The title of this thread was basically the gist of an article in yesterday’s NY Post. They included the actual picture below; the Milly’s name is Natasha Eng, and she is fly fishing in NYC Central Park — The Pond, they call it. Natasha believes this activity is “a much-needed distraction from the pressing demands of the digital age.”
I have a few things to say about all this.
First. Natasha posts her catches to ….. wait for it …. Instagram. She must do this immediately because Central Park only allows “catch and release” fly fishing. She then uses an app called “Fishbrain”. This app is like Facebook For Fishes; the app allows her to document where and what she hooked (apparently, Americans give a shit about such info) … and it allows fish to have their pictures taken so they can share it with their brethren who live in clear, clean water … like the East River. Anyway, a rod and Instagram and apping via Fishbrain; is that really getting away from the demands of the digital age?
Two. This is a very shallow pond. There’s some kind of bird standing in the middle of The Pond. Assuming that Natasha is 5’2″, and that she is 50′ from the bird, and that 1/3 of the bird is submerged in water … I was able to used advanced trigonometry to deduce that The Pond, at its presumable deepest level is only 18-24 inches high. It’s also on Wiki. The Pond is also very small, probably has less volume than a large in-ground swimming pool. Here’s a map. The Pond is that little blue thingy all the way on the bottom right.
Three. Look at that water. Consider the environment in NYC. Now I ask you; do you think there’s actually fish in that water?? I don’t – at least what I normally consider fish to be like; two eyes, scales, and one fin. There’s another equally small body of water in Central Park — they call it Turtle Pond. They named it Turtle Pond because someone once saw a turtle there, somewhere around 1904. So, if anyone ever saw even one fish in The Pond they would have called it Fish Pond. This makes sense to me.
Four: “Using Pew’s definition of a millennial as being between 18 & 34 years old, and using stats from New York’s Department of Health … we get roughly 1,908,608 millennials in NYC.”
Let’s assume half of Millennials think (as I do) that fly fishing in NYC is complete utter bullshit. Well that still leaves about ONE MILLION snowflake Fishbrain addicted dumbshits walking around The Park with steel hooks! I see nothing but potential for disaster. Then again, they could use the hooks to fish dead bodies (humans, not fish) out of the water — a fairly common occurance.
Then again, if they all just showed up at the same time, say July 4th, they could all just walk in the water, the displacement will drain The Pond, and we’ll know once and for all they are no fucken fish there. They might even find Jimmy Hoffa.
Five. Some retailer, Orvis, is hoping to get more city folk into the sport through their free introductory weekend fly fishing classes at midtown, with special classes just for ….. wait for it …… women! (Haha. I bet you thought I was gonna say ‘Kneegrow’. No way. NYC niggahs be fishin’ for hoes and crack — a type of fish found mostly in Harlem.) Anyway, that truly pissed me off, that everything in America is about race and gender.
After getting your training at Orvis, and after you figure out there ain’t no damned fish in The Pond, the article says that New Yawkers can go to Livingston Manor’s Willowemoc Creek, just a few hours ride to the Poconos. The big draw is they actually have a real lake with real fish. Don’t worry about the $300 annual membership. They allow nonmembers to have weekend experiences. It only costs $1,100 (but that includes bus fare!) … which is about the cost of salmon dinner for four people at your average NYC restaurant. Trump’s hotel charges $1,575 for a wild caught 8 ounce salmon steak (but that includes a potato and green beans!).
A few things about fishing.
I’ve been fishing twice. The first time was really really boring. It took me several hours to catch a sunfish in the small pond in South Plainfield. The second time was more rewarding; a group of us caught over 200 pounds of salmon in Lake Michigan, and each of us got almost 20 pounds of flayed salmon. I caught one that was slightly over 20 pounds. That was exciting — those 15 minutes of reeling him in. The other 6 hours on the lake in that charter boat was boring as hell. I should have been there to relax, and contemplate nature, and the meaning of things — but, I knew I was there to kill and maim fish. I just can’t imagine hyperactive, always texting, always multitasking, always moving Millies being contemplative and relaxed.
Not that I mind killing fish. It’s not like killing brown-eyed gorgeous beautiful graceful creatures given to us by God — like giraffes. Besides, fish have no pain receptors. I know this because I couldn’t get the hook out of the sunfish’s mouth. He was little and slimy and kept slipping out of my hand. So, I put my foot on his tail and yanked that line with both hands. The hook did indeed come out — along with the half of the sunfish’s little face. He didn’t scream or nothing, just looked at me with his one remaining eye. So, I threw him back in the water and he swam away like it was no big deal, even though he was bleeding profusely.
Disclaimer. I am NOT talking about whales. Whales are mammals just like we humans. They have feelings. They can communicate with each other over long distances without a telephone. They can actually sing. You can buy their CD’s “Whale Songs” (volumes 1 thru 732) on Amazon. In some ways whales are better than humans. For example, they mate for life. With the same whale. Of a different sex. There are no homo whales. Except for that half-white half-black whale. No, not Michelle. The Orcas.
Some things I don’t understand about fishing.
Apparently, if you catch a big fish there must be a government requirement that requires you to have your picture taken right next to it. Why?
From time to time I’ve watched a few minutes of these fishing shows. These jocks all have such big egos; “Tell you whut, Jethro! Dem dere fish ‘ll be right under dat oak tree. Sum time between 5Pm and sun down.”. Fish don’t even know where they’ll be one minute from now. Jethro and his pal are full of crappie.
I think that picture of Natasha is hilarious. Waving that long stringy thing in the air back and forth, back and forth, and the rule is for it to hardly ever touch the water. If there actually was a fish in The Pond the only way it would get caught is if it leaped out of the water and grabbed the hook as it whizzed by.
From what I’ve been told, worms don’t really work well as bait. The fish will nibble on it till its gone, and then gently tug on the hook to let you know to send them another one. Also, why is worm farming a business? Why do people pay for worms? Aren’t worms pretty much everywhere wherever worms are? I was weeding mom’s garden this morning and I’m guessing I saw at least 20 – 30 worms. How much do they go for? A buck apiece? I might retire rich after all.
Apparently, artificial lures don’t work that well either. I know this because my neighbor, Joe, has over 1000 lures. Really. Every time he goes out fishing, he even has his own boat, and doesn’t catch anything he always blames those “damned lures”! I believe these brightly colored plastic and metal things with hooks on them are scientifically formulated so they appear to fish to be brightly colored plastic and metal things with hooks on them. They’re not fooling the fish. In fact, fish love to group together — fishermen call them schools — when what they really are is Fishy Lure Appreciation Groups. It’s the only form of entertainment available to fish, and they don’t want to give it up. Every now and then the fish draw lots and the loser has to bite the lure and get caught. This encourages the fisherman to continue. And, at least on that day, Joe won’t have to spend another $20 on the Next Best Lure Ever.
.
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I think Natasha was fishing for tadpoles. There are plenty of them in shallow water like that. The great thing about tadpoles is you can pet them because they are interactive with you. And I think in New York you don’t have to have a license to catch them and take them home with you. They do grow up to be good pets and maybe that is what Natasha was really fishing there for. She wanted a pet to take home and love.
Nyaah, wrinkle neck trout, variety FourXXXX or Trojan.
I’ve met her and she does catch fish in NYC. She needs to work on her casting but she’ll get there!
You should get out on the water Stucky. And by the way, it’s exactly the same thing as golf. It doesn’t matter where you catch fish or not, it is very calming. IluvCO2 went fishing down here a couple years ago and wrote an essay about it, had a terrific time.
starfcker thanks for remembering. Have been out on charters many times is Florida and it never gets old. Went out of Miami in April but the water was flat and no wind, so no sails or mahi, but we hooked onto the AJ bite and it was a blast, sore muscles aside. There’s just something about being out on the water, any water, open ocean or small freshwater pond. It’s all good! Headed to Maine for 4 days of bass fishing on a big lake this week – can’t wait!
Fisherpeople are strange things indeed, worse fanatics than even golfers.
At least when everything is frozen and covered in ice and snow golfers stay home, but the fisherpeople just go out and chop holes in the ice and keep fishing.
Stucky, that was a funny-assed post. Thanks for the laughs.
Fishing in NYC… bwhahahahahahahaha.
There is a fine line between a piscatorial aficionado and a fool, that girl is a fool!
“Joe won’t have to spend another $20 on the Next Best Lure Ever.”
Joe gets off easy. I spend 20 bucks for a half dozen hooks.
This lure catches fishermen:
Moutoukenmaru Minopenmaru 25F-Super MG Abalone Shell stickbait — $293
Some collectable lures are 100 grand. You never know what might be lurking in some old garage or attic.
I am not into fly fishing though my brother is a guide who specializes in fly fishing for Tarpon. It is a sight fishing game. Hunting and fishing all in one. Like cobia fishing each spring here when they migrate along the Gulf Coast.
“As no man is born an artist, so no man is born an angler.”
“I have laid aside business, and gone a-fishing.”
“God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling.”
Izaak Walton The Compleat Angler (1653-1655)
I take your subject as bait for afflicted and addicted anglers like myself.
And I am eating the great American Red Snapper for dinner, cooked on a griddle with lemon cream sauce and angel hair pasta. The last two days were gag grouper and red snappers, fried, with hush puppies, cheese grits, cole slaw and an awesome homemade tartar sauce. (much better than the tartar sauce I had to make from scratch for McD’s in the 60’s). All fish caught by me and company this last weekend. I did catch the first, the most and the biggest. I used three different rod and reel set ups, each over a grand. The biggest shark I brought to the boat was over 100 pounds, lost many much bigger.
I am a total sucker for all things fishing. I have over 30 set ups, half over a grand each, some to replace would be two grand.
And there is nothing like catching your own tuna, mahi (dorado) or ono (wahoo).
And eating sushi and sashimi when you get home. We keep soy sauce on board.
Fly fishing is like writing. Anyone can do it but a select few are good at it. Like the writers who educate and entertain me here on this site.
You got it going on.
Fly fishing is a fine allegory for life. Remember, “Life’s a journey, enjoy the ride!”? The objective of fly fishing is to fish – the journey, the creek, the rock – not to necessarily catch a fish.
When I was taught to fly fish by my grandfather, that day I caught a few nice trout and walked five miles. He caught as many, all from the same rock.
I’m not certain that The Pond is much of a ‘journey’ – I’d probably carry a gun against the park wildlife.
I once told a friend that I’d like a woman who likes to fish, shoot pool and drink beer. He said “I think you’re looking for a lesbian”. Fair enough. I’m looking for a lesbian who likes to suck dick.
I know plenty of women who fish, shoot pool and drink beer. When I was younger, I was one of them. And none of us were lesbians. I also enjoyed camping. I always wanted to hunt, but never got the chance.
Ditto Vix, but I’ve also hunted. Then there’s still that girly side where, in my world, chivalry still lives and the high heels and classy dress has often replaced the ponytail, raggy jeans and t-shirt. Best of both worlds from a remote “ranch” in south TX. No NYC for this southerner!
OutWithLibs, we think alike.
On the other hand, we all know sticky is too busy manning his short pole to catch tuna….”Good Morning Ladies” see the first 15 seconds of this rap video. While doing re education in Hattiesburg and driving in the group van to the YANA club in east podunk, I saw The Afroman’s Van, broke down in the back of a cross road service station. I got out and snapped a film photo.
First rule of Fly Fishing in Public:
The chances of making a cast that ugly are directly proportional to the number of people watching.
I have fished all my life. I have fished some of the most remote places imaginable, the mos spectacular being in the Coral Sea, among reefs and stunningly beautiful blue waters. I have caught big fish, and little fish. I have no preference – some anglers want to only catch big fish. I care not. I generally do not bait fish, and I NEVER troll for fish. . So, you will never see me fish for marlin, nor for the salmon Stuck mentions, which I imagine were caught on the troll.
For me, as for most fly fishers, the excitement lies in the taking of the lure, and the thrill of the strike. I am not an expert fisherman – experts generally are expert at only one type of fishing, or specialize in one species of fish. Some of those folks have skills beyond compare, and I am not in their league. However, I am a very good, perhaps even an excellent fisherman. I have caught a wide range of fish. I am an extremely good barramundi fisherman. The magic mark for barramundi is the metrey – a metre long barra is the gold standard. People fish regularly for their entire lifetimes and never catch a metre long barra. I have caught over twenty such barra. I do not know exactly how many, as I stopped counting at twenty. I have caught thousands of barra in total. They are my favorite fish to pursue – they are apex predators, and they are very aggressive on the strike. By the way – I have never killed a large barra. Each was released. This is an example of a large barra:
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If that young woman can catch fish in NYC – attagirl! is what I say.
You thumbs down pricks can blow me. Envy is a terrible thing.
I just realized that I forgot to give you a thumb down.. Thanks for the reminder, Chief twenty Barra. :~)
nkit
He lives.
I’m giving you a thumbs down out of principle.
Those poor fish.
I mean, what the hell did they ever do to you? I could understand MAYBE if it was in your own backyard and you were catching them to eat them but why do you need to travel halfway around the planet to such remote places just to set a hook in some poor creatures mouth?
I just don’t understand. This is crazy.
It has to end.
#banadventurefishing
#savethefish
PS – I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that Stucky has tried this sport not once, but twice as well!! I suppose it’s the sort of thing you can expect from someone who would kill a raccoon with a 2×4.
You two disgust me.
Fish got no feelings. That is why cold blooded means what it does! 🙂
BTW – If you just shot game with a tranquilizer dart or paintball, I would be fine with it!
I tried that once. But I couldn’t get the bull moose to stand still in my den once it came to.
BTW a REAL Indian would catch those fish with his bare hands. After all, Buzzard could kill grouse by shot-putting a large rock. I expect no less from you.
Francis – I could catch them bare handed. But thing is, where there are barra, there are great big saltwater crodiles. Great big bastards up to 6.5 yards long and a couple of tons.
Tell you what – you go first!
FM
The two down voters obviously don’t understand humor and/or sarcasm. Loved your post!
When I saw that article I IMMEDIATELY thought …”holy shit, fishing in NYC, that’s funny as shit”. So, even though fishing does bore me …. I mostly wrote this post for fun and humor. I may not have succeeded as well as I would like.
I could have used the story to write a very doomy post …. about fish depletion in the world’s oceans, a really serious issue. Your grand-kids may never eat tuna fish! But, too much doom makes me crazy and/or depressed.
I giggled with childish glee as I wrote it. Thanks for the opening…
Francis, is that sarcasm or are you turning into a snowflake?
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LOL.
Cutest picture ever!
There are smallmouth bass in Turtle Pond!
That’s no barramundi, it’s a sabre tooth pickle bass. And you don’t look like no Injun. High cheeck bones indeed.
llpoh, is that really you in the picture?
I used to love to fish in the late 60s thru the 70s then the work world took over .I still fish but not any like when I young. Thinking about It I realize it has been several years since my last cast. It’s been years since I did anything outdoors.
Back in the 80’s and early 90’s I used to live in Philadelphia. There were some really nice trout streams running through Fairmont Park about 10 minutes from downtown and within the city limits. When I couldn’t get out of the city, I would often run up to Fairmount Park for a little fly fishing (before and after work). I wouldn’t go back and do it now, but it was fun at the time. That said, all of the ponds in Central Park are disgusting, especially if you know what a pond is supposed to look/smell like. After living in Mahatten for a while you probably don’t notice the stench anymore.
Somebody needs to release a Barra in that pond; just for fun. And yes, her cast is pretty bad-it’ll never pass out west in trout country. Or rather, the fish will take a pass…….
A bi barra would drag her ass in and all around that pond. I once caught a monster barra in a very few inches of water. amazing how little water can hold a big ass fish.
“Jethro and his pal are full of crappie.”
LOL! That was finny as hell
He’s wrong: a redneck will know where the fish are. When it’s hot, all fish want to relax in a deep cool spot where there is oxygen. When it’s cold, they want to enjoy some warm sunshine. When there is an easy food source, they act like Jew Brokers and pigs.
Har Har…..RHS even managed to work da joos into fishing! Well done Robert.
Hilarious story–loved it even though I am also a lifetime fisherman. I live across the street from the Chesapeake Bay, so fishing is just one of our local activities here, like in Baltimore they have rat catching tournaments ( not kidding) and where Stucky lives, the old guys have “chase the niglets off the lawn” as a pastime– these are often regional things.
A long, long time ago a good friend ( now sadly deceased ) and I decided to go on a 2 week road trip to the Rockies. As we were both between jobs at the time and didn’t have much money, we concocted this ” Brilliant Plan “. First we went downtown to a retailer called Army & Navy who sold pretty much everything including sporting goods and fishing equipment. We bought fishing line, hooks, lures, weights and bobs and anything else we could think of that might be remotely used for fishing ( the ancient rods and reels were generously supplied by my father from the supply tucked into the basement rafters ). The plan was to fish for trout in the mountains and to supplement this we purchased a huge loaf of rye bread, a giant salami and a big hunk of cheese. We put these items in a styrofoam cooler and Hit the Road. Soon after getting to Banff, we were informed that 1. we needed a fishing licence 2. all the lakes and rivers nearby were fished out and we would be required to hike into the bush several miles to access any reasonable fishing, and 3. all of the gear we had so carefully chosen was, in fact, salt water – Ocean – tackle and was pretty much useless for freshwater trout. After several days the bread, sausage and cheese routine was getting old pretty fast. The breaking point came one morning when after spending an uncomfortable night on old air mattresses we awoke in our homemade nylon tent ( actually just a tarp with poles ) which was covered on the inside with condensation that immediately fell off when the tent was bumped which, of course, was the first thing that happened every morning. As we fumbled our way out of the tent we were immediately aware of a gigantic land yacht that had pulled in during the night and parked in the adjacent campsite. While we were rummaging through our remaining supply of 5 day old bread, salami and cheese, the door of the motorhome opened and out stepped the owner. He was wearing a white shirt with an Ascot tie, white pants and shoes and had on one of those dumb captain’s hats with the little wooden wheel patch that 1960s boys with big toys seem to favour. A regular Mr. Howell ( for those who remember Gilligan’s Island )
The final straw was when his wife ( Lovie ) trundled out with a platter of T – Bone steaks and proceeded to cook up steak, eggs and hash browns. Good thing they have gun control in Canada. Never wanted to go fishing again.
I have many good memories of fishing when I was in my late teens up to about the age of 25. I had this fishing buddy by the name of Steve who always caught fish. I always caught a few but nothing like Steve. We went everywhere on the back roads in North Eastern Kentucky and my oh my there were some beautiful places. I remember one time when Steve and I were wading in this hole in Kinniconick Creek in Lewis County when he caught a 48 inch long Muskie. He released it and about 15 minutes later a large snake fell off a low tree limb into the water. I said,”What kind of snake is that?”. Steve said, “My dear sir, that is called a Copperhead.”
I miss those times. I stopped fishing when I had to pay attention to my professional responsibilities as I was finishing school at Marshall University. Steve went on to work in various places, but we stayed in contact. He died way, way too young and I’m shedding some tears over that as I type this out. He was a good Christian man, far better than I, and would give you the shirt off his back. Before too long I’ll be retiring, I’m tired, and my best fishing buddy is gone. Folks, enjoy and cherish your good times, memories, and friends as they can be so fleeting. Make the time to have fun with your friends. God bless you all!
“We are Marshall”. My ex of twenty years graduated from Marshall. I spent a lot of time in Huntington over those years. God bless…. Chip
The time spent fishing is not subtracted off one’s life hours. I could have easily lived into my one hundred and twenties, except for all the beer, cigarettes, ham & cheese sandwiches and Little Debbie snack cakes that accompanied me while fishing and subtracted those life hours. Next time around, I promise to use less horseradish on those sandwiches, the stuff is seriously addicting.
You ate well. My memories are of a can of vienna sausage and saltines.
Stucky, here’s a great fishing video for you. Graeme lives in England, he’s down to earth, and he is extremely funny. He tells you what bait and tackle he’s using, the types of fish he’s trying to catch, and what he actually catches. I think he’s the best fisherman ever. I think you’ll like his videos. He always gives good tips for beginners and the experienced. This video shows him doing traditional float fishing. But he also fly fishes, fishes on beaches, in the ocean, rivers, creeks, everywhere.
Best fisherman ever? Ummm, that is a big call. Currently, I would pick one of the Pro Bass fishermen. They are specialized, but boy are they good at what they do.
And fishing for carp is not fishing. It is more akin to scooping turds out of a toilet bowl. Fuck carp – they are shit eating menaces of may other native species.
I think he’s great. He uses everything from bread to meat to maggots to lures to catch fish. He catches everything. Caught a stingray recently off the coast of England. Catches eel, dogfish, anything else that’s biting. And that’s the point, isn’t it, what is biting, and can you catch it. Not everyone is a pro fisherman catching marlin or bass. I like his style. And being extremely funny is a bonus. I guess who you watch is personal preference. I find the pros pretty boring fishermen.
While I tend to agree, it pretty hard NOT to catch a dogfish in New England in the summer.
He’s was off the coast of England, not New England. He wasn’t actually trying to catch dog fish, and didn’t sound too happy about it, LOL. He was experimenting with different bait to see what he could catch. He does travel occasionally and fishes in different places.
Do you think Natasha left the little pink sponge fish thing they include with kid’s rods on the end so she could be a winner every time?
Actually, I’ve been to that spot in Central Park. It is more wild than you think in there.
There are also a lot of homeless people sleeping under the trees down there, too.
Hey, while they’re at it, the city kids can get into city crabbing.
Frank Reynolds says it’s depression-proof!
If you don’t believe that there are fish in any of the five lakes in Central Park see my blog: “The Great Lakes of NYC”. It is a fly fishing blog about fly fishing in the twenty-four lakes which are managed by the New York City’s Department of Parks. I’ve written this blog for more than a decade. There is a variety of wild fish to be caught; bass, panfish like bluegills, crappie, perch, golden shiner, catfish, and carp. It is not easy but bass over five pounds are frequently caught in the ponds and lakes here. The lakes that make up these fisheries are not stocked. All fish reproduce naturally due to the catch and release policy. Fishing with a fly rod is possible in New York City. In fact, it is outstanding in the spring and fall. So, whether you are aware or not fly fishing in New York City is alive and well in both the freshwater fishery and the five hundred miles of saltwater shoreline.
Thanks for this blog ! I’ve caught fish in the East River (a tidal estuary actually) and on the Hudson side too. These NYC fishing skeptics have it all wrong.
People are going to fish wherever there’s water and they think it may have fish. I remember when I was really little seeing the blacks fishing off the highway in the ponds next to the old brick manufacturing in Augusta looking for supper. And they were polluted at the time. I think they’ve tried to clean them up, but you can still see people fishing there.
Colour me shocked that a millennial would fish in a shallow pond that has no fish. A place where the water might be wide but is never moar than a few inches deep. To me that picture shows the state of the modern world. A place where most folks Fly fish for facts on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Hoping that they never get a bite that will have to reel in.. Sad that there is all this information, easily accessed, and yet most would rather avoid facts for fear of falling off their hobby horse of virtue.
Like Stucky I have a Libtard Seester too. I love her to bits but every once in a while get tired of her tropes. Last night was one of those times. We were watching Master Chef at family cottage.
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I don’t watch TV because I cut the cord. Reason being that there are better things to do then spend an hour watching some dumbfuck burn a soufflé. My sister on the other hand has loads of time to watch this but none to cast just a bit deeper to investigate the burning questions of the day. Of course the small talk was just a prelude to the inevitable Trump bashing that is endemic to her deep held Trump Derangement syndrome.
And for her the great question that required her to preen virtue like those birds in that pond was the recent outrage on the border with Mexico.
https://www.theburningplatform.com/2018/06/24/the-great-bawlin-beanlet-hoax-of-2018/
The Great Bawling Beanlet Hoax of 2018 that has every Libtard hell west and crooked all up in arms. Got to say that is one of the better lines written this year that put to words the insanity that is..She went on to splain to me how outrageous it was that that poor child was torn from her Mommy’s arms. I told her it wuz bullshit from start to finish. She told me that I need to quit lurking on web in places like TBP. Couldn’t even fathom that what she was saying was not true in the slightest.
And so it goes..
What struck was how embedded her cognitive dissonance appears to be. It seems chronic and incurable. The conversation is completely out of wack. In fact there isn’t a conversation. Just opposing camps hurling shit.
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It doesn’t help that there are Magazine Covers like this…
It does sum up well her current state of mind.
She then proceeded to explain to me that I couldn’t understand what is going on because of my white male privilege. Yep that is the problem folks. I was born white, blue eyed and a Man.
It all made sense after a while.
Well at least to her and yet I am still the one being accused of privilege.
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RiNS
She actually DID catch a fish!! Really. Well, I think that little thing is a fish. Right. Could be a tadpole.
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That is great! [sarc]
Pretty scrawny fish and yeah maybe it is a tadpole. Gotta say that she is hot though in a down home country kinda way…. I jest. Must be my male privilege coming to the fore..Anyways I am a bit bummed out today cuz I have concluded that my Seester caught a fish as well. She shrieked so much and her delusion was so complete that at the end I said “fuck it”. Best course of action was to just jump into the rocks….
Unbelievable! Scott Adams would have been real interested in watching whole thing unfold. Amazing watching someone with persistent delusion as they scurry away from facts.
I am sure my Sister is sitting somewhere today, proud like this young lady with what she hooked. Not that it either is much of a catch.
hey Stucky. I forgot something…
I should add that I loved the bit you did. It me laugh. Something I really needed today.. Acually that was what I wuz going to originally write before I launched on that tangent.
Cheers
RiNS
My armchair angling is rewarded with the fun and interesting comments. I search my memory banks for why I love fishing so much. And my long worded anecdotes follow. And to give Stucky one more comment.
When I was young the Goliath grouper was in every average joe fisherman dreams. It grows to over 700 pounds. Tales of them swallowing anchors and towing hapless fishermen out to seas made the magazine circuit. I once caught one fishing for black snapper (mangrove snapper). I was using a hook about the size of your thumbnail. The behemoth inhaled one of the 4-5 pound snappers we were catching and the 1/0 circle hook sank into the upper jaw plate of the gargantuan grouper. I knew immediately and had no desire to land the beast. I tried to break the line and leave the fish with some mouth jewelry. I was using 80 pound braided Spectra power pro line, the first edition. Unable to exert enough leverage and drag to do so, we decided to bring it to boat and release it. We did. It had a tag placed by FSU’s marine biology department. Maybe 300 pounds it was.
Once overfished the Goliath is making a comeback since the institution of a total ban of harvest. Almost a plague, big fish competing with humans for pan sized dinners. And (((political correctness))) went to work to change the name from Jew fish to Goliath. [no comments on the reason please, we get it]
https://www.thejewniverse.com/2015/how-the-jewfish-got-its-name/
And my first memory of being out by myself and bringing home enough fish – to incite my father to follow me to my fishing hole. It was 1955 or so and I lived in the tip top of Maine. Loring AFB. It used to be called Limestone AFB. I was first grade age. I had fished with my parents tutelage many times, no doubt. But this is my first memory of fishing without adult supervision. I walked down the dirt road behind the base housing. At the end of the road there was an anti aircraft gun battery. My mother had given me cookies to take to the crew. She instructed me to tell them who my father was. They treated me well. I got to sit in the gunner’s chair.
Anyway, just past the outpost there was woods, and streams, full of trout. I took my trusty stick rod and brought home a small creel of trout. I was so proud to see my father’s excitement when we all returned and caught a big mess.
Now from Maine we were sent to Puerto Rico. We left Seymour Johnson AFB in winter, icy conditions prevailed as we boarded the military transport plane. We were given blankets to sleep on the floor. I was instructed on how to use the shit can. And we arrived to balmy 80 degree weather.
And great fishing. We eventually fished mountain lakes few white men had seen. My pilot father would see fishing candidate lakes from the air. And we would go fish them, sleeping in tents as we camped. On one particular trip my aunt and uncle were visiting from Georgia. Uncle Allen owned a fish camp on the Ga coast. He went on to serve on the South East Atlantic Fisheries Council for 11 years, serving as the token recreational representative on the commercial fishermen’s council, that made the rules…
Anyway we had a campsite on a clearing at the end of a dirt road next to a very large lake. My father’s navigator’s son was my age, my best friend was there with us. The adults would go out on the lake and leave us. The one boat could not hold us all.
It was when they were out I was attacked by a band of local thugs who came to raid our encampment. Maybe 5 of them. Their leader was a big 10 year old. With an Elvis haircut. And there was a language barrier.
They came out of the tropical jungle growth and challenged us. I puffed up my scrawny chest and tried to get them to leave. Elvis came straight up to me, and crowded me. I pushed him away. One second later I was on the ground. His swift judo move floored me again as I got up to stand my ground. They said they wanted a canned soft drink from the cooler. Sort of rent, or a tax. I grudgingly complied. They left. When my parents and kin returned I felt weak, having been trounced while they were away. Dad laughed and said it was okay and not to worry about it.
Next day, same drill. Parents went fishing. The hoodies returned. This time I treated Elvis like a great friend. I had no desire to eat dirt again. I even invited the gang to have one of the cold beers in the cooler. We became amigos at that point. Dad was not too happy about giving away one of the iced beers.
So that is how I was set upon by a gang of Puerto Ricans in the jungle.
Now what is strange, is a decade ago I was at the Ft Lauderdale boat show, hanging out with a dual national who had connections in Puerto Rico. (And whose family owned property next door to the Elbow Room among many interests in Ft Lauderdale) One of his friends came up to greet us. After a few minutes of discussion, the man identified himself as the Elvis. He still had a great shock of hair atop his head, waving in a meek pompadour. We laughed out loud and embraced. I asked him not throw me to the ground again…
And with romance I recall fishing in Evergreen Colorado while working at Greystone guest ranch while on summer vacation from seventh grade. I would slip away from easy duties to fish a mountain stream visited by foraging moose. Dropping salmon eggs into eddies for silver trout.
And what would a post be without poetry? Here follows my favorite fish song and dance:
I know A LOT about this topic:
1) Catch and release should be called “release to die” as only 50% of the fish make it. Try stabbing someone in the lung with a meat hook and see how long they last. It’s like Obamacare for fish.
2) Fresh water fish taste like shit. Especially trout. You don’t want them anyway. If you saw a menu that said, Prime rib or trout, what would you choose?
3) The cost benefit analysis of fishing tells you to spend your money on the most premiere salt water fish fillet that whole foods can display.
4) Go to a lake and read a book instead. Especially with liquor.
5) Camping, which is related to fishing, sucks. Go to a lodge, sit by a fire, that’s nature, with humans cooking food that you didn’t have to make. My experience after camping is always the same, I feel exhausted and cheated out of my time. My only memories are scrubbing pans and feeling un-showered.
1) Depends where they are hooked. Depends on whether the slime layer is broken.
2) 100% that are not released die.
See how that works? I know a lot about this shit, too.
Good post, Llpoh. Plus, I like wild-caught trout. (I never eat farmed fish.) One fish that I usually will not eat is a catfish because they’re bottom dwellers and, therefore, the water cleaners. But my mother loves catfish.
I remember when I was young, my father told me to never touch the tentacles of a catfish because they are “stingers.” Anyone know if that’s true? My father kidded a lot and when I was young I couldn’t always tell if he was joking or serious. But I’ve followed that advice my whole life of fishing. I do remember when camping once, they caught a catfish and nailed it through its head to a tree to clean it, which was done by simply cutting off the head and moving the rest to a table to finish cleaning.
In England apparently the catfish don’t have stinger tentacles, based on those fishing videos, because they touch them with no reaction.
Practice “Fillet and Release.”
1. Bullshit – if they are not gut hooked they don’t die, and I don’t gut hook more than 10%. Where do you get your data?
2. Trout are delicious. Have you ever eaten white perch, mmmmmm.
Go buy some salt water farm raised talapia raised in china and fed pig shit in virus and bacteria filled troths.
“…There’s a fine line between fishing and just standing on the shore like an idiot…” — Steven Wright
And on the lighter side….
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7s0sGPtokfY
I was a Boy Scout, camping works well for those who know how. Hiking is OK, if you need exercise. Canoeing is fun; fishing is all right. Haven’t been hunting (yet), so can’t say.
I went to a Cub Scout cane-pole-and-bobber fishing day at a pond; threw in my line and waited. A nibble! I pulled and got – nothing. It robbed my hook of the worm four times more. Dad kept re-baiting the hook until I got the drift of how to do it; another cast. Nibble! CAUGHT! I pulled a fish from the pond – might have been five inches long, max. Dad said, “No point- throw it back.” “DAD! I caught it – can I enter it in the contest (for catching the largest fish, naturally) ?” “No point, I said – there’s no way that little runt will win. Throw it back to get bigger, and it’ll be there for next year.” Grumbling and resentful, I threw the fish back in.
Come time to contest, the winner had a fish that was all of – five inches long. Maybe the same fish! I didn’t talk to Dad all the way back home.
I forgave him, eventually – but fishing hasn’t been a big part of my life. I blame that poor initial experience – be careful how you teach your children. Sometimes the lesson they learn isn’t the one you wanted to teach.
Charter out of Key West, me and two buddies. Half way to Cuba. Bottom fishing hauling up all kinds of back and muscle breaking beasts – Grouper, AJ’s, sharks. All groaning again when its our turn up. I hook up on a black eye tuna, after a large shark almost incapacitated me. Tuna starts doing its death spiral, round and round, can see its shadow now in the deep so clear water. Then I see a larger shadow underneath. Tuna comes up quick and big shadow emerges and swallows my dam tuna, breaks the surface and is gone. Yup, I had a blue marlin on for about 3 seconds after it ate my tuna. True story. If that wouldn’t get you going Stucky, well… just massage your grouper for awhile until it regurgitates.
I’ve a neighbor that teaches fly fishing for a hundred bucks an hour. Minimum seven hours. Holler if interested
Stucky, I missed the comment party but I wanted to tell you I read your essay to my husband after he wondered what I was laughing at. I thought he was going to fall out of his chair he was laughing so hard.
You a funny guy, Stucky.
“You a funny guy, Stucky.”
Thank you Mary C. for taking the time to say that. Glad you and hubby had a good chuckle.