IT WAS 1 A.M., and Lake St. John was truly a thing of beauty. The Louisiana moon had climbed above the maze of cypress trees and was flooding the water’s surface with lambent patterns of light. A warm June breeze swayed the beards of gray Spanish moss as I worked our boat into position. My night-fishing companion, Don Patterson, leaned forward in the bow and whipped his plug under some low-hanging branches. As often happens at night, his cast wa…