4 11 13

AN EPIC DAY

Thank you Ms. Jeanne 73 years ago!

+

 

Bill or Willy the Cape
Happy 80th Birthday Bill!

 

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 were consumed by the group.

 

 

Bill displays his professional expertise.



 

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--- Bill what is this ....?  Insert a 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 Tunnel! 

 

One year everyone brought canned peas for their vegetable.  We ate those damn things all week long and to this day most won't touch another one.

 

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!"

 

More coming.



 

 

4 10 13

Advantages

 

 

To simply being there!

 

This image from the northern part of the Big Lake in NH captured this morning on a Web Cam.  Ice not out yet but it can't be long.  It's forty two degrees up there and obviously the air is warmer than the remaining ice.  Makes a nice photo, but the advantage is in being there to catch the magic moment.

 

Just for continuity, here's the shot from Rattlesnake Island we have been watching.  Won't be long!

 

 

THE PLAYERS

Time has shown that there are basically five of my friends who comprise the 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.

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.  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 which still had 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 whetted 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 didn't 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.  Either way, you got ragged.  I think you will discover that there is no such thing as winning 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 with regard to 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 "Repala".

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 "Repala".  A "Repala"!  A Repala 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.

 

More to follow!  I mean ice isn't out yet!
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4 9 13

Forty degrees and a cold rain up there.  Ice still in!  Just a nasty day in Shangra La North! Twas eighty here yesterday.  Yep, right decision to go south to live and just visit to the north.

 

Bucket List = win lottery.

Buy houses at different latitudes depending upon the temperatures and fishing possibilities. Side trips to photograph enough to create expenses for the IRS.  Sell photos.  Back when I was doing shows, people would always ask..."How do you become a renowned photographer"  Answer.  Spend $30,000 on the best equipment and another $200,000 a year to travel to spots to catch the two golden hours a day.  So two hours a day, 365 days a year, equals 730 hours into $240,000 gives you an hourly cost of $329.  Now go forth and sell more than that each hour and it will work.  Like I said...."Lottery"!

You single ladies, particular mothers..........I have no clue how you do it all.  God Bless ya!  Take yesterday for instance.  Up at 7:30 AM.  Did the vacuum thing in the house.  Three loads of laundry including the ironing. Ironed and put a ruffle (?) on the guest room bed and remade it.  Made two gallons of laundry detergent (Yeah and it works and costs less that ten cents a gallon email me for the recipe).  Filled the bird feeders.  Washed dishes twice.  Cooked and ate two meals.  Fed the dogs twice and cleaned the birds cage.  Created a few new photos that I am not sure about.  AND, ran a business!  Finally got to sleep around midnight.  And...........here we go again!

 

Any questions why I would want to stand with those guys in Wolfeboro, NH on a rainy, foggy and cold day to just fish!  Or freezing my potatoes off  in "Putt" the tin boat looking for the next seafood dinner?

 

 

Nah!

4 8 13

Sixty degrees through Wednesday on the big lake, currently 45 and the water temp is 39 degrees.  Can't be long before Ice Out. 

 

Told ya!  Like watching moss grow on a tree!

 

 

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 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 joke”!  Well, that’s us!

Those first years were marked with the presence of Dr. Frank, Sr. and his long line, spinning road. 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. 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 sometimes more people who can abide each other’s company for more than three days.....only once a year. They are top row Abe, Bill, myself, Glenn.  On the bottom John,  Dave and Paul. 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.

 

All those years.  All those jokes.  Just to search for and catch a salmon like the one above.  Nothing else counted!  They had to be caught in the proper sporting manner and treated with well deserved respect.  Them's the rules Jack!

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOT YET

 

 

Still on Ice Out Watch....just for fun.  Told you the blog would be like watching ice melt, grass grow, yada yada yada!

 

Here's a live cam of Mt. Washington, just to peak your interest.  Actually a pretty clear image of the top of the mountain which is rare.

 

 

I think that I prefer right her, South of the Sun, where it's going to push 75 today.

 

Yesterday we went to a Scottish festival here in town.  A lot of cool stuff going on there and you will definitely see more about it on the blog and the website.  Just to mention a couple of the things which held our childish attention. 

 

First, since we own Missy our border collie mix dog, we watched the sheep dog herding ..... twice!

 

 

Of course had that dog been ours...those sheep would by now be approaching Jacksonville.  Missy has no discipline. 

 

 They also had a fellow who was showing raptors and flying some of them.  The highlight of that show was a Harris Hawk which just couldn't figure out all those nice high things to land on.  The top of the bordering pine trees, the carnival rides, and finally the top of pole in the Caber Toss.  Drove the handler nuts.  This image borrowed from the Internet.

 

We weren't close enough to that event to get a photo, but the above image shows a guy with a what I can only explain is a telephone pole in his hands which he hopes to toss some distance.  Well, as the man was preparing to throw the thing, the hawk decided to perch atop the pole for a look see around.  Put the brakes on the ole Caber Toss for a bit.  There was also an antique auto show going on and you will definitely see more about that is the days, weeks, months ahead.  See what you have to look forward to?

 

 

 

 

 

 

4 6 13

ICE OUT?  Not yet!

 

It's early for Ice Out on Lake Winnepasaukee in NH, but it looks like it's coming.  In the forties and fifties the next few days and it's early for such a thing to happen.  More normal is latter part of April, so we might be just about on time or a week early.  The blog will be like watching paint dry in the next few days as I will post the progress.  God, I need life!  This live cam image is from Rattlesnake Island directly across from Wolfeboro bay and looking north east.  The fishing really doesn't start till all the ice sinks.  Yep, it sinks.  Melting ice forms a lot of little holes, which then fill with water making the ice heavier than the water and thus it sinks.  Pushes the warm water from down deep up to the surface along with the bait fish (smelt) and predator fish such as trout and salmon.  That's when one wants to fish for them.  Right on the surface of the water....great sport!

Rattlesnake Island

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 bucket 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.  Something in later years we would call Shingles!  It’s always there, just takes a trigger to get it going.

It was somewhere around late April 1969 when America's host Abe, his father, and I went to the lake to fish for salmon for the first time.  As I recall, it was cold.  I hooked one fish in five days, watched him jump once and lost him.

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

Landlocks are the same fish as the Atlantic salmon; however they live in a closed environments like 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 America's 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 and this gazebo.

 

 

 

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 degrees) and lake trout (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.  I never could understand my mother wearing sweaters in 80 degree weather.  Now I do!

 

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 mono filament, 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. 

 

 

Goat of the day has to kiss the large fish of the day!

 

These were the seeds of a forty plus year odyssey.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4 5 13

We got a bunch of rain here yesterday and it was a chilly rain.  You know the kind that makes you want to do nothing but chill with a good book and a fire in the place.  Heard from our New Hampshire host of those 40+ years and even in Savannah he's bored.  Hey Jack everbody needs a down day once in a while. 

Thirty two degrees on the big lake this morning and it looks like the opening day of fishing season was pretty much of a bust as the fishermen haven't been back since.  They need the ice to melt and get a temperature inversion in the water bringing all the fish up from the deep water to the surface.  Maybe three weeks.

THE BIG LAKE AND CAMP 1958

Lake Winnipesauskee is in the center of the state of New Hampshire and is a glacial lake that is 182 miles around , 72 square miles in area, and with  253 islands.  It is just the type of place for two budding anglers to explore.  And explore we did!

There was and still is a 14 foot tin boat which was our craft of choice, not because there was a choice at that time, but because in 1958 it was our only boat.  It might have had a small outboard motor, but I know it did have two oars.  Over the years, this boat has been affectionately named “Putt” for the sound it makes when running.  Or, perhaps  suggesting that it is the little boat that could!  And it did/does.  I believe more fish have been caught from this little vessel than the totality of the tuna boats in all of the Atlantic and a good number in the Pacific.  Well, that is probably a fisherman's exaggeration.  But I have consistently out fished everyone in the group in this old boat.

 

 

The Bell Camp consists of a main cottage, a maid’s cottage, and a guest cottage all on about 100 acres of big woods.  There is also enough waterfront to make most Realtors salivate. The main cottage consists of a kitchen, one bath, a screened in porch, living room, and three bedrooms all with no insulation.  The fireplace is a primary source of heat with some small electric baseboard heaters for really cold nights.

 

 

There is of course the obligatory boat dock and a small rocky beach.  The rest is pine woods, owls, deer, red squirrels, chipmunks, ducks, and loons.  I suppose there have also been the occasional bear and moose wander by.  The road into the camp is of course dirt, and needs to be managed every year as runoff turns it into a roaring stream as soon as snow is out.  The “Drive” in is about a mile from a main road.

 

 

Ice out on the lake is an entirely different matter.  Guesses and pools amongst the locals all around the lake are taken, and the winner actually guesses ice out not within days, but hours and minutes.

Over the years, there have been subsequent 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 fishing gear itself reduced itself 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.  We have had to refill the wood shed on a number of trips and felled dead pines to replenish it.  Yes, we burnt white pine exclusively and almost steadily for the usual five days we were present.  And yes, it became a problem one year but I get ahead of myself.

I recall that first year of introduction.  Small mouth bass, perch, and a few pickerel were the staple of the finny creatures to fall to our offerings.  There was a place called by the family as “The Spot” which was about 150 yards off shore of the property.  None of the locals knew where it was, but some could be found watching Abe’s grandmother with binoculars, row out in “Putt”, and then catch bass one after another.  The spot today is marked by GPS, but still produces good catches. 

On our excursion, we fished the spot a number of times with success using night crawlers and helgrimites.  I lost a “Large” fish at the black buoy across from the house and to this day I am sure it was a salmon, although the time of year was way wrong.  And we had no idea they even existed in the lake.  It struck, ran out about seventy yards of line and broke the lure off, all in the wink of an eye.  We found a small cove that had a few pickerel, and spent hours catching and re-catching them.  They were not kept because of their bony nature on the dinner plate.  And this was my introduction to the big lake in 1958.