Fishin' around

our friend's lovely Geauga County farm pond out near Ansel's Cave, on a slate gray early November afternoon. A last piscatory gasp for a dying season, this short burst of time suspended against the encroaching darkness of the winter's snow and shorter afternoons that will follow.


A few sugar maples still show their majestic reds and golden yellows of pre frost leafy splendor.

Most color is gone now from these trees, and a strong wind cuts across the pond's surface, creating circular ripples, and the fond idea of capturing some of the fish within. Fishing is an act of the suspension of time and space in the pursuit of a fresh air sport that allows eye hand coordination, guile, and just plain old good fortune as its bedrock.

Enjoyment of a seasonal glimpse of nature is also a great reward of this old idea of "angling."

My pal the Cheeze is along, and he has been teaching me the art of selecting artificial baits versus the primitive methods of bait fishing that I have practiced the majority of my fishing days.

Sure, as a youngster I flipped hula poppers, jitterbugs, and artificial worms around similar farm ponds in another nearby County, though no greater pleasure in fishing seems to be found than landing a large stringer of pan fish by any means of bait, cleaning them and serving them forth within the space of a few hours time from removing them from their cold watery digs.

Today's exercise was the acquisition of fish flesh, to be specific largemouth bass and the odd bluegill, for the evening's supper and to keep our wives appetites at bay. Our first casts produced a pair of keeper sized bluegills between us.

Both of us lost fish due to improper hooking, or the fish's wiser efforts in escape. An hour passed, and I was rewarded with a scrappy two pound largemouth, that fought well, flipping the surface with determination before being unhooked from the rapala lure he found to his liking and into the cooler.

Cheeze followed suit with an equal sized largemouth a few minutes later, and that was where the fishing ended for the day. Not for the want of further effort.

We fished another hour or better, with no cooperation from the fish inhabiting the pond.

Taking a break to let the pond calm a bit, we rehashed an event that occurred earlier in the summer, when my cousin Rajah was visiting from Arizona, and we were joined by our friend Bim for a late summer afternoon's fishing adventure at this same friendly pond. Rajah decided that he was interested in fishing the adjoining stream for the suckers that replaced the native brook trout some years ago.

Being a surgeon and somewhat peculiar in his mannerisms, Rajah proclaimed that he was "a suckah for a suckah" and that it was his intention to catch and then display for our mutual amusement the ugliest possible sucker fish he was to take.

Rajah delivered as promised some malformed inedible examples of this "trash fish," sharing their true ogre-like crania with us then tossing the still live suckers head over tail into the adjoining woods not far from were Bim had settled into fish along the pond's shore.

Cheeze and I had spread out and were casting into the pond for bass when we heard a loud scream emit from Bim's mouth that he had heard a "bear" and at that same moment a very large bass decided to attach itself to Bim's fishing line.

To make a short story shorter Bim's eyes bugged wide from the bear scare, dropped his fishing pole into the pond and took off running for higher ground, loosing his buster bass, and his fishing pole in the process.

As I referred earlier, this fine pond is near old Ansel's Cave, and bears are known to wander into this zip code, often from Pennsylvania in search of a new home. Sorta like all the people that have left Cleveland for the suburbs, these bears have the same sort of agenda in mind.

Well Bim found no bear, and we all agreed that the thrashing noise was either Rajah falling into the thickets, or a raccoon or coyote fetching up Rajah's discarded ugly suckers.

A good laugh was had all around, and we settled into a productive afternoon's fishing that odd summer day. Before the Cheeze and I departed this November's day , with the sky dropping dark to the west and city beyond, I looked to the ground not far from the pond's edge, and sure as life the small piles of coyote scat confirmed the yips and yowls of the coyotes we heard earlier this afternoon.

No bear, yet a funny tale of Bim, the Bass, and the Bear.

Hey Cookman!

A great way to prepare any freshly caught pan fish that has been filleted is simple as possible being the only manner for this delicate flesh.

I prefer to heat in a medium fashion a small amount of butter in a sauté pan and place the filet skin side down into the pan, cooking only a minute per side for the bluegill, the bass if in the two pound range when whole is cooked correctly in this fashion in no more than three to four minutes per side.

Slide these treats on to a warm plate, garnish with fresh sliced lemon wedges, and some fine chopped parsley, serve with homemade coleslaw and your favorite potato or rice dish.

Cold beverages are required.

Bookselling Time!

If you are like me, and can't always make time for quality fishing, curl up with a good fishing book. We offer today a great American classic concerning our friends the FRESHWATER BASS, by Ray Bergman.

A nice example of a limited edition outdoors book, that any bass fisherman would love to read and own. As a passing thought remember this old ditty that I am apt to mutter every springtime as a parable for the season to come.

In lieu of coition, might as well go fishing! Alright, the gale winds are upon us, time to concentrate on the former instead of the later.

Best wishes to all those who love to fish and eat 'em. My Father who taught me how to fish, my family. Best to Kim and John, and special thanks to Bill and Jane and all their lovely Family out by the pond.

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