Giant Bugle-mouthed Salmon Caught

It was one of those special early autumn days when a person needs to go to water. A light breeze out of the south-west, not prohibitive to an angler, a gentle nuisance maybe, kissed across Little Green Lake. An algae bloom had taken the lake with a vengeance so the water visibility was no more than a foot, and likely not that. While the air was fresh, the algae still alive and prolific, was still enjoying its own day in the sun. The cloudiness of water kept the game fish, as near as we could tell, tucked away in the depth waiting out the  miserable .turbidity.

The fish simply could not see our lures no matter how well they were presented. Jeff thought by making a great din of surface noise, he might attract a fat bass but while his lure rocketed through the soup like a torpedo from a U Boat, not a single fish of prey took a moments notice. Dennis chucked a an array of plastics, including the always popular Wonder Worm, but in a moment of honestness admitted he only had one strike that I suspect, in my always suspicious way, was a submerged log put there to encourage naive fisherman. It was a sad day.

In an act of desperation, I decided to put on a rather large spoon, a bait that a self-proclaimed sophisticated fly-fisherman like me commonly views in disdain. It was attached to my bait caster with the 25 pound test line in an anticipation of catching the one musky in the large, but pea-soupy, but still pleasant lake. Knowing Big Green Lake has Lake Trout, I pondered with my always active imagination, wondering if just maybe there were Lakers here. I casually chucked the quarter pound glimmering chunk of metal outward in all directions but soon became distraught as Ann payed me no attention----- I was fishless and thought inept.

All that could be done was to head to the dock some half mile off, all the while trolling my flashy deep-diving spoon. I leisurely fiddle-farted around taking in the bird life and marveling at the aesthetic vistas, but also day dreaming of the glory days catching Dolly Vardens in the deep arctic.

Then it happened! A strike of unimaginable proportions, a strike not unlike a Blue Marlin, a strike that instantly placed me, the gallant fisherman, into the realm of The Old Man and the Sea.  Mostly Ann would have said, "Ya, old man for sure, but the sea?" The rod was nearly ripped from my hands as the monstrous fish ran the line almost to the point of smoking the reel. I held as Ann claimed I had just hooked one of those logs. "No, no," I screamed. "This is a fish, Look at it driving the line, It thrashing and diving. This thing is for real". "It is a Snapping turtle she said. "No, no. This thing is a fish. Has to be a Musky or a huge Northern. What else would take a big obnoxious spoon?" I was beside myself and wanted so badly to see the mighty white whale, I was searching for an appropriate metaphor, grabbing another harpoon, yelling at the crew. "Hold fast you louts!" My first mate only grabbed the camera thinking she wanted to see the log I was about to boat. Finally, n a brief moment of comprehension she too realized this was the big one. "He's running under the boat. Cast the line over. Your pole is going to break. Give him line." she barked from the fore deck.

The fight was on. I looked for sharks not wanting to suffer the fate of the Old Man in the Cuban sea. I didn't want to just be left with the bloodied head of a prize. Finally, Ann was totally convinced as a huge froth of water erupted 15 feet off. The swirl moved the water like the outlet of the Wisconsin River power plant  dam. Then the tail broke the surface, the six inch across tail, the red colored tail of a Musky. This was the real deal, the prize, a massive fish, a once-in-a-life time monster. It ran the the reel numerous times some times pulling 150 feet of line. It could almost not be stopped for the shear power of the beast. On surfacing the next time I could see the fish was foul hooked in the tail of all places. That is when it rolled over and there it was the full view, the massive full view of the single biggest fish I have ever caught. The scales where the size of a fifty cents piece and the fish was a rich golden color.

I was a giant Bugle-Mouthed Salmon the like of which I have never seen. a near record breaker. In a moment I got out the never-before-used net and as I brought the fish alone side after the 20 minute fight it was netted. It had a mouth big enough to swallow a baseball and glistened in the evening sun radiating the vicious monster it was. As the other fishermen approached in disbelief (I had told them it was a forty pound Musky) I slowly hoisted the brute aloft wanting to gloat for I knew they were indeed fishless.  Ann snapped a few shots of me all full of myself. Seeing the fish was not half eaten by sharks, would not show well mounted, and certainly from my own experience, not taste well---even if Antony Bordaine would have tried.  it was returned to the sea.

In an after thought, Ann made note of a film she had seen called the Sent of a Women, then made comment on how I was now covered with the sent of a Carp. It appeared this was not going to play well for any of my future plans for romance. Ya, did I care? 30-40 pounds of Salmon and now I was a real man.

The Pope--What do we have Here

Every now and then somebody comes along that really gets my attention, not often, but here and there. He or she doesn't have to be a politician, and usually is not a religious person of the traditional bend, but this individual is possibly going to make a difference.

He even has the politicians, and maybe even Bill OReilly, thinking twice about some of the stupid positions they are taking---probably not. Was in Santorum who told the Pope to stick to religion and let the scientist do the science stiff? Turns out the Pope has a masters in engineering or something.while Ric S has a hold of a degree in stupidity.  In any case, it is good news the Pope is setting aside the nonsense about gays, about the churches unpleasant history of pillage, and most importantly taking potshots at unfettered capitalism. He thinks the average man is IMPORTANT. Imagine that. He thinks every individual deserves a chance and that the wealthy should not control every aspect of life on earth---even if the Catholic church has an unpleasant history of doing just that.

I think he is, like, so over the above approach and has even said there are many acceptable religions, and agnostic and atheists are just alright. The environment is part of God's creation and needs to be protected from the wrath of man---cool. None of the greed is good bullshit. 

Now if we can get by this one, which will be difficult because some folks still have the 13th century attitude that some infidels still need to be killed off. Oh shit. 

However, I still have one bone to pick and that is I would like to see the following go away and the fact that this shot was taken in Manila where the Catholic church still has its greatest sway gives me pause, It may be a ways off before he begins to talk about birth control and excessive population issues. Oh well!

Sustainable Options---Revolution Watch

While I really have little faith in Amurikn's ability to scale down to a sustainable living style, I occasionally run into concepts, or creations that seem to have value. For instance, the idea of not being able to go to a lake and take out my boat for an evening of fishing, or just paddling is discomforting. When I am told that the use of gasoline may one day be restricted due to cost or shortages, I find my casting arm twitching in frustration and almost anger. I mean, do they think that I will have to, like, walk or peddle my bike with the float tube in my cart? (which I did a few years ago)

Walking is becoming tiresome and not really possible because the doctors told me my ankles were "worn" out from too much "play" as a youth. Riding the bike is now frightening, at least until I get a  tricycle of some expense.  I was scolded by some friends, after being clocked at 38 miles per hour last year, that this was not wise and bordered on stupidity----imagine that?. That was an ah-ha moment in view of the fact that a good friend hit the Schwan's truck last year and broke his neck. While I know the coppers wanted to ticket him, the cyclist, for speeding, it was still a wake up call. It looks like the bike is now out as I am scared and close to 72.

Then it happened. A photo arrived from a friend cleanly demonstrating that there was an option. All I needed was a horse and buggy and  tailor. With this rig I would be back in the game in no time. I have a small shed in the back that may have, at one time, been a barn for a horse, so all I would need is a nice nag and a broken down buggy, Yes, I would have to have some hay but there is grass all over the place and no doubt I could use the animal to mow local lawns ---for a small fee. Plus, there would be an immediate supply of garden fertilizer.

No sooner had I realized the possibilities here when my brother Jeff introduced me to an electric lawn mower, a rider at that, made in the seventies that could mow the lawn as well, push snow and plow the garden. I can charge the batteries with the photo voltaic's free electricity and then live like a king. At first I was left in a dichotomy because the horse would also do these things but in addition take me and my boat to the lake. It was then I realized that brother Jeff sure as hell could probably gear up the mower to pull the boat. Wow, two options for a sustainability life style. I am more optimistic everyday. No fertilizer though.

The Fire Cracker Parade and America.

(This was my Spirit column for July---plugged it in here)

The Firecracker Parade is one of those happenings that every community needs, not that it is grandiose or elaborate because participants are only allowed 24 hours to prepare, are discouraged from political statements, and encouraged to be creative. Terry Ludeman has for 34 years marshaled the participants up the three-quarter mile course to waiting throngs gathered under the majestic maples at the New Hope Church. The crowd is festive, closely packed, always fraught with anticipation, above average and attractive.

While it is not a picnic, nor a party, friends do gather to engage in country conversation and marvel at both the charming, entertaining and outright humorous absurdity of some parade entrants. There is not much in the line of noise making as New Hope does not seem to have a fire department, nor police or much of anything capable of really turning up the decibels. The pastoral throb of a fine old two-cylinder John Deere almost, at least to me, sounds like music, and if it is not music, it is the sound of  past farming practices and the hard toil of working the land.

Always appreciated, there were the mounted participants whose mighty steeds polluted not one iota of countryside, even if they did leave small deposits. Yes, there were scoopers in tow and I can only imagine the roadside plants reaching out for some warm homegrown fertilizer. Oh how the horses pranced and the riders grinned.

This year a vintage WWII jeep with its purring, probably Willy’s engine, and the dents of years of use, but standing tall for American security, properly carried the colors but not with a lot of fanfare. It was just a meaningful reminder that there have always been citizens willing to step up for the Mother Country.

A surprise outer space visitor on a bike stopped in front of the attentive judges to explain the human condition. He, I believe it was a he, had been noticing that we, meaning many Americans, were in the habit of blaming others for our problems and he had found the perfect tool to solve that issue as he took out a mirror and demonstrated its use. It was prophetically unique, he thought, because it implied we needed to look at ourselves. He spoke of love, peace and accountability---a new outer space twist.

The tuba band, with horns gleaming in the afternoon sun, provided the hits of the past, and it was not just marches but rock and roll, The word resplendent comes to mind as the tossed candy filled the street and scampering urchins scurried about securing their share. In the rear of the parade, Helen, the Milfoil lady, all festooned in undesirable aquatic weeds, and looking much like a fish monger, wheel-barrowed past the crowd advocating the removal of the aquatic weed that is now an invasive force.

With great pride, and an ego blown up like a toad under a streetlight, our group garnered the first place magic-marker-decorated paper plate. What can only be described as classic performance art, this group of individuals with no sense of pride or decorum, attached a skit to each and every letter of the words New Hope.  N stood for Norwegian, of course. The crowd was treated to an Ollie and Lena story from an appropriately dressed Viking. It seems this young man, who in third grade, was awarded a prize for having the largest feet. In asking his father, “was this because he was Norwegian?”. He was then told he had large feet because he was eighteen.

E stood for the noble Eagle. Out of almost nowhere, and in a single swoop, a rather ghastly eagle swooped in and consumed a stuffed duck ---great naturalistic theater. W stood for Wisconsin, the home of the brave and land of the confused as the two Miss Wisconsins bellowed On Wisconsin and called for a W. at the same time.  H, of course, had to stand for Holstein, and there casually leaning against a wagon was a superb, well uddered, bovine in casual repose. At the sound of an auto, she was back on all fours acting like a cow when car traffic went by, but like real cows, she returned to lounging after the vehicle was past.

O was for onions. This, a fine locally produced vegetable, was glorified by two beauties doing a dance commonly done while entertaining at a bar, I believe, called the Airport Lounge. They were synchronized in their swinging of great long onions. Some thought they were equivalent to synchronized water dancing. “Truly profound” was a description heard from one roadside observer---while lifting her eyes in amazement.

P was pick-pockets from Peru. Mimes, two of them, brushed by each other to demonstrate their devious skills. The expressive gentleman managed to latch on to a nice watch and some money, all the while thinking himself the victor, but the woman of the pair, while seeming distraught about the financial loss, held up a pair of boxer shorts. On close examination, the gentleman found himself shortless and embarrassed (pun). The final E was flipped over to make an M for music at which point the entire entourage went to dancing the polka to the lilting notes of a flute and fiddle.

So while I have an inflated ego, let us not forget that next year will be the thirty-fifth of the firecracker and while it is not appropriate to officially plan your float, it is time to put it on your calendar.







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The Frog and the Fly

It was time to take the grandkid fishing. He had been all over me to get on with it, quit reading, having tea and palavering about the economy. It was the usual nagging of a kid who has only one intention at that very moment. This particular child has focus and whether it is rock hounding, gathering pumpkins or fishing, he looks only in that direction and makes sure I am aware of it---particularly if it takes me getting off my butt to make it happen.

He had the entire outing all planned out, the site of action set, and his gear, lame as it is, ready for action. He knew of a pond in a park right in the middle of town where he had seen fish and had, on a few occasions, managed to land a couple of adequate pan fish. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem particularly intent on catching size but rather just wants action, be it a nondescript minnow or a gapped-mouth carp. It is just the journey, not the destination---apparently he had read Robert Louis Stevenson who said. “I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move.”

Having developed that philosophy at a young age, is helpful to a grandparent, who in my age, has developed a certain amount of sloth. At the same time, it is my responsibility to introduce him to the greater pleasures of life and to facilitate the desires, which have developed, a result of my earlier encouragements. Simply put, I had to get off my posterior, put down the computer with it’s  never-ending sob stories of how lousy we as a species are treating the world, and take Jake to the pond.

In a fit of ambition and an exhaustion from being badgered by the kid with comments about my inability to catch fish, I tossed the angling swag in the car along with the chattering nine-year old and lit out for the water. From the back seat he, for reasons unknown, proclaimed he was one of the world’s best fishermen and wondered, aloud, if he was a professional. With eyes lifted in disbelief,  I was not able to imagine where he got this idea because I had told him numerous times I was the best fisherman in the universe. He fidgeted and carried on as we approached the rather stagnate, algae filled pond still confident he was about to set records with his prowess.

He bolted from the backseat and headed, Tom Sawyer-style, for the edge of the pond where he threw down his bait box, unraveled the tangled pole and began chucking the miserable looking lure into the depths. On my arrival, somewhat belated due to my noticeable inability to run, he pointed out the fish he could actually see in the water. Yup, there were some small fish there all right, not monsters, but fish. He threw a few more casts but didn’t attract any attention as his bait was, to some extent, bigger than the fish he was pursuing. While he was still confident of success, I noticed a shift in his patter in that he was now making note of the small crawdad-filled stream just to the north. He was beginning to conger up an option if fishing should not play out.

It was at that moment I decided to increase his angling possibilities and began drawing on my world’s reputation as grand master fisherman. It seems he had a rubber frog in his tackle box, one of those that floats, is weedless, and has enough weight for him to be able to really send it flying out in the small lake. The frog itself was not a suitable lure in that the pond probably didn’t have a single fish in it capable of devouring the plastic frog. This is where a little imagination had to come in. After showing him how to tie the fisherman’s knot, and laying out the strategy I was pursuing, we then attached a second line from the hook of the frog. The line being about twenty-four inches long and lighter in weight from the main line. We were being crafty and drawing on my fly fishing experience----I, of course, reminded the over-egoed kid about my skills not wanting him to think himself so superior when he was, in fact, in the presence of a fishing god.

I have to admit he was not very impressed with my bragging and did tell me I had an inflated eagle. At the end of the second line, I attached a fly, a wooly bugger if you will. We now had a real rig, one that would bring home the bacon. I even liked it because if there was a big bass in the pond, he might just have a chance, but in truth, we were after the pan fish.

On the first cast, he managed to hook an eight inch Green Sunfish and the afternoon was off to a great start. While a number of the bass-like sunfish tried to gobble up the frog, the wooly bugger carried the day and in the next hour he managed to haul in twenty flopping fish, which inflated his eagle but also made traveling for travels sake a reality.

Tesla Battery or Powerwall------Missionary's Position

Unfortunately, I spend too much time being entertained with various discussions on sustainability and all the hype that goes with it. But I also like messing with sustainable ideas and efforts offered by others. Then, of course, I obviously entertain myself by writing about all this crap. I don't think for catharsis, maybe intellectual interest, maybe because I care, not so much for myself as I am now older than dirt and none of this stuff will likely mean jack to me---other than I find it entertaining, but for my future connected family. Ya, ya, the plight of man is entertaining.

So along comes the new Tesla battery that one Mr. Musk thinks will change the world. Now I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer (I just learned I may be the leper with the most fingers) but any jackass can figure out this thing, this Power Wall, is nothing short of hype, and real good hype if you will,

 So I am sitting here thinking that just maybe I can get a kick-ass battery pack that will allow me to go off grid again but in pricing the contraption I learn a couple bits of alarming info. First off, the single battery which produces 10 KWHs cost a pleasant $3,500. I also learn the average home uses close to 25 KWHs a day (even though I use less than 10). So the average home would have to have 3 of these suckers to even cover electricity for one day. Now, it might cover me for a day but here in Wisconsin it is not that unusual to have 4-5 days sunless. Then what?

To top it off, I now have lead acid batteries that will cover me for a couple of days as long as we do not do the wash or vacuum---which we do not like doing anyway. These led acid babies only cost $800 and the fancy Tesla pack is over $10K. Clearly, even though they clam to be 10 KWH, we all know the efficiency of the unit is probably in the low 90s--throw in the inverter and it is even lower. In addition to the $10K cost, there is for most people a huge installation fee and of course for the average dude they have to have $30,000 worth of PVs to power up the $10,000 worth of batteries.

Then somewhere I read the production of these lithium batteries is more "green" than the lead puppies. Why hell, they both rip the living Jesus out of the landscape. It is modern technology and all of it is based on consumption of resources and fossil energy. Up a fat rats ass it is green. Is it better in the long run than natural gas---maybe, just maybe. One would have to take a real hard look at the math. You want to see something green make a candle out of hog fat and ashes.

When I heard this system, both the PVs and the battery, would power India I almost laid down on the ground and soiled myself. If it is  $40,000 to set it up in this country can one imagine how much it would cost in some remote village? Then they would have to deal with the complexity of it all, Parts? These techno-triumphalist drive me nuts. Truth is, it doesn't even work in this country. I suspect it is just another fun toy or hobby for a few rich people. Get the price down to $3,000 for 30KWH and I still might do it---interestingly.

Catching and Eating Local fish

 I like to think it is possible to be LOCAL in our food production. Many now call this relocalization  The implication of the project is to develop a local food source that is not hinging on bringing food long distances when in fact most foods can be grown, caught, or "found" locally. It is a noble cause it would seem in that we get rid of a dependency that may, at some point in out lives, not be workable. I mean, getting farm raised fish from China makes little sense no matter how one looks at it. Hell, the are fed human fecal mater as are the shrimp from the Mekong Delta. It is simply about distance and energy use---and quality.

Yes, if the fish are raised here they will probably cost more but we will at least be offering jobs and there will be some rules as to how they are raised. I still refuse to buy the ones raised here due to the use of chemicals and to the genetic manipulations that end up in the wild populations. Far as I am concerned it is damned hard to find a fish that is not in some way damaging to fish populations from over-fishing or is polluted from antibiotics or had it's DNA altered.

The only option is to search out lake-caught fish right here. The only problem seems to be they are not really easy to catch or there just are not many of them. I know some yahoos claim I am just a shitty fisherman but this is not true. I am a dedicated angler with considerable skill and an attractive demeanor. Not many fish are brought home, that is true. In some cases because I release them thinking there are not many and they need to be returned for future fisher types to enjoy. Here and there I bring some home as a way of having fish in our diets.

I see this as being sustainable but also realize that if every jackass who fished kept all the fish caught most of the lakes would be devoid of fish in short order. I now believe many fishermen return much of there catch and fish only for the relaxation and the pleasant outing in a wonderful setting.

Things turned a little different the other day. It seems we, Dennis and I , visited a particular flowage to find a sign that stated, with out hesitation, this body of water was being managed for Walleyes, and in noting this, stated the Black Bass were eating all the fry. As result the bass were fair game and could be kept in great number, no limit! While this appeared to be silly because Bass are a great deal more exciting to catch but thought to be less exciting to eat.

We hit the water with our new (used) fishing rig, and it ain't no canoe. I was forced by family members to move to something more stable as I have in the past few years had some inappropriate time in the water as a result of falling, colorfully, from the canoe. Seems they did not want to see a headline in the local paper stating, " Elderly man found floating in local pond." It turned out the hot tip we had received put us in touch with numerous Large Mouthed Bass. Out of the need to protect the Walleyes, and to fill my gullet, and be sustainable and relocalized we kept six  bass out of the forty or so we caught. While it is a secret, these are some of the finest fish we have consumed in a mighty long time.

I know the nice thirty year old boat is not real sustainable but it is already manufactured and will take no more energy but the motor will and does. It is a four stroke so there is less smog spewing form it. However, we are relocalized and those fat fish, like most of our food, now comes from Wisconsin.