Back to the Basics

About once each year most organizations will go through a ‘back to basics’ training session.  These companies realize personnel will and can get caught up in certain aspects of their positions that they neglect and forget the foundations of what makes them successful.

The same concept can be said of just about anything whether it is business or not.

If you walk into any outdoors department you can be overwhelmed with types of lures, types of rods, bait scents, colored lines of different materials, and even hook styles.  Since every one of the products promises to be the greatest and only item you need to catch more fish, it is a wonder you have ever even had a fish swim by your bait.

One of the newer techniques in fishing is Tenkara.  Basically it is a fly rod without a reel in which you swing your bait over to where the fish are located.  “It is all about approach,” the Tenkara anglers say.

When I was young I learned how to do this and did not even realize it.  Of course, I used what we called a cane pole.  Sometimes we even used a cork but it wasn’t necessary.  We would find a bream bed and just dangle the cricket in the water.

 

If we didn’t have crickets, well we would dig our own worms.  We did not need special imported muscled up super worms.  No, simple earthworms worked.  Maybe, if it was the right time of the year we would collect a few catalpa worms.  I have always pictured the catalpa worm like a chocolate covered long john for fish.

When the fish were really biting we would improvise.  Crickets and worms depleted, we would pull out our lunch bag that our moms packed for us.  The top of the peanut butter sandwich would become our newest bait.  We would pack tight small bread beads and slide it on the hook.  If I were a betting man, I would say that is probably how the open faced peanut butter sandwich came to be.  Someone was pulling in the fish as fast as he could get the hook in the water, ran out of bait, and thought to himself that the fish might like bread.  He then grabbed his sandwich and sacrificed one of the slices of bread in order to increase his catch by a few more.

We also did not have to worry about how to hook the fish or when to set the hook.  We could catch as many fish just by relaxing while the hook was in the water.  We would pass any dead time by laying back and watching the puffy white clouds pass overhead.  In fact, we probably caught more fish by not staring at the line intently as we did while actively waiting for a bite.

Even when we used rod and reel, our baits consisted of lures such as Mister Twisters, Devil’s Horses, Jitterbugs, Hula Poppers, Rooster Tails, and Beetle Spins.  We often picked the lures out based on how cool they looked, the neat sounds they made in the water, or the funny ways in which they ‘swam’ when you reeled them in.

Now, checking the inventory of the fishing isles brings us Alabama Rigs, Umbrella Rigs, and Twin Rigs.  There is nothing special about them other than there are more hooks.  If we wanted to fish with a minnow back then, we either used a live one or a Mepp’s.  We were good enough to catch the lunker with one; we did not need a whole school of them.

The basics, that is what we need to get back to.

 

Faith in the Field

I entered the room and immediately started hearing tales of great adventures.  The stories were always interesting.  Gradually more and more people arrived, greeting one another and talking about the chili that would be served for dinner.

This was the monthly Faith in the Field meeting.

John Surles and I met a few months back.  We started talking about hunting and fishing, sharing a few of our own stories with each other as well as what we had coming up in the near future.  He then told me about Faith in the Field.

His brother started a program in the Piedmont area of the state where sportsmen could get together and talk about the outdoors as well as how their faith made them who they are today; A testimony of their love for nature and God.

John moved from the area and decided to start another branch himself.  The group was formed by different people from different denominations, yet they had the same passions in life.

One gentleman painted a picture with his words of an early morning on Oregon Inlet.  The surf was rather calm, a few wispy clouds, and the large warm sun cresting the horizon in the East.  The water was a beautiful blue that blended in with the pastel pinks and oranges of the rising dawn.  “How could one deny such a sight was anything but drawn in Heaven,” he said.

As his words sank in, I thought about some of my past hunts.  When I taught hunters’ education, one of my own lines as I would explain the great opportunities here in North Carolina was “North Carolina may not be Heaven, but you certainly have to pass through here to get there.”

I was blessed to be the featured speaker and hoped my words would be worthwhile.  After the initial nervousness wore off and I got to the flow of my talk, I surveyed the group in front of me.  I am much more comfortable on my own in the wilds of nature than I am in front of several dozen people.  But I have learned that I can break the anxiety by focusing on each person individually and talk to one person, then move on to the next and talk while presenting the speech to the whole.  It is similar to hunting.  Find the one spot and focus.  Put everything else out of your mind other than that one field, that one animal, that one spot.

The group consisted of several ladies, and then roughly three generations of men ranging from high school/early college to early middle age to retirement aged seniors.  I watched as they intently listened.  Between the initial greetings that started the meeting until the point where I was nearing the end of my testimony, I pictured each enjoying what they love.

I could see the one gray haired gentleman in his skiff tossing the line for a big red, another gentleman, an obvious dog lover, watching in awe and pride as his pointer marks a covey of quail.  Still another ambitious soul is the vision of the athletic adventurer; young, muscular, and ready to see all that this world has to offer.

Afterwards, I spoke with many individually and the impressions were nearly all correct.  Everything from bowhunting to fly fishing to dog hunting to spear fishing was represented, yet one thing was minutely consistent; their faith.

I spoke with one older gentleman at length.  We discussed how much we both missed the days when quail were plentiful.  He convinced me that one of the greatest sounds you can hear is the bellow of a dog striking a game animal’s trail.  He didn’t hunt as much anymore.  He did however have memories of a lifetime of enriching experiences in the outdoors that he was willing to share without delay.

I can only hope that I can do the same in my latter days.

You can visit FaithIntheField.org to see more of what it is about and start your own groups.

Fish Rubbing - Gyotaku

I first heard of Gyotaku a couple of years ago.  The only problem is I could not remember the name or how it was spelled since I am not affluent in Japanese.  I was mainly interested in it because of what it was; a unique and artful way to display and memorialize a great fishing experience.

In Japanese, ‘gyo’ means fish and ‘taku’ means rubbing.  Hence, gyotaku is a ‘rubbing of a fish’.  I thought it was great because it is something you can do yourself and it is inexpensive to create.  This also makes it the perfect creation for the little one’s first fish.

The first step in creating a Gyotaku print is to catch a fish.  Since my new year has not been all that kind to me, I had to enlist help for this part.  My now eight year old son Cooper provided the ideal fishing partner.  It was just two years ago that he brought in his first fish.  Each time we go out, he always finishes on top with the number brought in.  I am not sure if it is because he is just that much better than me or if it has to do with my time is being used to bait his hook, help him cast, help get his hook loose from a limb when he decides he can cast the bait better, or just witnessing his youth and awe of nature.  Either way, I am happy to assist in his success.

For this story, the fishing started out a little slow.  We fished with some Canadian nightcrawlers on a small #8 hook with a cork bobber.  I had a spot picked out under a bridge just in case it rained.  Funny thing about that spot; there was more traffic under the bridge than on top where the road was.  In a space of a few hundred feet, we had acquired no less than twelve different anglers using a variety of tackle.

 None of which had so much as a pretend bite.

I convinced Cooper to let’s head to another location and try our luck.  It did take some convincing.  As much as he likes to fish, he really, really gets bored if nothing is taking the line.

So we ended up at an old fishing hole I knew about and threaded another nightcrawler.  By the way, the nightcrawler farm had the best catch phrase for their bait.  “Our worms catch more fish, or they’ll die trying!”

It did not take long before Cooper brought in his first fish.  A small bluegill that was too small for the project.  A little later, he brought in a beautiful pumpkinseed.  He liked the name of the species and started figuring out why it carried such a moniker.

I made one last cast and left the line alone as we packed up everything.  After loading the truck Cooper asked where my rod was.  I told him and we walked over to where I had it sitting.  However, it was no longer standing up.  It was now flat on the ground twitching.  I finally caught a fish!  We had a short fight with the monster bream (well, average sized bream for most people) and we both laughed now that the slump was over.  He would work great for the Gyotaku print as well as provide a small meal.

Part two of the print is the preparation of the fish.  You want to clean and dry the fish completely.  Use dish detergent or vinegar in the cleaning to help kill any bacteria.  After washing, take paper towels and pat dry.  Pay special attention to the gill area and other openings.  Push the paper towels up into those areas to dry as well.  Flare the fins and use something underneath them if necessary to keep them flat.

For part three, there are several options.  This is where the actual printing process will start.  Take a paint, it can be anything from a water color, to an oil base, to an acrylic, and brush the fish with it.  For fish that are multicolored or fade from one color to a lighter version, you can brush with different mixed paints as well to simulate the actual colors.  For our print, we used a non-toxic paint since Cooper was involved.

Now we get to the ‘taku’ part of the print.  Gyotaku was originally invented in the mid 1800’s as a way for Japanese fishermen to show the size of their prized catches.  Rice paper has historically been the medium for the prints as it is light weight and flexible enough to reach all the contours of the fish.  We did our print a little different but I will explain the process first.

Take the paper and lay over the fish.  Begin rubbing the paper onto the fish so the details of the scales are seen.  Be sure to press the paper into the fins in order to get a good print as well.  On our particular catch, we placed the fish on a piece of canvas and approached the rubbing from the opposite way, pressing the fish instead of the paper.

When completed, it makes an excellent display.  And if used for your kid’s or grandkid’s first fish, it will also make a treasured heirloom.  You can repaint the fish to make a few other prints to share with grandparents and loved ones as well.

22 Miles by Paddleboard - Neuse River

     The weekend was shaping up to be very interesting.  After having a week of 80 degree weather, a cold front stormed its way in on Friday and would drop the highs to the low to mid 60’s Saturday and Sunday.  At stake was a 22 mile overnight paddleboard float down the Neuse River from Waynesborough State Park to Cliffs of the Neuse State Park.

     Waynesborough State Park used to be run by the Cliffs of the Neuse State Park and is now owned and operated by the Old Waynesborough Commission.  The park consists of 130 acres of land that includes buildings that resemble the old community with a visitor’s center, general store and others of the period.

     After a brief visit, it was off to do business just down the road at the boat ramp.  As we unloaded the paddleboard and equipment I would be using for the weekend, a large group came up with canoes and kayaks.  It was obvious the river would not be lonely.

 

    The river began with a few twists and hairpin turns and was flowing at a decent pace.  Once I hit a straight shot in the river, I began casting the line to see if I might entice a striper to bite.  Basically the float consisted of paddling, then casting, then paddling, then casting.  The water had very low visibility due to the muddy run-off from the rain the day before.  About two miles downriver, I had my first encounter with a fisherman coming up towards the ramp I had launched from.  He stopped and made a comment about the paddleboard and shared his fishing information with me.  Another boat had just pulled in the first rock fish he had seen near the Seymour Johnson AFB runway.  “Cast upstream from the pylons,” was his more precise instructions.

     Another hour of paddling and I started seeing the signs warning of the Air Force Installation.  The trees cleared to a large open area.  This was the airport landing.  Ahead I could see the pylons.  I secured the paddle and grabbed the rod and reel.  I could go on about each individual cast and what I was using as well as the technique, but it really doesn’t matter.  The end result was no fish and no bites.  The river was flowing fast and it didn’t take long to pass through the area without a means to anchor using the paddleboard.

     A long straight away followed by a few bends in the river and I came to an opened turn with a sandbar on the inside of the turn.  I paddled up and took advantage of one of the few shorelines that allow for beaching to stretch, and to grab another soda.  I wanted to go a little further before breaking for a meal so after making a few casts from the shore I pushed off and set down the river once again.

     A few more bends in the river and another long straight lay in front of me before I found another suitable place to make landfall.  With the limited landings, I decided to go ahead and get a bite to eat.  I went ahead and finished off my soda I had opened as I ate a candy bar and some turkey sausage.  I then looked for a spot hidden from the river to excuse myself when I came up beside a log about 30 yards off shore.  I don’t scare easy, but there was enough of a vision in the corner of my eye to give me a good startle before I could process the situation.  Laying beside the log, nearly camouflaged perfectly with the log, grass, leaves, and ground were two banded water snakes.  The largest was easily four feet long and as thick at my forearm.  I grabbed the camera and shot some videos and stills as they lay peacefully together.  The cool weather likely kept them inactive as well.

     I reloaded the paddleboard and set off once again, knowing the next stop would need to be a campsite.

     I found one place that would have been ideal another hour down the river.  Beautiful green grass on a flat landscape, easy access to landing the paddleboard, and a clear spot to make a fire without danger of it spreading.  Unfortunately, it was posted.  Instead, I just admired the work done to keep it clear and clean and continued ahead.  Now it was close to 7:30pm and the sun was coming close to dropping below the canopy of treetops that lined the river’s edge. 

Finally, in another bend of the river I spotted a location.  The landing area was not ideal but it was flat.  This meant the board would run ashore just fine.   It also meant that I would likely have to step into deep mud.

     It was more than that.  It was deep, sucking mud.  It nearly crested the top of my boot when I stepped off and then it worked like quicksand, engulfing me with each step.  I grabbed the front of the board and lugged it upon shore as far as the mud would allow.  I grabbed my dry bag, set up camp and got out of my damp and muddy clothes.  A quick can of spaghetti heated by a solo burner finished off supper, a text to my wife that I had set up camp and was going to sleep, and I was out.

     The night was cold, colder than expected actually, and it seemed never ending.  I refused to turn on my cell to check the time for one to save the battery, and for another the fear that I would see it was only 10:30pm.  While I was constantly waking up during the night, only once did something from outside wake me.  Again, I have no idea what time it was, but the sounds I heard resembled the holler from the Sasquatch caller on the television show ‘Finding Bigfoot.’  And it was loud.  But it was not scary.  Just loud enough to wake me from probably the only deep sleep I had during the night.

     The next day, I finished off the quest, paddling ferociously with the flow of the river but against a strong wind.  I once spotted some shad in one spot and decided to make a few casts only to notice I was now being blown backwards against the river flow.  I put up the rod and grabbed the paddle once again.

     The final destination was the Cliffs of the Neuse.  For a span of 600 yards cliffs as high as 100 feet lined the river.  You could see the strata from different eras in the cliff banks.  Created by a prehistoric fault line, the area was once under the ocean.  Many sea fossils including whale bones had been excavated in the area.  It was also the resting place for the ironclad vessel CSS Neuse. 

     My wife and I walked around briefly after she picked me up and we took some pictures from above and also visited the recently build visitors center.  Outside on the sidewalk was a painting of the Neuse as it stretched from the Pamlico Sound up to Raleigh with markers along the way representing different towns, cities, and places of interest.

     22 miles by paddleboard, no fish, an encounter with 2 snakes, and a weekend of peaceful bliss blanketed between two parks.