A Bad Day of Fishing or I Don't Know About the Bear, But I Did!

I can’t recall the last time I experienced a bad day of fishing until yesterday -- 10/26/2011. The road along the Ken Lockwood Gorge was closed at both Califon and High Bridge, so I parked at the Califon entrance and walked into the gorge. It was not an easy walk. Hurricane Irene washed away large portions of the gravel-packed road leaving large, loose, uneven rocks and boulders to scramble over. I managed the hike in well enough, but about a mile or so into the gorge, nature called, or I should say, she wailed like a wild banshee, leaving me no other option but to do what a bear does . . . in the woods. All I can say is that I couldn’t peel myself out of those chest-high neoprene waders fast enough and dried leaves make an extremely poor substitute for Charmin!

After regaining what little semblance of composure I had left, I somehow managed to execute the mother of all wind knots with an errant cast. After what seemed to be a half hour of trying to untangle a barely visible, but growing birds nest of leader material, I came to the stark realization that I now need something more powerful than prescription glasses as the ol' eyesight ain't what she used to be. After giving in to my newly apparent limitations of old age, I scrapped the birds nest, tied on a new leader and got down to some serious fishing. The only problem was that the fish refused to cooperate – not even a missed strike. I fished every accessible run and pool I came to for nearly two hours. Nothing. Nada. It’s been very long time since I walked away from this river fishless, but today was one of those days.

The hike back to the car seemed much longer and more difficult than the hike in. Along the way, I gazed down at the river and saw my own mortality glaring back at me! As I admired the river's power and reminisced about the times I had fished this run or that pool, I began wondering how in the hell did I ever get down there and into some of those places. Then came another epiphany -- my strength and balance are no longer what they used to be, and it was highly unlikely I would ever fish some of those areas of the river again.

Needless to say, it was a melancholy drive home. I happened to look down at my sunglasses hanging at chest level to see, much to my dismay, the lenses covered in blood – the result of a profuse, but until then, undetected nosebleed. With no tissues at hand, I had to use my t-shirt to stop the bleeding. Insult upon injury!

Fortunately, I was able to slip into the house unnoticed. A long, hot shower washed away my dire state of mind and the washing machine washed away my other transgressions. I couldn’t help to think that this was one of those extremely rare days that debunks the old adage, “A bad day of fishing is better than a good day of work.” With winter right around the corner and the number of fishable days is rapidly waning, I adamantly refuse to end the season on such a bad note. So, look out trout; this portly, half-blind old man is coming back at you real soon!!!

A Great Canada Vacation

Here it is Friday, and I’m still basking in the afterglow of last week’s vacation at Canonto Lodge near Calabogie, Ontario with my twin 15-year old sons, Ryan and Grant, and long-time friend, George G. What a great trip! The accommodations, the camaraderie, the fishing, the weather -- all were top-notch!!! I first visited Canonto Lodge in 1971 with my father and have fished Norcan Lake with friends numerous times since, but have not been back to the lake since 1987. So much has changed since then. No more spider-laden, foul-smelling outhouses or teeth-clattering baths in the lake. Gone are the days of trying to tune in a faint AM radio station for entertainment. Now there’s electricity, hot & cold running water, washer & dryer, satellite TV, even wi-fi internet access! Now that the road has been paved all the way to hydro dam (shaving off nearly half an hour between the lodge and Calabogie), we can even get pizza delivered! I was concerned that all these "technological" improvements would spoil the experience, but I'm very happy to report that the “magic” of the Near North woods that I experienced there as a teen back in 1971 is still alive and well today. We saw a bald eagle, numerous loons, great blue herons, red-breasted mergansers, wild turkey, beaver, and even witnessed an impressive meteor shower late one evening. This is the first time I recall the present ever surpassing the fond memories of yesteryear. The fishing seemed so much better, the people so much nicer, the environs much more beautiful than I remembered. Maybe I’ve just matured and have grown to appreciate the “little things” more. Maybe I feel this way because my sons were with me and I wanted to share the "magic" with them. Whatever the reason, I’m glad to have been able to share that wonderful week with them and am looking forward to next year. Some more photos

Another Magical Night of Music

My wife, Arleen, and I were treated to yet another magical night of music at Princeton's McCarter Theatre on April 13th with Rosanne Cash and Mark O'Connor providing the superb entertainment. Mark opened the evening with a four-movement work he created to honor Johnny Cash’s life, music, and memory, which he played with Arash Amini on cello and Melissa Marse on piano. Unaware of O'Connor's classical proclivities (I only knew him as a country fiddler extraordinaire), I was caught a bit off-guard. After exchanging a few puzzled looks with Arleen, Mark's classical-meets-country tribute to The Gentleman in Black came to life in front of us. Never have I seen anyone play the violin/fiddle with such dazzling virtuosity, and I don't expect to ever see anyone ever play better again. I recall asking myself several times, "How does he do that?" Arleen and I have been long-time Rosanne Cash fans, but lost sight of her music and career over the past decade or so. (Raising three sons will do that to you.) After a brief intermission, redheaded Rosanne opened with several excellent songs from her latest Grammy-nominated recording, Black Cadillac. She also played a few songs from her earlier recordings -- Rules of Travel and Interiors, but what really caught our ear were two songs from an album she's currently recording that she called The List Project. She explained that when she was a teenager, her father wanted her to have a deeper appreciation of country music, so after considerable thought, he made her a list of 100 essential country songs to learn. If those two songs are any indication, this will be a must-have recording for anyone who appreciates real country music. I've always marveled at Rosanne’s honest and deeply emotional songwriting, but tonight was different -- I was distracted. Our seats where in the second row directly in front of guitarist (and Rosanne's husband) John Leventhal. What a guitar player! I couldn’t take my eyes or ears off of his subtle, nuanced, but dead-on fretwork the entire night. It was an extremely enjoyable evening, and one that I feel blessed to have shared with my wonderful wife. I’m happy to report that Johnny’s legacy lives on . . .

Kris Kristofferson at McCarter Theatre

I'm sitting here in a darkened basement on a quiet Sunday evening listening to "The Early Recordings of Lefty Frizzell" on the turntable -- my musical mojo still a buzz from the great performance witnessed last Friday night -- Kris Kristofferson at McCarter Theatre in nearby Princeton. Arleen and I have never seen Kris perform live before, so we weren't entirely sure what to expect. Before the show I could only remember a few of his songs -- Me and Bobby McGee, Sunday Morning Coming Down, and Help Me Make it Through the Night. After the show, I was astonished by how many great songs I had just heard -- They Killed Him, Don't Let the Bastards Get You Down, Shipwrecked in the Eighties, Nobody Wins, Best of All Possible Worlds, and Johnny Lobo to name but just a few. What a prolific, poignant and profound songwriter!
Upon seeing a lanky 72 year-old Kris standing all alone, squinty-eyed and gray on that big McCarter stage in front of a sold-out audience of 1,100 with just his guitar, a few harmonicas and a bottle of orange Gatorade on the small table next to him, I couldn't help but feel how brave, vulnerable, and human he must feel. He may have forgotten a word or two, struggled with a guitar string here and there, but no one minded because he deftly plucked everyone's emotional heart strings with that unmistakable voice, thought-provoking lyrics, and warm and confident spirit. Tears streamed uncontrollably down my cheeks during several songs. It's not easy to explain why words sometimes have such a powerful effect. I suppose it's what separates the good songwriters from the great ones, and there's no denying that we just saw one of the great ones.

Some Thoughts on Reverend Lowery's Inaugural Benediction

Am I the only person that did not fully embrace the humor at the ending of Reverend Joseph Lowery's inaugural benediction?

" ... we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back . . . when brown can stick around . . . when yellow will be mellow . . . when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right. Let all those who do justice and love mercy say amen. Say amen. And amen."

While I can appreciate the racial progress the election of President Barack Obama signifies, I also understand that there is still work to be done. That said, the phrase that specifically irked me was "when white embraces what is right." There are those that would like to perpetuate the fallacy that whites corner the market on racism. My 50+ years of experience have taught me that is just not the case. There are blacks that discriminate against other blacks based upon the darkness/lightness of their skin. There are hispanics that discriminate against other hispanics based upon their country of origin.; e.g., Cuban, Puerto Rican, Mexican. There are Asians that turn their backs on other Asians of "mixed race."

While Reverend Lowry's "rhyme" may have been appropriate in the 1960's, I'd like to think that in 2009, this phrase could be replaced with, "We ALL need to embrace what is right -- black, brown, yellow, red, and white."

The Best Gift I Ever Received

When my parents retired back to Florida in 1980, they essentially retired into near poverty. At the time, I was oblivious to that fact. My parents were too proud to ever ask me for anything, and even though I was in my early 30’s, I was too ignorant/self-centered/worried about my own lot in life to see the predicament they were in. It finally hit me after receiving a Christmas gift from them one year. Their gift was a pair of poorly-carved soapstone manatees which couldn’t have cost more than $10. I was puzzled and even a bit disappointed at first, then realized, as the tears welled up in my eyes, that this was the best gift I could ever receive . . . their love. I still have those soapstone manatees, and recently told my sons this story. One of my boys proudly display these "priceless" manatees in his room.

Looking Like a Republican

While on vacation in Alaska back in August 2005, a few friends and I stumbled out of Seward's Yukon Bar only to stumble into Senators Hillary Clinton and John McCain strolling down 4th Avenue, purportedly in the area for a global warming conference. Little did we know that one camera click later, we had ourselves a photo with possibly the next President of the United States.

A few weekends ago, a relatively new friend of mine, in a totally non-demeaning way, told me that I looked like a Republican. I was absolutely stunned, not so much by her seemingly keen perception (my political views do tend to be slightly right of center), but because I try to avoid all political discussions as fervently as a visit to the proctologist. My friend's revelation got me to thinking -- “How does one look like a Republican, or a Democrat, or any other political persuasion for that matter?”

Maybe she was guilty of a little innocent political profiling. After all, I suppose I match the stereotypical Republican demographic – married, middle-aged, male, with short hair (okay, bald) and a white-collar job. I guess someone could mistake me for a Limbaugh Head on that alone, but I suspect there is more to it than just appearance alone. Living in a blue state, I know plenty of married, middle-aged males with white-collar jobs that are Democrats -- some I consider very good friends.

Perhaps when recounting the Clinton/McCain meeting to my friend back in 2005, I (uncharacteristically) mentioned that I was not a big Hillary fan. She may have surmised that I couldn’t possibly be a liberal if I didn’t like Hillary. However, based upon the current presidential primaries, there appear to be a good number of liberals that do not care for Mrs. Clinton either.

My friend also knows that I served three years in the U.S. Army back in the mid 70’s. Heck, I actually enlisted right after the draft ended, not exactly the behavior one would attribute to a devout left-winged liberal. I suspect that most of the people who enlisted back then or now did/do so for reasons other than political affiliation. Come to think of it, how many of us had any meaningful political leanings when we were 18 years old?

Then again, maybe my love of fly fishing gave me away. Some people see fly fishing as an elitist sport for doctor- and lawyer- types who wade around in outrageously expensive outfits casting about even more outrageously expensive bamboo fly rods while pontificating about the banality of bait fishing and the finer points of investing in REITs and REOCs – clearly a GOP past-time. Yet, Jimmy Carter comes to mind as the last presidential fly fisherman I can recall.

Perhaps my friend is clairvoyant. After all, she is quite the talented singer/songwriter. Or possibly, she just unwittingly struck a dissonant chord in my psyche. I am very uncomfortable being labeled a Republican or a Democrat for that matter. Neither party projects a positive image these days. I am not a fence-sitter though. If you force me to make a choice, I'll stand on the right side of the fence, a fact that begets neither pride nor shame for me as both feelings tend to cancel each other out. To be honest, I’m not all that comfortable with the analogy of sides of a fence. What fence? Like it or not, we’re all still in this beautiful primordial soup together.

For the record, I joined the Army right out of high school because I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and didn’t want to stick my parents with college tuition bills. I had to look up what REIT and REOC stood for (some kind of real estate investment mumbo-jumbo), and I don’t look down upon bait fishermen; although I do encourage the use of circle hooks when bait fishing whenever possible -- lower fish mortality. I know, not very Republican of me, is it?