One That Got Away

A calm evening and the shank end of a holiday weekend conspired to find the cheeze and myself out in our canoe , bobbing about Lake Erie at dusk plugging away with our # 3 mepps spinners looking to the waters good graces to provide piscatorial thrills and our angling skills to perhaps catch a fine fish or three for dinner. Half way through the 2008 baseball season , and it is still difficult to forgive manager Wedge from his post season 2007 choke , against the Boston Red Sox. Now our Cy Young award pitcher C.C. Sabathia is headed for Milwaukee and a chance to play for the new York American League team next season , and I believe that the wrong player in this baseball travesty is being shipped out of town , to a New York American league farm club at that. General manager Shapiro and his bench lackey Wedge have held reign here long enough. Time for their bobble heads to roll along Carnegie Road and out of town for good.These two are the logical candidates for departure , not C.C. Sabathia. We kept meaning to get out fishing in June , though the Lake has been rough , and events have conspired otherwise. Thus , a calm night in July found us two hours into our casting about , with a single rock bass , and a undersized small mouth bass that spit out the spinner mid air as our only strikes while on the water. As we fished around a previously good bass spot along the shoreline , we passed numerous post fourth of July revelers that still found the combination of Lake Erie waters and food and beverage a good bet for their Sunday evening party minds , and a fair number of these folk were perched on a deck hanging over the water when the fish hit my spinner. A fair amount of fish weight is an easy read to gauge by the tension felt on hands and line , and this particular finned customer was no small potatoes. Hitting at some distance away , and bending line and pole gave me an idea that I was in for a fight. I was not disappointed in this department. As I reeled the fish towards the canoe I had already notified the cheeze , and he was ready with the net. Visions of fishy fleshpots most have dulled my senses , and it was after a few minutes strenuous fight that I felt the line go slack , and no fish was meant for our chops this evening. I felt bad enough loosing this battle , though in true Cleveland fashion a rousing chorus of boos and hisses greeted my flub from the near bye deck on the shore.Typical behavior of the native tribes mucking about these days. I laughed out loud at the irony of these events , and the cheeze and I had not another fish even approach our humble offerings for the remainder of our voyage. Some poor fish is now swimming about with a lure stuck in it's craw , and for that I am sorry. We had been fishing out at our dear friend's farm pond , a couple weeks ago , and I had not inspected my tackle prior to this canoe trip. My fault , plain and simple. Oh well , another day , another fish. Not so however for Wedge and his 2007 post season choke. Wedge let a real big fish get off his hook , and this 2008 baseball season is testimony to his sad managerial skills. Just ask Brandon Phillips? Eric Wedge did not see talent in Phillips , nor did Wedge get along with Mister Phillips.Phillips had the last laugh and his play against the Cleveland American League team this season said it all. In your face Eric Wedge. I only wish we could have at least caught a glimpse of the fish that got away? Walleye ? Small mouth ? Sheephead ? Never will know? Just like that 2007 choke by Wedge. Never will know if the Cleveland American league baseball team would have gone the distance and brought home Cleveland's first world series championship since 1948. Good bet we would have captured the flag however . Now , with the wrong player leaving the clubhouse in C.C. instead of Eric Wedge , it will be sometime before we will get another chance.Perhaps if Shapiro had traded Sabathia for Brandon Phillips , this whole baseball joke would be more palatable. As for fishing , we get another chance this evening , and I hope to land tonight's catch not fall victim to the boos , jeers and invectives again. I am saving my personal bile , jeers , and invective for that loser Wedge , and plan to give him my own version of the Lake Erie raspberries when fishing season is over , and it is time again to watch the 2008 Cleveland baseball team imitate the 1950 Saint Louis Browns .

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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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