Monday, March 3, 2014

THE LAST BLAST!

You probably have noticed that there has not been a posting on this blog is some time.  There is a reason for that.  

I have started another blog called "Walker's Journal" which will totally replace this one.  Please join me there.  Here is the link.  Only a click or two away.


http://skipwblog.wordpress.com




Monday, February 17, 2014

17 Feb 14

SEWE SATURDAY

We ventured out on Saturday to visit some friends showing at the South Eastern Wildlife Exhibition in Charleston.  As some of you know I have exhibited at  shows like this one for some 25 years and I experienced a whole range of mixed emotions.  It was good to see some old friends, with the emphasis on old.  These folks have aged and I am the senior citizen of the bunch, so where does that leave me?  And you can also tell that there is a changing of the guard by the nature of the art the newbies are showing.  Some fantastic stuff!


Charley Bear still kills it with his wildlife images on ceramic tiles.  His unique art is a hit at most shows.  Charley lives in Jacksonville, FL and travels the East Coast to do these types of shows.   Each of the images you see here consist of a number of tiles from one for a coaster to eight or ten in a major piece.

John Ohrehovec is still working, but doing only two shows a year now.  Much like me he has reduced the number and the distance travelled.


John's work is top of the line for wildlife photographers and he steadfastly holds onto the old ways of film.  Life the rest of us, he cuts his own mattes and frames his own images.  And spins his own yarns.

The crowd seemed to be a reasonably large Saturday group.  I guess a lot of Carolinians were a little anxious to get out an about following almost a week of foul weather and at least one earthquake here about fifty miles away.  It was sunny and breezy and a great day to be outside.

The crowd formed about 45 minutes before the wild bird exhibit expecting to see owls and raptors flown over their heads.  


They had flown the raptors in the morning, and one of the Peregrines flew away.  They still had not found it at three in the afternoon, so the flight part was limited to one Eurasian Owl.  And from a long distance we couldn't see much.  People were disappointed, but they may still be looking for that bird.  The pigeon population in Charleston is now at great risk with a falcon on the loose. 

We had a great lunch at a little french bistro which was wonderful.  The trip back home confirmed that we had had an ice storm last week.  Hundreds of pine trees along the interstate were down and it was obvious what had transpired.  Today we woke up to mid forties going to the mid sixties and then almost eighty by week's end.  Most of the ice and snow is now just "Snirt".  That's a mixture of snow and dirt....coined by the Weather Channel.  I am not quick nor smart enough to figure out those types of descriptions.  

 February thaw I guess. 

Have a great week!



Friday, February 14, 2014

14 FEB. 14

SNOWCATION!

I am not too sure that we are south of the sun anymore.  May have been some sort of cosmic shift in the last three days.  But we have seen it, dealt with it and conquered it!

Thirty two this morning and the melt begins. I understand that there is black ice on the roads which is another reason to make this morning, at least, day three of the 2014 Snowcation.

I did do a bit of a walk-about yesterday and made a couple of images.  Here is the obligatory "Down the Street Shot"!


Doesn't look too bad.  But that's mostly sleet and ice and not so much snow.

You must remember, this is not an annual occurrence down here.  So at best it is a semi, big, deal weather event.  We are fortunate however.  Not a lot of ice on trees and power lines and no outages for us. 

 I did get a bit creative with a poor Harry Lauder Walking Stick tree in the side yard surrounded by snow, ice, sleet and mush.


It's a small tree, but the twists and turns proved to much for this eye and I had to make an image.  I think I like the black and white version the best and you will likely see it on the website soon. 

Some old dried grass became the next victim to the old Nikon!  A formidable weapon!


This minimalistic image will also make it's way into the site.  Looks more like a child's scribble on a white wall than a photograph.  But then again it seems to be a tasteful scribble! 

 Stay safe my friends and I leave you with this thought!


The globe will warm again!





Wednesday, February 12, 2014

2 12 14

SOUTHERN EXPOSURE

The second something fall of the winter season is hitting us here south of the Sun.  This time mostly sleet, freezing rain and a little snow thrown in just for fun.


My family and friends in the north will look at this and say...no big deal.  Well, OK so it's no big deal and I agree .... Now!  But if we get the one half to an inch of ice it will be a big deal.  A little over 20,000 outages reported so far, but it is early as this thing is planned for overnight and into tomorrow morning.

I think I would rather have two feet of snow before an inch of ice.  Our big problem will be power outages if they get what the weather guru's predict.  But we have lots of water and food.  Wood for the fireplace, propane for the grill and enough ammo to fight off the looters.  So bring it on!


As of ten this morning all we have seen is one car (a cop I hope) and one walker.  Glad I took tracking 101 back in high school or I might have missed this.  Here's to all my friends down here.  Stay safe.  Stay home.  Make sure your chain saws are well lubricated and enjoy what Mom Nature has in store for us.


Saturday, February 8, 2014

8 Feb 14

PLAYING TOURIST

I get to be on the other side of the table next weekend.  We will be going down to Charleston to visit with old friends at the Southeastern Wildlife Exposition (SEWE).


I am delighted not to have to be scrambling all this week getting photos ready, frames made, mattes cut and advertising promos ready to partake in a three or four day show.  I did that for more years than I care to think about.


The fawn was always a big hit and "Panache" was a show stopper.  I am not sure just who of my old friends, from what I call the Circuit, will be there.  But it is always fun busting whoever.  I always enjoyed shows where the photographers were spread out amongst the painters who always displayed a certain amount of class and decorum.  While we on the other hand were just loud and boisterous.  I would say we were always the used car salesmen in a room full of button downs.  We do know how to have fun and make a 12 hour day go along a little quicker.  And some of us actually sold something.  Generally not enough to make expenses, but some.


The expenses of doing shows like SEWE or the Easton Wildlife Show in Maryland starts with just a place to stay (upwards of $200 a night) and the travel to and from.  Of course if we could find a place where they "Leave the light on for you", then expenses could be reduced somewhat.  But the framing and infra structure of a booth like mine at Easton some years ago is a big deal.  One has to do a couple of thousand just to break even.  So when I tell you that I will enjoy busting folks next week end, you kinda understand.

We always had to have some new angle to entice the customers.  For instance you can see the oval frame to the right in the above picture.  Well that was part of the antique frame phase I enjoyed.  I would go to auctions and antique stores buying up antique frames and then put my art in same.  It worked for a lot of years and I sold where others did not.


Charley Bear, from Jacksonville will most likely be at Charleston.  His wrinkle was/is to put his art on ceramic tiles.  His booth is on the left side of this photo.  I always accused him of selling kitchen utensils as he was big into back splashes and coasters.  Fantastic work but different and he sold the heck out of that stuff.  Needed an 18 wheeler to transport it though.

So instead of hustling to hustle, I will work here on line and get ready to go and enjoy as a tourist type.  

Looking forward to it and maybe I'll get an idea for a new wrinkle for my stuff!  Happy shopping y'all!







Wednesday, February 5, 2014

5 FEB 14

"MAKING A SILK PURSE OUT OF A SOWS EAR!"

Where in the world do old sayings like that come from.  I suppose if I had more time I would look it up and find some really interesting story to relate about how it came about.  I could "Google" it!  Ten years ago, what the heck was a Google?  Think about that.  "Google it!"  It's like back in the day....Dick Tracy had a wrist watch telephone.  And we all thought that was super, distant, imagination, sci fi!  Well which came first ... the cartoon or the technology?

About 45 degrees here south of the Sun and raining pretty nicely.  Gray, over cast, crummy type of day where photographers go out and try to make a purse.


I know that my friends up north are just now shoveling out of the latest winter droppings and getting ready for the next one later in the week or week end.  To say that I miss it is sort of like another of those sayings.  "A Love Hate Relationship."   I would love to be up there making pictures but hate all that responsibility of having to deal with it.  No, I do not miss having to shovel out three or four separate properties before work each day.  I do miss "Getting up with the Cows" to go out and photograph Gods artistic hand with the white stuff.  It is truly amazing what a decent snow storm does for the appearance of some of the worst scenes.  Making them into a fairy land of nature's artistic vision.  It's like trying to capture the excitement of the kids waking up to no school with the same enthusiasm as that of a Christmas morning.  I miss that too!

Of course we photographers are kinda a separate breed when it comes to our craft.  We can be sort of like that old saw about "Well yes officer I saw that he was going to shoot himself...but I thought it more appropriate to keep on photographing him rather than intervening to save him".  Or "Go ahead and jump."  It'll make the six o'clock segment on the news.  "Everybody loves a good train wreck."  But man if I could get in on film...!

So an ice storm is really fun too! 





Monday, February 3, 2014

3 Feb 14

LAST GASP!

New Hampshire Star Log 2010

The last entries in the log!
April 28th-Wed

Ice out a month ago and Winnie Derby cancelled cause of lack of fish or some other political reasons beyond our knowledge.  Lack of fish on this trip was the key phrase.  

Putt (the small boat) put on the dock until we could borrow a motor from Scotty and arrival of the big boat delayed for lack of parts. 

Snow this morning in Melvin Village, and wasn't till 4:30 that John David, Greenfield, and Paul went out in the big boat.  No runs, hits, and the only error was in going out in the first place  into the teeth of a mounting gale.

The place had been opened that day by Scotty, but the wind blew a tree branch into the water and  disconnected the pipe into the lake.  John David volunteered to do the honors and in fifty degree weather with forty degree water.  Thank God for designer Vodka!



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April 29th-Thurs

Abe, Skip, Green, Paul, and JD on the water by 6:45.  Silly puppies, no fish, no hits, nada, nothing.  Big winds all day steady 50 mph with gust to sixty something.  Damn another 10 mph and we could have classified as a hurricane.  Bill stayed in the house (smart) and only one other boat on the water.  First ever Canada Geese on the lake.  Saw an eagle and Mergansers.  Putt not running but could not have used it anyway.  Cards and BS!

April 30th -Fri

No fish.  So much poker being played that Paul said the breasts on the St. Pauly Girl bottle of non-alcoholic beer were beginning to look pretty good.  Frey had a good baseball hand that stuffed Green.  He declared four threes when he had 3 threes, a nine with a ten kicker.  Will he ever learn?  Threes and nines are wild Bill!

Some old memories were dredged up.

The old guy with the red coat and cowboy hat that we saw for years on the water the same as we.  He seemed to know what he was doing and was just a nice guy.

We were catching fish one year regularly at a place in front of a house full of guys just like us.  Up for a week of fishing and drinking adult beverages.  I guess they were'nt catching as much and we were.  As we went by they shouted in the New England dialect......"Save some for the Naaa-bars"!  Just classic.

Then there was the Polish Navy.  Some other guys, much like us but without a boat, became creative.  They took their swim float, mounted an outboard, coolers for beer, rod holders, and a charcoal grill.  Shouting to everyone in their way....."We can't steer...get out of the way"!

Way back when, Paul was playing a fish and snatched the fly from it's mouth rather roughly.  That move forever has been called, in catch and release terms, a Smirnoff long distance release.

And finally there was the time we were using side planers...each about fifty feet off the side of the boat and holding up to three fishing lines.  Dave was driving the boat and managed to wrap one of the planers around a bouy.  

Just good stuff and meaning nothing to anyone other than us.


May Day-Sat

Finally on the water in both boats.  No Salmon.  Skip one 2.5 lb bass that doesn't count.  Tommy allegedly with one lake trout down three hundred feet on metal.  Doesn't count.  John Greenfield and Abe witnessed the bass catch from the dock, so they were given the idea about how it is all done.

Skip and Bill in Putt.  It looked like JD had a large fish hooked and Paul was waving at it with the net.  Their boat kept turning so we couldn't see much but the fight took some time and Skip was sure the fish jumped, confirming the presence of a salmon.  Finally when it was adroitly netted by Paul....it was a can of beer and not a fish.  I think it was a Coors light.  Skip and Bill were had again.

Later that night it was Abe's turn in the barrel as the others set up a hand of cards with him getting four wild cards and an ace.  Bill and Skip were not aware of the set up and the betting got pretty wild with everybody raising Abe's bets.  He could not understand it until the final bets were made and they came clean.  His five aces really did not win the twenty some odd dollar pot.  Great laughs.

May 1 - Sunday



Clean up and good byes.  It's been a great ride boys!

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Saturday, February 1, 2014

1 Feb 14

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Time has shown that there are basically five of my friends who comprise this group of anglers who have gone each spring to the semi-wilds of New Hampshire's Lake Winnipesauke.  All of this in search of the lowly landlocked salmon.  We would gather on the last Wednesday in April and stay until the following Sunday.  In no particular order I would like to introduce the Players.

Frank, "Abe", or at times "Boat Ride" 

Abe, or Frank Bell,  is our host and has been so since 1968, the first year.  That year, he and his father co-hosted me, so it was no big thing.  We went just to prove that there were really salmon in the lake and more importantly that we could catch them.  

Abe and I graduated High School together.  He went on to college at Colgate and then to Penn Dental , followed by a hitch in the army as a dentist.  I recall visiting he and his lovely wife at Fort Leonard Wood, in Missouri.  At that time, I was working for Merrill Lynch in my first two years of training to become a commodities broker.  I was in Chicago where I had gone for a two week training period, a brief stint which turned into six months.  When I finally left the windy city, I and my wife took a detour to visit with the young dentist "Captain" and wife in Missouri.  We then drove back to our New Jersey home through some of the more scenic back roads of W. Virginia and Virginia.  Sometime around then a book was written about the "Blue Highways" and we followed the same on the map from old Miss to Westfield, NJ.

After discharge, Abe started a dental practice in Oldwick, NJ which is central to that state in Hunterdon County.  We, at the time lived in Gladston, NJ, which was only a few miles from his office and home.  Needless to say he became our family dentist and remained so until to his retirement.  Since the beginning just about every tooth in my mouth has fallen out, but I don't think he had much to do with that.

The two of us roamed around hunting most of the farms around his home in Bissel, NJ,  and became members of the Black River Road and Gun Club in Pottersville, NJ.  My late father in law introduced us to the club and we were subsequently offered membership.  The club maintained a couple hundred acres of prime hunting land and over two miles of one of the most pristine trout streams in the state.  It was one of the few streams in New Jersey which still has a natural spawn of brook trout.  Abe and I would each go on to preside over the club some years later.  It was on this water that we each honed our fly fishing skills.

Abe is the consummate fly fisherman.  He has wetted a fly in some of the most famous streams from the Yellowstone to New Zealand.

The lake property and house in New Hampshire was owned by his grandmother, Louise Strubin.  With her passing, Abe's father, Frank Bell, Sr. and sister owned the place.   Finally, as in most families, the property went to the offspring, Abe and his sister, and now to their children.  The property was some hundred acres of deep woods and probably 200-300 yards of shore line.  

Nicknames have stuck since high school but some more important ones added on our trips north.  "Boat Ride" stems from the fact that Abe owned the boats and drove them most of the time.  But when we did'nt catch fish, he lost the title of captain and became simply "Boat Ride".  All the nicknames are used in a friendly derogatory manner, I might add.  

He was then labled as driving the tour bus and not performing his duties of guide.  It's tough living with our crowd.  If you perform, you are one thing and if you don't, your another.  I think you will discover that there is no such thing as a winning hand in this group.


"The House Magpie" on the left and our host, "Boat Ride" on the right.

In his role as "Captain", he generally calls the shots are regards the rules of fishing and our daily pool.  He is downright scornful of;

1.) an extra rod in the boat---called a boat rod and that absolutely does not count in the pool. 
2). All lures must be predominately single or tandem hooks tied with feathers----metal lures do not count. 
3) And lake trout do not count in the pool Bill!  Hell, we can't even convince him to allow Rainbow trout in the pool.
4) And don't even talk to me about bait!

John, "Green", or the "House Magpie"

John, AKA John Greenfield, was Abe's room mate at Penn Dental.  Yep another dentist!  A very nice guy who started out using a spinning rod and a plastic lure called a "Rapala".

Now remember the rest of us are purists.  That is, when angles for trout or salmon, nothing rises to the level of a well tied artificial fly, on a leader, on a fly line, cast or held by a fly rod and reel.  So one of Abe's best friends shows up with a "Wall Mart" spinning rod and reel,  and a "Rapala".  A "Rapala"!  A Rapala is a plastic thing made to swim just under the surface of the water and imitate a three or four inch minnow.  The thing has two or three treble hooks hanging.  I think in his second year he showed up with a "Wall Mart" (green fiberglass I think) fly rod.  He now became a full member of the club.....but. He insisted upon using a huge ghastly yellow fly called  a  "Barns Special".  This fly is meant to imitate a young perch, which is about the fifth most tasty bait on a salmon's shopping list.  It is designed to catch fishermen at the tackle store.  The rest of us use flies that approximate the most prevalent fish in the lake and number one on the shopping list, a smelt. To the best of my knowledge, he has used that fly on every trip for forty years.

Over the years, John began to get the message and changed his ways to include other fly patterns such as the Red Grey Ghost.  That fly has caught more salmon on our trip than any other single fly.  So John went from trip goat in the early years pretty consistently to only a modest goat in our later years.  Don't get me wrong.  We all have been goats.  Your humble writer himself being one for a solid two and half years.  There is nothing wrong with that other than it is painful as hell when it happens.  And the "Friends" make sure the pain is real.



"Green" shows how to troll a Rapala on a green Wall Mart fly rod

John is of the opinion that the slower one plays poker, the better or more successful he will be.  He also holds his cards tightly and very, very slowly opens the hand one card at a time.  He does succeed in driving the other players from the table to do some minor chore or other and be back in time for him to bet.   His success is also inversely proportionate to the amount of adult beverages consumed.  Or course that could be said of any of us at the table, although two of us went through AA along the way and are still sober. The title of  "House Magpie" was they result of way too much Vodka one night.  He got very talkative and played his cards a lot faster as a result. That trip does test one's resolve.  

John is also the only one to suffer a heart attack while on the trip.  He felt ill, but was not diagnosed until he returned home.  Thank God.  He is in good company though as one of us has had a blood clot, another a stint in the chest, and the third a triple or quad by-pass. None of which are good enough excuse to miss a fishing trip, but amazingly we are all still on the green side of the dirt.  I mean if you can't physically fish, you can at least drive the boat.

Bill, "Willy the Cape", or the "Bead Merchant"

As in any group of men who at seventy something years, and still consider themselves to be in high school, nicknames have a tendency to stick.  Bill's is no exception and his refers to his physical appearance to a chicken or capon.  I think this name, not the least humorous to the reader, was probably created back when copious amounts of adult beverages consumed by the group.



"Willey the Cape" displays his professional angling style.

Bill lived in Hunterdon County, NJ and was introduced to me by another member of the group a few years after our first trip north.  He ran a Christmas shop in Hunterdon County, just outside of Oldwick.  The shop sold all sorts of decorations including beads and hence the "Bead Merchant" moniker.

Bill is a tad bit older than the rest of us, has had a couple of wives but is the last one would think of when one conjured up the dashing, Hollywood, concept of a ladies man.  But, who knew!  He is a consummate fisherman with almost as much experience in salt water as fresh.  Bill loves to analyze why the fish are biting or not biting, which drives the rest of us nuts. 

Consider this.

A backwoods cabin, deep in the New Hampshire woods, six men all sleeping in sleeping bags, in their long underwear (for at least three days), and Bill has to have sheets on his bed.  Pajamas and bathrobe with slippers.  That's Bill.

This is the man who never learned, in some forty two years, how to play poker!  We would have to explain the rules with each deal, each year!  If anyone could bluff at our card table and win, it would be he!  We play nickel, dime, quarter, dealer's choice......All the time!  If the ante is a nickel or dime, top bet is a quarter.  We don't look to make money at this game, just have fun.  If Bill bets a quarter....everyone folds.  Everyone.  He never bets, let alone raises.  He could have a royal flush and still bet only a nickel.  But that's bill.

He has had more real and imaginary physical problems up there than anyone.  Too cold was his excuse for not fishing.  His hands would get too cold.  Or his feet.  The rest of us would just layer up and not complain.  Poor circulation I guess.

One of his wives tried to keep his diet on the straight and narrow (this is not the place to do that) and put him on a low cholesterol regime.  He showed up at the lake one year with a dinner comprised of a turkey sausage dish.  Abe, upon seeing what he was expected to eat, reacted at the top of his lungs in the way only one of us could.  "Cape, what is this ....?  Insert any crass term referring to excrement.  I have to admit it was pretty bad, but we never went hungry.  

Three guys would bring  a dinner, one breakfasts, and one lunch materials.  One night we ate leftovers.  Needless to say there is enough cholesterol to stop up the Lincoln and Holland tunnels combined.  One year every one of the dinner people brought the same green vegetable.......Canned pees.  We ate those things all week long!

And who of us could forget the call from the bathroom to the one who was making a run to town for something (Probably more beer).  It is a call that compares in the north woods to that of a lonely loon.  You know that long sound one hears during the night from over a calm water surrounded by echo.  Plaintive, pleading as only an old horny bird can make, in the still of the night, when looking for his mate.  "Don't forget Feenamint!"

Paul, "Pauley", "Fuzz", DC or "Dumb Cop"

Not such a  dumb cop when he was working.  He became one of the three or four NJ State Policemen to become Captain.  But to us he will always affectionately be the "The Dumb Cop".  Paul lived across the street from "Boat Ride" in Bissel, NJ.  He has been part of the NJ crowd for years.  The town where they lived was nothing more than three roads coming together, but they were the prominent citizens.  Like the rest of us they were always sawing and cutting wood for wood stoves in the winter, growing vegetables in a garden, and raising animals which eventually made it to the freezers.  Real, gentrified, country folk.  I think he in fact, was the one to find one of the "Capes" wives in Abe's swimming pool naked with a local judge.  But we are not completely sure of all of those facts.

Paul's a big guy and in fact once at the lake picked me up in his arms and dumped me unceremoniously in the lake.  Ahhhh, the good old days and an abundance of beer and scotch.



Deal Pauley

Paul is at the end of the breakfast, lunch, dinner, and poker table.  He is probably the most avid poker enthusiast in the group.  No naps....."Let's just turn a few!"   I think that quote has been uttered a thousand time by him.  He caught on to fly fishing rather early after hanging out with Abe and I, and also took up golf.  In my opinion golf is down there, as a sport, right next to "Bait" fishing.  But we have three in the group who do it all the time and are fairly good.  This photo also reminds me that most of us smoked at one time or another.  This photo was taken back,,,I say back,,,,,when we were younger and thought we would live forever.  Today. the only ones who do smoke do so only on this trip.  I cannot understand that at all, having been a two pack a day guy myself long ago.  That is also not a milk carton on the table....probably Cheez-its or some other health food.

Paul is probably the one of the men most easily teased.  He takes it so well, but only up to a point.  Which is the point.  Caught one yet Pauley?  Here smell my hands.  This is what we're up here for.  Or perhaps it was the night at the card game when Paul so annoyed his host that Abe took Paul's watch and threw it against the wall.  Took a couple of days for everybody to get over that one.  But still remembered.

The one good thing about having him along on the trip was because he was a cop.  That meant we could drive at just about any speed we wished.  If stopped....."Paul get your badge out"!  One trip somewhere along the highway in Massachusetts, the gumball machine behind us went off and the trooper pulled us over.  His immediate commend to us, instead of license and registration please, was "You guys look like a bunch of cops going on a fishing trip".  Honestly, that was the opening line.  Paul flashed his badge and we sat and talked about the NJ State Police Picnic for fifteen minutes.  He never once commented about our speeding.  Good to know people in high places.

He also gave each one of us his business card.  Said to use it as a get out of jail free card if ever pulled over.  I tried it once in Maryland and the trooper asked me for my badge.  I told him to forget it as he probably never got the memo.  I guess he was too young to understand  reciprocity.

Pauley is probably one of the hardest workers when it came time for "Chores".  On certain years we had to do such things as a group as chop firewood, paint the porch, or build an outdoor shower.



DC is on the left with the St. Pauley Girl non-alcoholic beer.  Abe's too sons are center and rear center.  Green left middle and the Cape middle right.  I took the photo and Boat Ride is on the right with the evening or noon cocktail.  Not pertinent.  We are not a bad crew. Please notice the fact that the right wall of the newly constructed shower is parallel with the door.  This is an extremely modern convenience as proven by the hook upon which to hang one's underwear.  Perhaps a towel.

Dave, "Davey", or "Tumbler"

"Tumbler" lived in Hunterdon County NJ, and like most of us was a country gentleman.  He lived in a completely renovated old field stone barn, which was an incredible treat just to see.  He was a later addition to the crowd, but was one of the most creative people I have ever met.  His vocation was basically in New York, as was mine, which meant a two hour commute each way.  We lived at the end of the train line so it made no difference if we overslept going either way.  To this day I will never forget those old seats on the Erie Lackawana line with a bar car thick with smoke.  From the outside that car looked like it had window shades, so thick the smoke.  There was always a card game where hundreds of dollars changed hands each night.

Again nicknames stick.  This one came from a night of sipping wine.  Well, it's a little hard to justify sipping when one uses a tumbler to drink his wine.  Generally somebody has a little too much fun and earns some kind of recognition.  In this case the quote is "Hey Davey, want another tumbler?"  And of course the nickname.  It is all so much more descriptive than Dave.

This man in another of one of the most consumate fishermen in the group.  One year he tied his own flies because he felt that the comercial ones were too full or bushey.  Smelt are slim or svelt fish, not fat little chums.  Hence the tied an bunch of flies which we all used for a number of years and had amazing success.  



Please ignore the ant in the photo, but afterall I am a nature photographer.  The top fly is one of the five or so patterns Davey tied and we are still using some years later.  The bottom is the famed "Red Grey Ghost" pattern tied by Jim Warner of Wolfeboro, NH.  These Warner flies are classic and renouned all over New England.  Dave's flies, while not as well known, are certainly just as effective. 

Dave was also the owner of Miss Saigon, a Ducker boat he carried on the top of the car from Georgia to New Hampshire many years. 


This is a blog entry I wrote upon the listing of the boat for sale



.

Au revoir Miss Siagon!

As most of my more intelligent and informed readers are aware, I travel to New Hampshire each spring fishing with a bunch of cronies who have been doing this for to 42 years.

If your not aware of that or don't fit into one of the two categories above.....you need to follow me more closely!

My friend from Hilton Head has for years carried his boat from Hilton Head to Wolfeboro, NH (2131 miles) and used it as his personal fishing craft.



The images here show the last voyage, 2008, of "Miss Siagon".


She is an antique and for sale.

Here is the proof of the boat's effectiveness in a photo entitled "Rainbow over Miss Saigon"




You cannot pass on this investment opportunity! Well, you can but I can't keep my used car salesman attitude hidden for that long!

The Boat

1. 3136 Ducker’s were produced
2. Built from 1947-1969
3. This one is serial number D2427 was built in 1957
4. Ducker D2427 was built by the Alumacraft Corp. in Minneapolis, MN.

She is for sale and any offer over $4000 will greedily be accepted. You also have to pay shipping and of course I have other pertinent photos of said boat.  
She originally was built as a boat used to hunt waterfowl. Two hunters would venture forth in this thing and because of it's low profile was a pretty good hunting tool. Trust me....two people is crowded.  And.....the recoil from one shotgun alone would move the boat three feet on a calm day!

"Tumbler" and I have spent many a day on the water together either, just being quiet and absorbing the nature all around us, or discussing what's going on in the world in which we have absolutely no control.  Good company when I can get him off Miss Saigon.  He puts more hours in on the water than any of the rest of us and can catch fish.  Myself excluded.

One year, when fishing was great but catching slow, he decided that we needed to chum for salmon.  Now that is a salt water fishing trick used to lure predator fish to the boat.  One chops up smaller fish and throws the mess overboard to form a slick on the top of the water and chunks just under the surface.  All year long whenever he made tuna fish for salads or sandwiches, he saved the oil from the can.  He must have had a pint of the stuff.  They evidently ate a lot of tuna fish!  Now you know where I am going with this.  

Bear in mind that we "Purists" would never reduce ourselves to such a coarse attractor as "Chuming", but when nothing else works......well who knows.  He and I went out in the middle afternoon in "Putt" to do some serious fishing.  I don't think that we had caught as many as four legal size salmon all week, it was Friday, and a real morose attitude prevailed within the group.  So, we armed ourselves with ample snacks and drinks (this may have been the day he earned the Tumbler name), three flyrods and a spinning rod with (Gasp) metal. 

There is a narrow spot between Cow Island and the shore line where we have had a modicum of succcess in the past.  Place is called the "Barber's Pole", because the post used to mark the shoal is painted like a barber's pole.  I would guess the spot is somewhere around two or three hundred yards wide, a half mile long,  and offers depths from a few feet to around 30 or 40.  At any rate, the wind generally does not blow too hard in that cut, and a chum slick would stay put instead of blowing up on shore.  With all the lines out, Dave pulls out the magical elixir.  I could smell it from fifteen feet away.  Not good but we were alone and no one would no the difference unless I were to say something.  And you know I did. 

After a pint of the stuff was dumped on the water, we started to troll around it in reasonably consistent circles.  Now for you earstwhile salmon fishers, this is not the silver bullet.  We did catch a couple of fish just over the 16 inch legal length.  Unbelievable.  But the good part was when we once again met the rest at the cocktail table.  I of course had to tell the rest what he did and we spent an hour or two discussing the legalities of chumming up a landlocked salmon.  The end result was that neither fish counted in the pool which had, because of our lack of luck all week, had grown to substantial levels.  Too bad because I would have shared some of that cash.  We have a first, biggest, most pool each day for two dollars each.  Hence it is six bucks per man and one fish can be as much as thirty dollars per day to the catcher of same.

Skip, "Willy", myself

This is the tough one.  How does one write about oneself.  With humor? Autobiographically? With tongue in cheek?  In all seriousness?  In something akin to reverance?

Yes.

As I have stated here before, Abe and I go back to high school.  You know when the wagons were still crossing the country.  Or at least it seems.  We have hunted together.   Dated together.  Played pool together (his parents bought him a pool table).  And of course fished together.  Well live near enough that we could see each other weekly either in school or in young adulthood.  We both married girls named Sue.  He had two sons and I a daughter and son.  Grand children now.   He is still married but I messed it up and am divorced.  There were not too many years that I did not attend the trip to the Big Lake and when I did not, it was torture.

I am not really sure what the big draw or devotion to that place is for me.  I recall my current better half and I visited the lake in off the season and I very nearly quietly came to tears.  Why?  I am not sure, but it is the memory that place represents.   Not just the five days each year or the five very good friends that partake.  It basically has been a distinct part of my life for 42 years and represents where I have been in my journey and where I have not been.  Everything is connected it seems.  I recall having to take vacations just prior to making the annual pilgramage, just to keep the peace.  Planning what I would bring in the form of my assigned food chore.  In some weeks before the end of April each year, getting the fishing equipment ready.  This includes taking each of the tandem streamer flies out and passing them through steam from the tea kettle.  That steam sets up the feathers like new and they seem to last longer, look fresher, and stir the adrenlin.  My steam is this visit to New Hampshire each spring.

I am still astonished that after all these years all six of us are still alive.  When I was in my mid twenties or early thirties, and in my quiet times, all alone, I just hoped to live to the age of forty.  Now I want to live to a hundred so that I can act the way people think appropriate for an old man like me.  "Oh well, look at his age.  What do you expect".... age.  Only the good Lord knows how much I or the other  five have left, but I can say this.......life has been richer, more interesting, and a lot more fun with those guys and that trip. 



As I am generally behind the camera, this is one of the few images in my files in which I am a member.  From left to right......Tumbler, Boat Ride, the House Magpie, Willy, Willy the Cape, and Pauley.  The unholy six.  I repeat, now you know where they get all those stern portraits from at the "Cracker Barrell".


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Thursday, January 30, 2014

30 Jan 14

Chapter 7

BEGINNINGS


The first salmon fishing trip three of us took was one very cold experience if memory serves. The cast of characters were Dr.’s senior, junior, and I. We used fly rods with of floating, sinking, or lead core fly lines, long leaders of six pound weight, and tandem streamers to attract old Salmo. A fly line is about 90 feet long and we experts attach another 10 to 15 feet of light six pound monofilament in front of the fly. Then we sit, stand, and sometimes lie down in a boat and drag our irresistible creations from dawn to dusk. Of course as we got older the mid-day obligatory nap shortened our man hours each day. As the years past however, no one on the lake spent more man hours per fish than we, when we were there.

I was probably one of the last of the three to land one of these northern fish, but I will never forget my first strike and the immediate “Oh Shit”, as the fish dropped the fly and returned to the depths. It was as if something wanted to take the rod out of my hands in a micro second of rod bending, splash, and epic jump. The involuntary verbal reaction has stood the test of time and is uttered repeatedly trip after trip……time and time again. It simply means a fish has been lost and not caught. And our frustration is voiced in that coarse expletive. It’s strange, it’s automatic, it’s well…….it’s just Oh Shit! The salmon, I am sure, has a different reaction to that moment. Of course they have a brain the size of a well used pencil eraser and their reaction is all reflex and probably not thought out. At that point our massive brains seem to approach size of the other end of the pencil and we react out of reflex as well.

Other terms which were initiated on these trips and carried on through the years were such utterances as “Boat Goat”, “Goat”, “Boat Ride Bell”, and the latest term, christened in 2009, was the “House Magpie”. It always seemed that each year a story, or mostly a joke, was shortened to a word or two, and repeated all week long at appropriate times accompanied with nonsensical laughter. Other comments as “Baseball been bery, bery good to me”, referring to a type of poker game that “Boat Ride Bell” coined. It reminds me of the old story about the jokes which were reduced to simple numbers by a group of old men who repeated them to each other so often that all they had to do was to say Number 3 or number 4.  They would all would be reduced to hysterics each time. When a newcomer to the group tried it, nobody even cracked a smile. Perplexed, he asked why?  And he was told that he evidently he “Just couldn’t tell a good joke”!  Well, that’s us!

Those first years were marked with the presence of Dr. Frank, Sr. and his long line, spinning rod. He figured, and perhaps rightly so, that the further behind the boat his presentation; the less disturbed the fish would be, and the more 
likely he would be to catch one. Of course we purist experts scolded him about his aversion to the amateur behavior with a “Spinning Rod” and not a fly rod. He never relented. He caught a few like that, but we teased him unmercifully about the long line. Comparing his technique to that of the tuna trawlers found on the high seas of the north Atlantic. Some years later I personally proved the long line technique to be no better than just a few feet behind the boat.


There were a number of fond memories of the good doctor, his card playing, the cocktails, and how he fit right into our “Younger” crowd. One trip up from New Jersey, he was driving and we thought that we would be found dead in the back seat of his big Lincoln Towne Car. He managed to pass a New Hampshire native who was just doing the speed limit and not harming anyone. Solid yellow line and Doc passes the fellow, deep on a curving road, in a fairly secluded pine woods. He has long since past, but also still has not lived down that bit of NASCAR trickery.

There were also mornings, and evenings for that matter, when the water on the guides of the fishing rods would freeze solid. The rods would have to be banged against the boat to break the ice free. Thank God for all the adult anti-freeze we had on hand. We were still cold, but didn’t notice it as much.

Over the years, there have been trips where chain saws, hammers and saws, and paint brushes were amongst the fishing gear. At times even golf clubs were thrown into the back of a Suburban, pick up or SUV. The amount of fishing gear became less in volume as the years progressed. After all when you are young, there’s no telling just what lure, line, or fishing rod you might need. In fact in the last year, I dragged around one fly for all five days. But those early years with Abe’s father were special. After he retired to Florida, he would be the first to call on the evening of the first day of our trips. Always anxious to find out how we did and who was winning at the poker table. He was a nice man who left a lot of fond memories and not just for his immediate 
family, but his extended family as well.

That extended family has evolved into six people who can abide each other’s company for more than three days.....only once a year. They are Abe, 
John, myself, Paul, Bill and Dave was awol. These may be the men who are the history makers, but we sure as hell are not photogenic.   Now I understand where they get those pictures of old people in the antiques frames that hang in all the "Cracker Barrel" restaurants.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

28 Jan 14

Chapter 6

Isectacio Salmo Salar Sabago


The real adventure began after we were all out of college and working at our chosen professions.  The period between High School and the first salmon trip to New Hampshire was a busy time.  College was begun and finished, marriages happened, careers were launched, children were born, and new groups of friends established.  Fishing more than an hour away from home was moved down the list of important things to do.  It took eleven years, but that itch to roam is sort of like a bad rash the keeps coming and going.  It’s always there, just takes a trigger to get it going again.

It was somewhere around late April 1969 when Abe, Abe’s father, and I went to the lake to fish for salmon for the first time.

That is "Isectacio Salmo Salar Sabago", or "In search of landlocked salmon".  Prior to this we had only heard heard about salmon in the big lake.

Landlocks are the same fish as the Atlantic salmon; however they live in a closed environments such as a lake. They also do not run to the sea and then return to the rivers of their birth to spawn as do their Atlantic brethren. As a consequence most all of the fish in Lake Winnipesauke are annually stocked by the state.  The mature fish are netted in the fall, the normal breeding time for these critters.  They are stripped of their eggs and milt which are then taken to hatcheries to grow and thrive in order to provide for future generations.

The first salmon taken at the Bell Camp was not by one of our merry band of expert anglers, but the wife of our perennial host.  Both Abe and I married girls named Sue.  And it was always told to me that his wife, Sue, caught the first salmon at the camp in bright sunshine off the dock on a spoon called a “Daredevil”.  However, the log for that day, also reports Abe as having caught a Salmon off the summer house that day as well.  The summer house is actually a gazebo perched on the rocky shore line on a small point of land about 40 feet from the main house.  The dock is directly behind and to the right of the summer house as we look from the water.  When we fish, the boats all leave the dock and we race to see who can get a line in the water first.  Many is the trip that the first fish caught was only fifty yards away from the dock.



This is the spot at which he caught his first fish.  For years neighborly fisherman say that they would laugh at us as we leave the dock on our daily forays.  Many would wait until we have left and then fish just about where this photo was taken.   It is a favored spot amongst the local anglers who know the water.  However, I contend that after forty years there is know one who knows these immediate waters better than we “The Expert Anglers”.

More pages from the log will show up here as I progress, but this is the one for June 21 and 22 of 1964. The fishing logs are incomplete, and our neglect at keeping an accurate record has plagued us over the years. I will endeavor to reconstruct as best as aging memory can serve.



The best time for fly fishermen, in our opinion, is immediately after the winter ice has finally melted for the season.  This usually happens in late April or early May, but can be as early as March such as this year of 2010.  The theory, and we have proven this to be an angler’s fact, is that the salmon (preferring mid fifty degree water) and lake trout (also preferring fifty degrees) stay within the layer of water that offers the most optimum temperature for their species.  It is sort of like we old folks moving to Florida when our blood circulation gets so bad that we need warm weather all year round.

The fish follow the temperature of the water up and down depending upon the season, sunlight, ambient temperature, and general weather conditions.  Believe me; we have argued these factors like old dogs chewing on a bone that no longer gives sustenance or taste.  At any rate when the water warms up in the late spring and summer, the fish will go deeper seeking that temperature they prefer.  There is a brief time in the fall and early winter when the water temperature at the surface cools sufficiently. Then they will feed on the surface again, but generally only in the early mornings or late afternoons.  Once the water freezes the upper layers of course cool, and the fish will sink again following the preferred levels.  Finally, in the spring lake ice begins to melt and form a honey comb. Those small open areas within the honey comb fill with water, thus making it heavier than the supporting water and it sinks.  All at once.  The sinking ice forces the warmer waters at lower levels to rise and the fish follow to the surface once again.  That is the time we want to be on the lake, early spring right after ice out.  Dragging (called trolling by we experts) long fly lines with long leaders of wispy monofilament, and flies designed to represent the smaller forage fish.

Therefore, the time they caught these fish and reported to the log is all wrong.  It was June (too late according to we experts), the wrong time of day (you play cards and nap in the middle of the day), and a bright sunny day to boot.  We want overcast, fog, rain, freezing rain, or snow to complete the ideal situation.  And maybe a slight breeze so that the fish don’t clearly see that which is just below the surface.  Furthermore, the lure was made of metal and not feathers and shinny beads and therefore did not count in the daily pool.  

But these were the seeds of a forty plus year odyssey.