Hung up ''A Fisherman's Sos''

By John C. Goodwin

A Fishermans SOS
This is a story about a 62 year old Rookie fisherman, Hung Up on fishing. A fishing story is like an iceberg of the human experience; ninety percent of it is beneath the surface. Past life experiences, historical significance and technical data are tied together to tell the authors story. Comradely, new friendships, natural beauties and everyday fishing adventures are touched on in both fresh and sea water journeys. If you want to know more about fishing, other than how big the fish was, Hung UP will take you there.

Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing it is not fish they are after.
Henry David Thoreau

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465367129

Book preview

Hung Up

A Fisherman’s SOS

John C. Goodwin

Copyright © 2012 by John C. Goodwin.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Hung Up

Salt Flats

Juniata River

Wolf River

Returning to the Wolf River

Lavallette Sea Shore

Hunterdon County

Intracoastal Waterway

Delaware Township Ponds

Competitor

Black Friday—Hoopes

Seven Mile Bridge

Marathon Part II

Lost and Found Pond

Mountain Bike Ponds & Lakes

Hidden Jewel

Christina Cruise

Delaware River SHAD

Fisherman’s Mark

Prallsville Mill Quarry Revisited

The Foran Pond

Found Lure

Amwell Algae

Read the Signs

Bridge Catfish

Lake Carnegie

Musky Trout Hatchery

Spruce Run Reservoir

Merrill Creek Reservoir

Point Pleasant Experience

Olympic Mercer Lake

Valley of the Giants

Lake Assunpink

Big Mohawk

Dragon Races

Lake Hartwell

November Gamble

Veteran’s Day Victory

Sergeantsville Surprise

Riveting Research

Crimson Tide

The Valley of the Sun

Pennsylvania Exploration

Beltzville Lake

The ARC Fishing Club

Pardon the Interruption

Fireman’s Hole

Dauntless Defense

Mysterious Musky

Hog Heaven

Pink-Day Banana

Looking for Pearls

Don’t Tread on Me

Diamonds in the Rough

The Bahama Express

Three Times a Charm

Woodbridge River Watch

Manasquan Keeper

Georgia on My Mind

What Lies Beneath

Hitch-Hiking to Hancock

Erie Expectations

False Impressions

Returning to the Scene

Heroes Remembered

Canyon Critters

Split-rock Mirage

Armed Assault

Misdirection’s

Mr. Know It All

Tantalizing Targets

Vet the Equipment

Virgin Territory

Flounder Finish

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

Dedicated to the ARC of Mercer;

there but for the grace of God go I.

John Bradford 1555

Ships that get in trouble on hidden reefs, icebergs or other ships call for help with an SOS. The fisherman that hooks an unmovable object usually calls out: I’m Hung Up. All fishermen from the new angler to the seasoned veteran must learn how to deal with the Hung Up sensation. This book offers some suggestions on how to do that in both fishing and in life.

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Red Snapper

SOS was first used by the American Ship Arapahoe in 1909, off the coast of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina. 268

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Red Snapper, Mahi-mahi & Wahoo in the Bahamas

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter

and bleed."

Ernest Hemingway

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Largemouth Bass at Lake Hartwell; Hartwell, Georgia

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared

to what lies within us."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Hung Up

Sports do not build Character. They reveal it.

John Wooden

It has been written many times that the best thing one can do is to give something back. That is the goal of this book. My education as a fisherman started at an early age. As a nine year old, I would go down to my Uncle Jack’s place and go flounder fishing on the Indian River. The Indian River is approximately 15 miles long. It enters the Indian River Bay an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean just south of Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. The river starts at Millsboro, Delaware and had an early Indian presence. The Assateagues moved to the area in the 1600’s. In 1711 the Maryland Colonial Assembly established a reservation for them. Once the reservation was established it became known as Indian River Indians and it is probable that the river was named after them. One of the tribes, that joined the reservation, was the Nanticoke and they formed what is now known as Riverdale, Delaware.¹ Riverdale became my summer home in 1954. When I first started to visit the area the Nanticoke were under the direction of Chief Clark, who later passed on the tribe’s leadership to his son Chief Clark, Jr.

Fishing the river at such a young age I never realized, until many years later, what a great experience it was. Man may travel many roads in a lifetime but he never forgets the first road traveled. Just learning how to put a hook in a minnow was real progress. My Uncle and I would go up to where the Indian River empties into the Ocean to fish. On the Bay side watching men trying to find their favorite fishing hole was interesting. I still remember one man taking his oar and putting it in the water trying to hit bottom, looking for his favorite fishing spot. Fishing for flounder on the Indian River in 1955 was fun. My Uncle used double minnow leads; which meant you put two minnows on a rig connected to a float and then waited for a bite. It was not unusual to catch two flounder at a time. Many times we caught fifty in four hours.

Of course, times have changed. Three years ago, I went back to visit my Uncle just before he passed away. I took him to a little restaurant, not far from where we put our boat into the water to go fishing. Riverdale is a very small village but; in many ways bigger than any city I have been to. Good people live there with solid American values. I guess you could say it is what America is all about. Once we sat down in the café area, literally back to back with the other customers, a man right behind us started talking about his recent success flounder fishing. He had caught three, the most he had caught in the last three years. The state of Delaware has changed the fishing length requirements on flounder yearly. Today the flounder must be nineteen and a quarter inches long, which is huge, and the limit is four. As I stated, times have changed. My Uncle and I just smiled at each other while the man kept talking about his catch.

Other than the Indian River, my fishing experience has been limited at best. I have been on business trips and entertained on various fishing boats in places like Cape Cod, the Chesapeake Bay, Baytown Texas, Biscayne Bay Florida, San Diego and Honolulu. To be honest, on those trips, there was more socializing than fishing done. I can even remember fishing off the docks of Saigon during the Vietnam War. The fish really did not have much of a chance. We used hand grenades.

So on the 27th of February 2006, my birthday, I retired and decided to become a fisherman. I knew I did not know much and that made the adventure educational. My first plan was to use a kayak. My goal was to go ocean kayak fishing. The only problem was I had never been in a kayak. Of course, I started reading all I could about kayaking. There are two basic types. The Sit On Top (SOT) and Sit In Kayaks (SIK). Each type has models that fish well. The SIK is the traditional type kayak. The occupant sits inside the kayak and there is usually a skirt that goes around the waist and seals the inside of the kayak from the elements. SOT’s are the new breeds. They are essentially glorified surfboards. SOT’s are the reason kayak fishing is growing. The ability of the SOT’s to transport the fisherman and their gear, into the ocean, is why ocean sport fishing is growing at such a high rate.²

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The Delaware River, which is not far from my home in New Jersey, had a place across from Frenchtown that I could rent a SOT kayak. Doing that was easy and started my education, teaching me how to listen. I learned you can hear waterfalls and by doing so avoid trouble. Getting hung up, like I did, on the rocks going over a fall is not a lot of fun. The Delaware River travels the entire boundary between New Jersey and Pennsylvania. The English allowed the Dutch to name both the Delaware River and Delaware Bay in honor of Lord de la Warr who was believed to have discovered both on his voyage to Virginia in 1610. It has since been proven that Lord de la Warr never made it that far north but; the name stuck and over time de la Warr became Delaware.³

Next was a trip to the Peace Valley Park and Lake Galena which are located just outside of Doylestown, Pennsylvania. Renting a kayak to get more time on the water helped my learning curve. I practiced both getting in and out of a kayak, not falling into the water was progress. I knew I needed all the experience I could get before going out on the ocean.

Whether it is athletics, academics, the military, coaching, business or fishing; the only way to improve is to practice. For me basketball was a good example, the only problem was that’s the only thing I practiced in high school. My school work and studies were almost nonexistent. Getting ready to go to college and not being able to read or write on the college level, made things difficult. I remember going to see my high school guidance counselor, with my mother, to discuss my future. The counselor only had one question for me. Well John, what is it going to be the Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines? When my mother stated I was going to go to college; the counselor could not control herself and laughed. I could not blame her. No creditable four year school would have me. I decided to go to junior college in Kansas. There the only way I could play basketball was to get above average grades. One day I thought about the countless hours I had spent learning how to use my left hand. I reasoned I needed to do the same thing in the classroom. In Kansas there were three things I could do, no make that two things; play basketball and study.

At first even the letters I sent home, were returned marked RTS or Return to Sender and that was after they had been read. My point being, any letter I wrote was almost impossible to read. Watching what the good students did made me develop a system to do the same thing. I did my system every day, for the same length of time no matter what. It was like watching a good player make a special move and then copying and practicing that move, until it became part of me. Practice does make perfect. Taking advantage of any one on one time with my professors helped. That plus all the hours in the library paid off. After junior college and college my grades were averaged. That average got me into Graduate School without having to take the Graduate Record Exam.

Practice is a prerequisite to learning how to fish. Watching fishermen on You Tube can do nothing but help a new fisherman. Casting a lure long or short to a specific spot can only be perfected through practice. Practice can mean the difference between catching a fish or not. Becoming multi-skilled with your hands in basketball or fishing, will almost guarantee success. Simple things like tying a lure to a line or baiting a hook with an injured hand, become a lot easier for the ambidextrous fisherman. It certainly makes a difference when getting in or out of a kayak. If there is a procedure that a fisherman does not know how to do, he can correct that by doing research. The final step is to find a place to practice the research.

A friend of mine told me about a shop on Barnegat Bay in New Jersey that rented ocean kayaks. Barnegat Bay became my next practice site. In 1609, Henry Hudson stood on the deck of the Half Moon and described Barnegat Bay as A great lake of water. Originally named Barendegat (Dutch), the name meant Inlet of the Breakers, referring to the turbulent channel approximately 30 miles long and between 4 to 6 miles wide.⁴ When I arrived at Barnegat Bay I rented a sixteen foot kayak with the appropriate gear which included a paddle and life vest. Going across the bay I realized getting the kayak pointed in the right direction was a lot of work. The tide changing made me use the paddle to keep the kayak in a straight line. After a few hours of paddling my previously unused groin muscles began to scream with pain. Sitting in the same position, worrying about turning over, will do that to you in a kayak. Going across the bay I found it kind of neat the way the passing motor boats all slowed down while passing. The courtesy of not creating a wake was well received by me.

While paddling, I began to hear some strange sound that seemed to be getting louder. All of sudden I was overtaken by a sea tug, pushing some kind of industrial barge. The captain blew his horn and waved. The barge created a large wake in the water. That was one wake I had to find a way to ride out, which I did. Once on the other side of the bay, I discovered what my real problem was. How do I get back to my staring point? When I started I marked a large house on the beach but from the other side of the bay all the houses looked the same. It was much like fishing on the Indian River with my Uncle Jack, which always seemed to have a touch of excitement.

One trip, after we hit the fishing area, a fog moved in. When we lost sight of the shore line we thought we would just ride it out until the fog rose. It was a great plan until my uncle discovered the boat was taking on water. Uncle Jack always seemed very cool under pressure. He had served four years in Europe, during the Second World War, fighting in places like the Battle of the Bulge. He seemed to react to bad situations with a steady hand. Not trying to upset his ten year old nephew, he simply stated: We need to find land. Not knowing which way to go and without a compass we took off. Of course we went the wrong direction. Our boat continued to fill up with water. Luckily we beached the boat before it could sink. Uncle Jack got out of the boat and lit a Camel Cigarette, acting like he knew where he was going the whole time. He saw my big eye expression and laughed.

Remembering that day with my Uncle and trying to keep my composure, I guessed right by going back to the middle of all the Barnegat Bay houses. Up close I could immediately see my starting point. Next time I will have to do a better job getting my bearings. I now know the value of a compass, while on the water. My first step towards that end was to purchase a Lensatic Engineer Compass. The Engineer Compass allows one to find a real position on a Map or make a magnetic azimuth reading of any object.

Salt Flats

Fate often saves a doomed warrior when his courage endures.

Beowulf

My self education was progressing; but I knew I was a long way from my goal of going out on the ocean to fish. To tie together fishing with my kayaking I decided to go to Jacksonville, Florida. My plan was to hire a fishing guide who knew something about ocean kayak fishing. Through the internet I contracted Rich Santos. Rich was a New York guy who was following his passion for fishing, as a career, for the past fifteen years. The first thing we talked about was the gear I would need to go out on the water. Things like a large hat, bathing suit, long sleeve shirt, sunglasses and sun screen; I expected. What I did not expect was his concern about what kind of shoes I would be wearing. Getting ready to go on a fishing trip, either locally or to another state, takes planning.

Just making a list is not good enough. The items listed depend on the individual. When I was in the Army, in Vietnam, it came down to what you needed most. The weather was the controlling factor. The temperature made each soldier make choices. The more you carried the more work it was. If it was the rainy season; other choices had to be made to stay dry. Many times I have felt like I was going on a patrol outside of Saigon; when in fact I was in my garage getting ready to go to a new reservoir, lake or pond in New Jersey. Checking items you want to take and then rechecking them, is the key. Being sure the items work, is many times overlooked.

None of this would have had any significance to an old boss of mine Jack McBride, if the items were not in chronological order. Jack taught and practiced that a list was only good if it built towards the end goal. In order to do that, first things come first. It’s much like building a fishing rig. After the rod and reel have been chosen, the correct line size has to be decided on. The first step is to pick a swivel to attach the leader line; if a weighted hook is going to be used. McBride would point out that all of this should be done before purchasing bait; I agree. Going to a fishing site and starting from scratch is difficult and time consuming. Fishermen learn being ready, when they come to the water, can be the difference between catching and not catching fish. A chronological list helps make the big catch possible. All of sudden, starting with my shoes made sense.

Rich explained to me that after we were out on the water, we would get out of the kayaks and fish off what he called mud bars. The mud bars would be filled with oyster shells that could cut your feet. I found this odd, I didn’t know there were oysters in Florida. I found that Oyster reefs are often referred to as oyster bars. In Florida, within the Indian River Lagoon, oyster reefs may be found in the vicinity of spoil islands and impounded areas like the Salt Flats. In addition to chow, oyster bars appeal to game fish for protection and concealment.⁵ As a kid I use to go clamming on the Indian River in Delaware and had problems with the clam beds running into the oyster beds. Digging clams out of the mud with your feet is hard work and can be disastrous when the clams and oysters mix. The clams are usually two to three inches deep in the mud.

One day clamming; I stayed in the water too long. My feet were kind of num, when I felt something strange. When I felt it again I headed to shore; where Uncle Jack was cleaning his boat. I knew I was in trouble and the pain continued to intensify. When I got out of the water I saw my feet were cut. I could not walk. The cuts were full of mud and sand. Uncle Jack came right over to where I was sitting. He was a short man with powerful arms. After coming home from WWII he decided he did not want to work as an accountant any longer. He became a painter, a job he did for forty years. You only had to shake hands, one time with him, to know his grip and arm strength was in another zone.

Looking down at my feet he did not say a word. He simply picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. After walking me to his car, he took me to the hospital’s emergency room. I don’t know which hurt more the cuts or when the doctor cleaned my feet. Rich and I discussed my past oyster bed experiences. After that, I went out to buy a good pair of boots. From Rich’s explanation I realized I needed some boots with very hard soles. Living in New Jersey, in the middle of horse country, I knew that rubber hard sole boots were used when cleaning out horse stalls. So I bought a pair. Of course the airport security people had some interesting boot questions. The boots being in my carryon luggage confused them.

In Jacksonville after renting a car I stayed with a friend of mine, Jeff Frost. Rich determined that I should meet him the next day at 5AM northwest of St. Augustine. We actually met on the side of the road, close to Route 1, near a truck stop for breakfast. We talked our way together over our cell phones. I had to laugh when Rich drove up in his oversized jeep with two kayaks on top. Rich decided where we would fish the Salt Flats. We drove five miles west to the Princess Place Preserve on a sandy road. Wild, serene and beautiful, the Princess Place is the crown jewel of Flagler County’s setting of parks. It was built as a hunting lodge in 1886 by Henry Cutting and is the oldest standing structure in the county. After his death Cutting’s wife, Angela, married Boris Sherbatof a Prince in the Russian royal family and she became known as the princess. So the name Princess Place became established.⁶ When we arrived at our launch site, I noticed the jungle looking countryside was wide open and we did not see another person all day. It reminded me of Vietnam. This Intra-coastal area was deserted, other than a couple of short leg deer.

Rich had just about any type of fishing gear, pole, reel, bait or lure one could imagine. He furnished everything. Going out on the Flats was fairly easy on the calm water. We started out to some nearby coves and caught flounder. Watching the long legged Heron Cranes work the area for small shell fish was interesting. Once out on the open water and later moving closer to shore I found out about the mud bars. They looked like sand bars sitting a few inches above the waterline. Rich would go to a mud bar, jump out of his kayak and put a long metal pole into the mud. The pole was used to attach our kayaks to, while we walked the bars fishing. We used artificial bait that looked like shrimp. We caught Red Fish which I found out later was extremely good eating. On Florida’s east coast most red fish are between 15 and 35 inches long and weigh 3 to 15 pounds. They became almost extinct in the 1980’s but through stocking have come back to healthy levels today.⁷

Things were going well when it started to cloud up. It was getting darker and I could see some lightning bolts off in the distance. Rich and I talked about his many fishing experiences and why he left New York to come to Florida. Somewhere in the conversation I mentioned how this area looked like Vietnam. We both found it amazing that we were stationed, about a mile apart, at the same time in Saigon. The storm was getting bigger and we needed to get off the water. Lightning was both to the right and left of us. The race back to shore proved to me that I needed to get my upper body in better shape, I was really dragging. While paddling, I said to Rich that we should be all right; after all we made it through Vietnam. Rich only statement was Don’t be so sure! After getting back to shore and cleaning up the kayaks I had to go find some ice. The fish we caught were getting ripe. Overall it was a great day and I learned a lot. I know Jeff Frost enjoyed eating the Red Fish.

At this point, I realized if I was going to continue this adventure I needed some better equipment. For years I had stopped on business trips at Cabela’s in Hamburg, Pennsylvania. The site is located right off I-78 and has over 250,000 square feet of shopping area. It is a great outdoor equipment selling site! Talking to the sales personnel got me pointed in the right direction. I got a two piece pole, reel with line and some artificial bait. My next Florida fishing trip would revolve around going to the Seven Mile Bridge in the Florida Keys. Practicing with the new equipment should help get me ready.

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Salt Flats & Redfish

Juniata River

You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment.

Henry David Thoreau

Spending the little time I had in a kayak, I knew I needed more experience steering. Over the years I have kept in touch with some of the men I had worked with in the hydraulic industry. One of them was Bill Lawson. Bill was a Hydraulic Sales Engineer and a real pro that had moved to Thompsontown, Pennsylvania after he retired. He and I had worked together, for over fifteen years, calling on industrial accounts in New Jersey and Pennsylvania.

Once he heard I was into kayaking he insisted I come to Thompsontown. Thompsontown was founded in 1755 by William Thompson. It is the home of the oldest church in Juniata County and has a population of 711.⁸ Bill was still very active and did not look seventy-eight years old. He had two new twelve foot kayaks that he had brought for his grandchildren. He stored them in his garage. Walking into Bill’s garage to look at the kayaks, I was struck with how clean and in order it was. The garage was Bill. Everything was labeled and he even had a numbered list that showed where each item in the garage was located. It was laid out much like any presentation he made to a customer. His organizational skills were unmatched; which made any complicated hydraulic system he defined, easy to understand. We discussed steering a kayak in quick moving water. He suggested we go out on the Juniata River; which was about a mile from his house.

The Juniata River is approximately 90 miles long in central Pennsylvania. The word Juniata is a corruption of the Iroquoian word Onayutta meaning Standing Stone. The first known inhabitants of the river valley were the Onojutta-Haga Indians. Smallmouth bass and channel catfish are the fish of choice for the local anglers.⁹ The river is very scenic and passes through both mountain ridges and water gaps. Ten miles south of Thompsontown the river empties into the Susquehanna River. The river itself is not very wide, two to three hundred feet at best. It is only a couple of feet deep with clear water. The bottom is made up of large and small moss covered rocks with an occasional tree trunk mixed in. Bill and I put the kayaks on a boat trailer and pulled them down to the river behind his car. I still remember carrying the kayaks down to the river’s edge. Bill insisted on carrying his share of the load.

Our plan was to go down river, about five miles, to his brother’s house; which was on the river. Starting out we ran into a couple of boat fishermen who were fishing for small-mouth bass. Later it made me smile to see Bill going along the shore line to look at some birds nesting up in the trees. A light rain mist made the mountain ridge, which ran beside the river, look even larger than it was. The river speed did pick up at the many small waterfalls we encountered, heading south towards Harrisburg. It was fun steering through the rocks and I could tell I was improving on my kayak control. That night Bill cooked dinner and we told each other fish stories until late into the night. I left very early in the morning to go back to New Jersey. Bill understood my desire to stop again, along the way, at Cabela’s. Unfortunately this trip did not end on a positive note. Bill passed away a month later. Thank God we got the chance to go kayaking.

Remembering Bill, the first thing I did was to re-organize my tackle box. I even labeled sections; highlighting the different lures, floats, hooks and weights. I know this would have met with Bill’s approval and it certainly will make my fishing a little less complicated.

Wolf River

When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.

Thomas Jefferson

The last two or three years of my industrial working career centered on Chicago. Curt Page was my engineer contact at the company I worked for. We had talked about going fishing together; once I retired. In May of 2008 we planned a fishing trip to the Wolf River in Wisconsin, to go after White Bass. The river is one of the two National Scenic Rivers in Wisconsin. The scenic portion is 24 miles long. It rises in the northern woods of the state, with the northern most forks stemming from Pine Lake in Forest County.¹⁰

White bass are found in lakes and some large rivers throughout the United States. The species is somewhat similar in appearance to the white perch, though larger. Its back is dark, with white sides and belly, and with narrow darkish stripes running the length of its sides. White Bass are carnivores. They eat insect larvae, crustaceans, and other fish.¹¹ There would be five us: Curt Page Engineering Manager at Hanna Cylinders, Glen Page Director of Operations at Laird Technologies, Wayne Love President of Microwave Research and Dean Bosh a family friend of Glen’s. I found that planning for the weather in Wisconsin, in May, means one must realize the temperature could range from forty to seventy degrees. Finding a cabin became our first priority. The Wolf River is inundated with fishermen in the spring. It is also a great place for hunters. There is an abundance of turkey, duck, geese, deer and even bear. We caught a break and found a new cabin that had just opened to renters; it was near the river and had great facilities.

The Cabin on the Creek is owned and operated by Gerard and Kelly Watras. Gerard was just back from a tour of duty in Iraq and was ready to help us get settled in. I flew into Chicago and Curt picked me up at the O’Hare Airport and took me to Rockford; where he lives. The next morning the other three men met us with their two sixteen foot boats and we started our trip to Fremont, Wisconsin. Fremont is known as the White Bass Capital of the World.¹²

The trip north took three hours. On the way we stopped to buy food and drink for the week. Our plan was to have steak one night, chicken another and on third night have a fish fry. When we moved in each of us picked where we wanted to sleep. I went upstairs to an area that almost looked like a hay loft. There were three beds; I picked the bed in the middle. While unpacking I happened to look across the room and was surprised to see a stuffed black bear. I got a laugh out of Gerard’s sense of humor. The five of us split the costs and did all of our own cooking. Well not really, not being able to cook, I cleaned the dishes using the new dish washer. Our cabin location allowed us to dock, load and unload our boats right in our own back yard.

Small minnows as bait worked well all week. May is the month that the White Bass run the entire length of the Wolf River. Each day we caught thirty-five to forty fish.

The fish is rather small, about nine to ten inches long, but they give a good fight. At this time of the year there are boats all over the river. We stopped at the Wolf River Outfitter for minnows each day. One day while tying our boat to the dock another boat pulled up besides us. In the boat were two men with their sons. Both boys looked to be about ten years old. They were having a great time with their dads; learning about fishing, life and their fathers. Curt Page and I discussed how the boys will remember these times for the rest of their lives.

While shopping I saw an old timer selling lures. I started asking questions about what worked the best. He simply stated anything purple. I brought three purple flies that did the job. My only problem, being a rookie, was I did not know how to tie a lure to the end of my fishing line. The guys were laughing at me every time I tried to tie a Clinch Knot to attach my hook.¹³ Curt Page tied my line for me many times, even when it took away from his fishing. One of the guys made fun of me by saying: The reason John wears slip on shoes is because he doesn’t know how to tie a knot. Curt did not seem to mind. Watching him tie the knot seemed odd, especially when he lipped the tying area. I learned saliva held the knot together. I got into the swing of it later in the week but; I knew then I had some homework to do on the Clinch Knot. Again using the computer, I found a good example of how to tie it. The drawing description showed the seven steps necessary in order to tie the improved Clinch Knot. It looked a lot easier on paper then it did on a boat in the middle of the Wolf River. The key step is to put lubricate or saliva on the line, before pulling the line to form a knot.

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Each boat on the river was trying to find their secret fishing spot. The fish look for either streams that are feeding into the river for food or shaded areas to mate. The best place we found was under a small house boat that was up river. We found this place by accident. My first cast actually went on the cabin’s roof. I got hung up. Curt then climbed up on the house boat to unfasten my line. Fishing line comes in a wide range of sizes or strengths, which are referred to as pound-test. The trick is to match your line’s pound test to your rod and reel. At the same time, matching the bait you plan to use with the species of fish that you are trying to catch. Most bait casting reels use a heavier line. If using a large spinning reel, use a stronger pound-test. Remember the heavier the line the more chance the fish will see it and avoid it. Eight pound test is a good line to start with.¹⁴

While I watched Curt climb down from the house boat, Glen dropped a line in the water. From that point on, for over a half hour, all we did was catch the fish that were hiding under the house boat. After fishing all day we decided to go back to our cabin; which was about ten miles from Fremont. Each night we would eat and play cards.

One night we made a big fire, in the outdoor fire place. The surrounding country was beautiful and you could see that the people here believed in protecting

their wild life. The local community even put up, along the river, what looked like telephone poles with table tops on them. These were for the Osprey to nest on. Another great deal was having our own private creek that filtered in to the Wolf River. Not having to pull our boats off the water each night, gave us more time to fish. We must have liked it. The last night there Gerard and Kelly joined us for a cocktail. At that time, we gave them our down payment for next year.

Returning to the Wolf River

Do not tell fish stories where the people know you, but particularly, don’t tell them where they know the fish.

Mark Twain

In March of the following year, I started getting emails about our second trip to the Wolf River. The cold weather had given my fishing partners in Chicago cabin fever. So they decided to start planning for our May trip. After all it was only fourteen weeks until we were to meet in Rockford, Illinois. Our group would be adding a new fisherman this year, Chuck Zirk, a cousin of the Page brothers. Actually the first email I got was from Glenn Page, saying he was bringing an air mattress to sleep on. Last year when we picked our beds; Glenn, Dean Bosh and I were upstairs. I got the middle bed which was great but the other two had a low hanging ceiling to fight. When I say low hanging I mean just that. The A Frame Cabin was very modern but; if one had a couple of beers before going to bed, the ceiling could be trouble. Dean was in the Navy so the tight quarters did not bother him. Both Glenn and Wayne offered to have one of their poles waiting for me when I arrived. This gesture would allow me to get through security much quicker at the Chicago O’Hara Airport.

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Leaving my house for the Newark Airport; brought back memories of working on the road. The pressure to make my flight, with the quick steps required, brought a smile to my face. Boy, am I glad I do not have to do that anymore. My main concern was my luggage. Inside my bag I had a small tackle box that I was not sure would make it through security. Standing at the O’Hara luggage conveyer and not seeing my suitcase gave me anxiety. Two bags had been pulled from my flight, one of them was mine. Everything turned out O.K. and I even found my untouched tackle box. I took the bus from Chicago to Rockford and again stayed with Curt Page. The six of us, with three boats, left the next day for Fremont Wisconsin on Route 39 North. Just about every fifth car we passed was pulling a fishing boat. During the three hour trip, there were a lot of statements made i.e. By the time we get to the Wolf River, all the fish will have been caught.

The first day fishing was cold and windy. Going across the Poygan Lake to get to the Wolf River required wearing some sort of wet gear. Lake Poygan is part of the Winnebago Pool, a series of interconnected