The Minimalist Ritual On a bitterly cold February day, I decided to drive over to the marina just to do something that reminded me of Spring. When I arrived, something caught my eye - a beat up old truck with a fishing rod sticking out of the back. Further away I spotted a man wearing a wool hat and a flannel coat. He appeared to be throwing something around the docks and I wondered what he was up to. Maybe he was pretending to fish under the guise of a more devious act? Hmm, I thought to myself, no serial murders in the local newspaper lately. I watched for a while and noticed a pattern developing. In February, where the electric marina bubblers were keeping the ice from forming around the boats, this man was casting lures right into the bubbling water. I figured he must have been catching fish or else why would he be out here in this bitter cold? (But then again, what was I doing out here?). Anyway, my personal light bulb clicks on and I’m thinking BUBBLERS, FEBRUARY, ICE, OXYGEN, YELLLOW PERCH, BIG BOATS, COVER, SPAWNING and last but not least BEER. Should I drink a beer? No, it’s too cold. I think I'll fish. I race back home and grab my fly rod (ultralight?) and return to the marina. The man is gone. I calmly relax now and get into my fly fishing zen. Casting tiny lures into the bubbling water at twilight under a covered slip at 20 degrees Fahrenheit may not be everyone's idea of a thrill. But it was my thrill. The experience got me wondering. And after I wonder, I start to plan (skeptics would say I scheme—but that makes me sound devious). There’s nothing like a good plan to keep me occupied. The upcoming fishing season was fast approaching, and I thought to myself, “why not invite others to join me?” After all, I live on a tributary of the Chesapeake Bay, have two boats and fish alone most of the time. And I was just certain that given the opportunity, others would like to try their hand at catching a big fat Striped Bass. The Trophy Fishing season runs from March 15 to May 4th—and I should share this experience. And who better to fish with than my new fishing club members of the DVWFFA! I tried to select the best fishing days. I'm a firm believer in the moon and sun transits in relation to the earth and tidal flows. On certain days of the month, stronger tidal flows trigger feeding. The Maori Indians developed their ‘fishing calendar’ and would get in their dugouts, row to various islands and catch many fish. Their careful date and time calculations usually came upon the New Moon or the Full Moon. Rituals and dances took place to celebrate the wonderful feast. So, I figured, why not do the same here? I love fishing, I like feasts and I’m a little ambivalent about rituals. Well, it depends on the ritual, I guess. If it’s the laundry ritual, forget it. My first ritual evolved after meeting the fly fishing trio from Harrisburg. Oh, they were wonderful. Diane Dougherty, Jennifer Esch, and Georgia Brown. In exchange for taking them fishing, they brought me several bottles of varietal wines, took me to dinner at the Bayard House restaurant and delighted us with breakfast cinnamon buns, smoked salmon and ham steaks! Wow, what a great life this is (kinda like the feast before the fishing). The next day, I realized they also brought lots of other STUFF. While this trio of fly fishing enthusiasts began to unload their cars into my boat, I stopped to watch in horror. Unloading their fishing poles, clothes, lunches, more clothes and huge bags full of STUFF - they proceeded to carry all of the stuff on the boat. With wide eyes and my head spinning on my shoulders, I calmly said, "WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?" The somewhat blank stares came back my way and they said "Why this is our stuff!" I had visions of rounding Turkey Point in rough seas, with everyone holding on and trying not to trip over their STUFF! STUFF rolling out of bags, stuff flying off of the boat, stuff I have to look for when somebody can’t find something a week later. And so on. I was about to mention to them that this happened to be the first day of May. On a boat on MAYDAY, need I say more? But as my head came around for one more spin, I could see they were reconsidering (or at the very least, questioning my sanity and fearing for their safety). The ritual lasted about 10 more minutes as they desperately, yet selectively, took just the necessary items out of their bags and tried to shove them into their vest pockets. Not sure what all that stuff was, but they did pass the “minimalist ritual initiation” and we began our journey in ample space and comfort. Phew! As the busy captain and space police, I enticed my friend Susan Eggert to assist with the flyfishing techniques that are commonly employed from a boat on a tidal water estuary. After a few practice sessions, saltwater fly fishing women were born. All three women casters politely took turns handling the intermediate and sinking lines; lines which are somewhat tricky to manage the first time out – in the wind. Not to mention the fact that the fish just seemed to outsmart us that morning. After some terrific casting and some choppy boat runs, we decided to put plan B into effect before exhaustion could rear its ugly head. We motored back to the marina, changed boats and headed to Mill Pond Lake in the afternoon. Casting into fallen wood and weedy banks, these ladies caught many fish. Largemouth bass, crappie and bluegill were plentiful, and the little black wooley buggers offered up by those talented women from PA—well let’s just say those fish didn’t have much of a chance. What a great day! Another one of my first time victims was Mary Kuss from PA. Mary is an excellent long distance fly caster. While maintaining physical stealth and accuracy on a moving boat, she was able to cast all day with minimal effort. Although the sea conditions were moderate in the morning and calmed later in the day, the water clarity was poor. Many casting attempts at various locales produced few signs of fish. Mary decided to take a nap on the bow platform to rest up while we waited for the tide to change. This gave me the opportunity to bring out the bait. Herring is our bait of choice when the water turns to chocolate milk. Scents are much more productive than artificial flies, and it seemed to me that bait was called for on this day – especially while Mary was sleeping. Although trickery was not my main intention, having a chance at a trophy fish during this limited season determined my next course of action. Baiting the large circle hooks on the spinning rods and adding weights, I casted out into the water and waited. Mary awoke after a short nap and promptly began her flycasting, while glancing at my bait rig with proper disdain. We moved to a deeper location. BAM! ZINNGGGG! Spinning rod goes down, I scream to Mary and she takes hold of the rod! Fighting the monster all the way in, Mary exclaimed that she still knew how to operate a COFFEE GRINDER (what she lovingly referred to my spinning rod as) She cranked the handle for quite a while and brought in what we estimated to be about a 36" big fat Striper. Although her smile wasn’t as big as if she had caught it on the fly, at least we didn’t get skunked! Mary is welcome back when she can consistently cast 95 feet—she only got to 72 feet that day!! And we know that because we counted! One of the many things you have time to do when the fishing is slow…. The list of names and fish goes on and on - some former and new members of DVWFFA and some other people outside of the organization came and fished with me for 10 days in a row. While the fishing itself was great fun, it was also nice to meet new people who share a common interest. The striped bass season is over and I'm now finally getting a chance to relax. I bought the newspaper and actually had a chance to read it. Apparently there is a serial murderer on the loose. Better get out of Dodge and go fishing! |