When the Fish Were Best Reached by Air: Charles Hardin, Les Mauldin, and the Gulf Coast Flights

When the Fish Were Best Reached by Air: Charles Hardin, Les Mauldin, and the Gulf Coast Flights

J.P. Stillwateer

Before highways reached the island and before marinas dotted the coast, the fastest way to the best fishing on the Texas Gulf wasn’t by boat.

It was by airplane.

In the late 1920s and early 1930s, Charles Hardin and his longtime friend Les Mauldin were part of a short, remarkable chapter in coastal history—when aviation, fishing, and curiosity all met in Brownsville.

From barnstorming to building something real

Hardin and Mauldin had known each other since the barnstorming days. Back then, flying was part show, part gamble. Hardin was the extrovert—promoter, parachute man, always looking for the next angle. Mauldin was the steady one—the mechanic, the pilot who cared deeply about how things worked.

When aviation began to settle down, Mauldin came to Brownsville to build something permanent. He helped develop the airport, ran aircraft operations, and opened a flying school. He turned open ground into a working airfield.

Hardin followed the opportunity—but also the lifestyle.

Why Brownsville felt right

Brownsville offered what both men wanted: year-round flying weather, open coastal land, and a natural gateway to Mexico and the Gulf. Spanish was spoken everywhere, and neither man resisted it. Like many people who moved here for work and adventure, they embraced the culture, the language, and the rhythm of life along the border.

Flying wasn’t just business here—it fit the place.

Fishing trips by Ford Tri-Motor

Hardin saw something others didn’t: airplanes could carry people not just over the coast, but to it.

Newspaper stories from the period describe fishing excursion flights organized out of Brownsville and the Valley. Wealthy sportsmen could board large Ford Tri-Motor airplanes, fly down the coast, and be dropped close to fishing grounds near the mouth of the Rio Grande or Padre Island.

Photographs from the Junie Mauldin aviation collection show these Tri-Motor aircraft operating along the coast—big, three-engine planes that looked solid and dependable. They weren’t stunts. They were working flights.

What once took days by rough road or shallow boat could suddenly be done in hours.

For fishermen, it sounded almost impossible.
For Hardin, it was the future.

Padre Island and the Lost City

The flights didn’t stop with fishing.

Newspaper accounts from the early 1930s describe growing excitement around a rumored “Lost City” buried somewhere on Padre Island. Planes carried explorers, reporters, and curious onlookers to the island. Articles speculated about old walls, artifacts, and Spanish history hidden under the sand.

Whether the Lost City was real, exaggerated, or somewhere in between mattered less than one simple fact: aviation made the mystery reachable.

Photos from the Mauldin collection place aircraft, people, and equipment on the coast during this period, backing up what the newspapers were reporting. These weren’t just stories written from afar. Planes were landing, people were walking the sand, and the island was suddenly part of everyday conversation.

A partnership that worked

Throughout it all, Les Mauldin stayed in his role. He kept the aircraft running, managed the airfield, and trained pilots. He made sure the flying could be trusted.

Hardin gave aviation reasons to go somewhere.

Family memory adds one more detail. Junie Mauldin, Les and Etelka’s daughter, remembered being told that before Charles Lindbergh was famous, Hardin once showed him how to properly fold a parachute. Whether written down at the time or not, it fits the world they lived in—where knowledge passed hand to hand long before headlines followed.

Why it still matters

This wasn’t just about airplanes.

It was about how the Gulf Coast opened up—how fishing, exploration, and aviation blended for a few brief years. Hardin brought imagination and energy. Mauldin brought skill and stability. Together, they helped make Brownsville a place where aviation wasn’t just passing through.

For a time, the quickest way to the fish wasn’t a boat cutting through the surf.

It was a Ford Tri-Motor lifting off from a dusty field, heading south along the water.

And that’s a story worth remembering.