, like a mirage, the Port Mansfield water tower pierces the skyline.

The place invites fishermen, or more to the point, the place lures fishermen. Cabins, bayhouses, duplexes, and condos line the waterside. Long wooden piers stretch far into the water and motor boats move across the Laguna Madre or follow the East Cut out into the Gulf. Gulls call and the big blue herons squawk harshly.

My attachement to this place exists in spite of my quick admission that I am not a fisherman. My timing is bad. I can't cast—I can't reel—I can't sit quietly and wait for the tell-tale tug on my line. Real fishermen, like Betty Glaze, can't believe what a klutz I am.

"Sure you can cast," she told me. "Come on, I'll show you." Half an hourlater, she and several other kind and adept anglers moved quietly a few steps away. I gladly propped my rod and reel against the railing and watched the needle fish swimming beneath the lights like transparent aliens.

I love being by the water. Time is counted by sunrise and sunset, by incoming and outgoing tides, by wind and calm, and by the arrival and departure of fishing boats. People laugh easily. They revel in their fishing and their fishing stories. Do relaxed people choose to come to this quiet place, or does Port Mansfield itself relax them?

Not everyone there is relaxed. Betty Glaze seems to be everywhere at once. She manages rental property for herself and for other property owners. Simultaneously, she books parties and checks them out. Her small figure runs up and down stairs, always accompanied by her small dog. She fillets fish with an electric knife with unbelievable skill and speed. People call or stop by to ask her—Where are the fish biting? What kind of bait are they hitting? Has the Uvalde party come back in? Did they have a big catch?

The little Chamber of Commerce puts on community holiday parties and dinner at Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and an Easter Egg Hunt. On a Labor Day a few years ago, a group of Hobie Cat sailboats headed from Port Isabel to Corpus Christi and were blown off course by sheets of rain and a stiff north wind. Some of them were lucky enough to put in at Port Mansfield where they were dried, housed, and fed at the Chamber building. After their chilling experience on the water, they returned home praising the people of Port Masfield for their warm hospitality.

Each year, ususally the third weekend in July, comes the BIG fishing tournament. Sponsored by the Chamber, it attracts hundreds of bay and offshore fishermen to Port Mansfield. In 1980 a state record 784 pound blue marlin was caught during the tournament. Always a spectator, my favorite experience in Port Mansfield was an outboard motorboat trip through the East Cut into the Gulf. Flocks of brown pelicans flew over us and dolphins rolled in the deep water beside us. At the National Seashore, we anchored the boat and waded onto the shell-covered beach. Some of the time-etched shells we found remain on display on my coffee table.

Once in November our entire family gathered to celebrate a special birthday—a 90th birthday! The mild fall weather ended suddenly as the weather turned really cold and the big trout began to run in the boat harbor. We caught large trout one after another and stayed up through the night in 30 degree weather shivering and smiling as we fished. Those who fished, fished all night … fished until their arms ached. The birthday turned into the all-time-greatest-fishing-experience-ever! Even I have a fishing story I am proud to tell.

Early morning at Port Mansfield is pearl gray. I put on my sneakers and walk out onto the damp snd. No cars are in sight and far away a dog barks. The quiet gray water turns gold as the sun appears. Everything is gold—the bayhouses, the piers, the crab traps, the cleaning tables, the fish boxes, the little boats and the fishermen. For the moment, standing at my Texas "Land's End," even I am gold.

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