Dana prepared an outstanding Christmas brunch for Terie and Marty’s morning visit, enhanced by my “Agave Maria” recipe which utilized the home-made tomato juice that she canned while I was in Michigan. We opened presents afterward, including a new air-combat video game for Marty that we shall properly inaugurate tomorrow during our PS3 Fest here at the Town House. Last night was another amazing Stew Eve gathering, with the Clan Hall packed with “grown-ups.” Only the members of our Louisiana outpost were missing. Brendan was home, and all the Louisville cousins were present. Mingus was pouring an excellent Bourbon Barrel Stout. Jerry R gave me a rifle sleeve for my muzzle loader (which claimed no venison this year), and Jeanne surprised me with a small picture of our mom when our dad first took her fishing. I had no memory of the image. All these details take on a new emotional significance in the wake of Mombo’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease. Everything will change now, and yet everything remains the same as the family pulls together to manage her care, to collectively safeguard her well-being and dignity. God bless us everyone!
Archive for the ‘Fishing’ Category
Agave Maria
Sunday, December 25th, 2011Les Cheneaux report
Saturday, September 26th, 2009
Morning on Moscoe Channel | Barefoot’s Resort | Les Cheneaux
• Marty and I are back from the first vacation the two of us have taken together. We coaxed unhappy Ned all the way to Tipp City on the Saturday before Labor Day and left for Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with Bill the following day. I’ve made many entries about Barefoot’s Resort in this log. I don’t intend to rerun the details, but you know how much I find to love about that setting. Add to that many satisfying experiences with my grandson from this most recent trip.
• My weather report is great— warm and sunny during the day, cool and refreshing at night. The clear sky displayed an awesome starscape, as the breeze laid down almost every night before a brilliant moonrise over the reflecting channel. I wish I could make a similarly positive report about the fishing. Caught enough yellow perch and northern pike to provide a nice taste, but no cooler was packed with frozen fish for the return home. Our only attempt at lake salmon was a strikeout. The era of bountiful Chinook is gone, everyone seems to agree. Nevertheless, Marty had his chance to pilot the Sylvan as I worked the familiar stern down-riggers with Foot, my generous friend.
• Glad to say that I got in my hoped-for endurance swimming. People told me the water was cold when we first arrived, but I soon learned that their perspective was completely different from mine. I didn’t need a wet suit for the first few days. Never having been in the water on a busy holiday, I did make Bill nervous on Monday when I paused twice on my channel crossing to accommodate boat traffic. He was having unpleasant visions of “collecting body parts.” I pledged to be more cautious for the rest of our stay. Sure, I want to keep fit, but I can’t help but think that part of why I like certain activities is that it puts me in touch with a younger, more naive self — especially that little guy who would put a rubber knife in his teeth after watching a Weissmuller flick and take off at full speed across the backyard (without shirt, shoes, or a care in the world).
• I have made this retreat with Bill during most Septembers since 1993. Although Dana and I traveled to the destination with Marty years before, it was different to share the experience on the eve of his turning 18. It was a unique opportunity. Another exceptional part of our getaway was the first visit of my old high-school chum Greg B, who I haven’t seen since 1980. A highly successful pediatrician in Columbus, Ohio, Greg lost the mate of his life last year after her long battle with cancer. We had several profound conversations—true moments of soul contact—that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Nothing has ever put me in greater appreciation of my own partnership of love, nor helped me glimpse the sorrow of losing a spouse—not even my dear sister’s double devastation. It was a rare, man-to-man insight that I simply can’t put into words.
• A time apart with good friends, and with a lad who holds an exclusive place in my heart. A time suspended, close to the earth and the heavens. On the water, in the water, under the water. Gazing into the wood flames, with the sun’s heat still pulsing across my skin, and the countless points of fire shifting overhead. I shall remember. I shall return.
Eliot’s lunker
Tuesday, May 12th, 2009Cousin Dan let me know about a picture of his nephew Eliot (with an impressive smallmouth) that’s currently featured at the Bob Coan site. It’s been a while since I saw the lad, and—wow—is that generation maturing fast or what? Tom C responded, “That reminds me of the time Uncle Ed caught a big catfish in the Stillwater. Then he distracted me and put the fish on my hook and threw it back in the water; I was about eight.”
Dan thinks Tom’s recollection of my dad is a good reminder of “the kind of guy he was.”
It is, indeed.
Nice “hawg,” E.D.
Farewell, Michigan, summer must be over.
Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008Detail: Pursuit of Happiness, John Andrew Dixon, 2008
When traveling north to the U.P. after Labor Day, I cling to the notion that it’s still summer, with thoughts of sunny fishing expeditions and refreshing channel swims, but everyone else is beyond vacation, and all the kids are back in school. The illusion falls apart by the time we head south. Another summer ends, as do they all, and, as I look back on it, I realize that it held many good things, in addition to the silver linings that come with the not-so-good things.
Although, as I write this, the results for The Mark of Great Art contest haven’t been released yet, the outpouring of support and online votes make me feel like a winner already, no matter what the outcome. My collage artworks will go to London and Madrid, and there is no telling what will come of that. Any way I look at it, a breakthrough for my mixed-media style has been achieved, and I can add that to my first gallery sale of a wood engraving print, with the potential for new collector interest. Dana and I scored a new design client during this past summer, too. There’s much to be hopeful about—while the doom-and-gloom static of a self-correcting society buzzes in the background like a big, late-summer housefly during its numbered hours.
Prayers continue for Susan during her extended treatment period. Bruce is doing better. Mombo bounced back from a bout with medical side-effects. Uncle Si and Aunt Marian passed away at 91 and 92. America will never see their kind again. Lots of other things (happy and sad, exciting and troubling) percolate in my Clan and the concentric circles beyond it. What else is new? What else is family?
My summer was fully charged with the incomparable imagination of Gene Wolfe, thanks to Bruce. Having him here since he moved home from Indiana has presented more than a few challenges in a small dwelling that is also home to a business. That shouldn’t be a surprise, but the physical discomfort and inconvenience he’s put up with during those months surely would have been maddening to anyone without his astonishing resilience. Hang on, stout soul. Circumstances will break your way before long.
I almost talked myself out of joining my friends on their annual trip to the resort near Cedarville, and was still vacillating on the way to Ohio with Dana, as preposterous as that seems now. Bill gave Amy an engagement ring that night at her 50th birthday party. Dana and I had a nice meal in Tipp City the next day. She insisted I shake my funk and enjoy the following week of fishing. When I first arrived in the Les Cheneaux, my spirit felt oddly stale, and I knew I’d better make the most of the break, because it was clear I needed it. It’s always good to spend time with real friends, setting everyday cares aside. By the time departure was at hand, I was more attuned with our natural surroundings and my creative pump had been re-primed. We didn’t catch many fish, but the intangible benefits of charging inner batteries aren’t as obvious as an empty cooler. Autumn is here, and I’m ready for it.
Departing Barefoot’s Resort— You don’t know how lucky you are boys
Thursday, September 21st, 2006Ah, the Salmon Lords have smiled. Bill and I made our final trip over to the dolomite port last night and caught three fish for the freezer— 10lb-4oz / 12lb-8oz / 13lb-14oz. We’d decided to divide up the two sides of the boat between us, two lines per side, but after Bill had two straight catches on the starboard downrigger, he granted the next fish to me, regardless of location. It hit on the very same pole and was the biggest of the three! And so there we have it—another evening for the fishing log, and the kind of event that will keep us loving this sport and coming back for more. The fresh memory of it seems a bit unreal as we head south today through Michigan, and I try to jot a few notes for the record, with an image before me similar to that old Jackson Browne album cover, clouds like marshmallow baguettes lined up as an invasion fleet in a milky-blue sky, and golden-green trees stippled with burnt orange marching by, with an ochre crust of fading ferns beneath the old-growth cedars, punctuated by unreformed “dickhead” drivers cutting around us at high speed, as if it’s the only way to move with traffic, all the time LaSalle’s soft black head resting comfortably between us, holding her contented dog-thoughts of home…
Day Eight at Barefoot’s Resort— Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong
Wednesday, September 20th, 2006Phoned into the KBBC conference out on the dock this morning, reminding me of taking the July call when I was here, while out on a boat with Marty. This kind of technology has just sneaked up on us, but would have seemed like Star Trek to me not that long ago. After that, Foot and I mounted our last perch run across Muskellunge Bay to the Point. I had one 11-inch baby that made the outing for me, although we were still hoping for a limit catch. They just haven’t bitten like that on this trip. Foot was miffed at hooking little channel cats and sunfish. I cleaned and froze the batch when we got back. Now we’re cleaning, organizing, and packing so we can leave as early as possible tomorrow morning. I guess I’m ready to depart, but I sure would like some “final night luck” later this evening and bring in a nice salmon.
Day Seven at Barefoot’s Resort— Because the sky is blue it makes me cry
Tuesday, September 19th, 2006A few days ago I sat out on the dock and wept without tears. It didn’t last very long. I wasn’t able to remember when or why until just now— I was reading the words of Paul Watkins. I should have known. Today I convinced myself to put on my wet-suit and get back in the water a second time. I needed some exercise and I figured it might be my last chance to do a channel swim. The water was quite cold but tolerable. I covered more than a half mile. Bill had driven into town. I honestly felt like I had that entire part of Michigan to myself, except for the geese, swans, and cormorants. The air temperature getting out of the water was more shocking to the system than the experience of getting in. The wind has continued all day and discouraged any fishing outings. Yesterday we caught several yellow perch, including Bill’s 11-and-a half-incher, probably the largest one any of our gang has ever hooked up here. Later, we reverted to salmon trolling again and that proved just as fruitless as Sunday’s session with casting rods. With a cold front predicted, we had to keep a constant eye on a changing sky. The two of us fished until dark and then came back to a deserted resort. I had to hold the spotlight so Bill could see the pier.
Day Five at Barefoot’s Resort— I should be sleeping like a log
Sunday, September 17th, 2006I guess we can say history was made yesterday when JD and Bob came back from the waters near the dolomite port with two large King Salmon caught by casting with light tackle from a small aluminum boat. Now everything we’ve learned about salmon fishing has been turned upside-down! No one has ever caught salmon with any other method than trolling in the conventional manner. With both fish to his credit, JD takes the 2006 Fish-Off Championship hands down. For the record, the method was Bob’s idea, and they waited until their last day to test it out. What a shocker! They endured rough conditions on top of it all, and reportedly had an anxious time motoring back with their life jackets donned. Well, it’s all documented now; Foot and I said good-bye to our chums today, anticipating the traditional “phase two” of our stay. We wasted no time using the Sartoris Technique out in the channel, but no nibbles, no nothin’ was the result, so we shifted gears and set off for Port Dolomite in a small craft, intent on duplicating or outperforming JD’s effort. We worked and worked, saw salmon rolling at the surface, even jumping, all points of the compass, cast after cast, with pike poles and dipsy-diver rods from the Sylvan, wrists getting tender, my hands on the verge of cramping. We watched the “Maumee” out of Cleveland come in and dock. I never knew exactly how these big ships did it—they come in fast, spin clockwise and then back into the loading area, with empty holds ready to be filled with high-grade dolomite for the steel industry. We kept fishing the entire time without a single strike, even though we knew the elusive creatures were close at hand. We saw them, breaking the water, as if to mock us. JD’s extraordinary “final night luck” was beyond our acquisition.
Day Four at Barefoot’s Resort— Painting testimonial pictures, oh, oh, oh, oh
Saturday, September 16th, 2006JD and Bob had a long and disappointing early excursion that took the wind out of everyone’s sails, as far as any enthusiasm for fishing, and so college-football-watching took over as the main activity of the day. When Bill, Mike, and Jack decided to go into town after the first round of games, JD and Bob proceeded to go on their “casting for salmon at the dolomite port” mission, which they’d been talking about all summer. I have to hand it to them—they haven’t given up. They’ve been gone for a while and what they’re trying to do is totally unprecedented in the fishing annals of Barefoot’s Resort. I was happy to stay here with my drawing tools and a Paul Watkins novel.
Day Two at Barefoot’s Resort— You can syndicate any boat you row
Thursday, September 14th, 2006Bob and I were up early and put the rowboat in the water. Bill (Foot) found oars and an anchor locked in the unused shower house. I figured that with six guys, we needed a third small boat for fishing in the channel. Most of the perch caught while we were up here in July were taken between 8-11 in the morning, including that memorable outing Marty and I had with Sartoris on July 21st. It’s time to duplicate that success, if I can. At least we have the “elbow room” now and the Sylvan can be used exclusively for salmon runs. Before long, five of us were “fanning at the plate” out in the channel, so we gave that up and had a fair amount of success with another run to Connors. Nobody got skunked this time. Bob had multi-species and Foot caught an 11-inch perch—a nice fish by any standard. I had only four keepers. It’s frustrating for us not to have found the “zone” yet.
Day One at Barefoot’s Resort— Longer than the road that stretches out ahead
Wednesday, September 13th, 2006We arrived here last night after enduring a terrible day for driving—downpours, wrecks, closed lanes, fog, detours—you name it. Settled into Cabin One about eight hours after leaving Tipp City and twelve hours after leaving Danville, the longest I can remember it ever taking to get to Cedarville. We got organized in the traditional pattern without having to discuss it, and I reacquainted with Jack, Bob, and JD, who had left together early and arrived much sooner. All five of us piled into the Sylvan today and boated to Connors Point to begin taking on the perch in earnest, but only Bill and I caught keepers. In the evening we mounted our first salmon expedition, but had no luck, even though it proved to be a decent shakedown. By the time we got back, Mike had arrived and had a crackling campfire going. Back at home, Dana is hosting her book club, if I’m not mistaken, so she’s with her good friends, too.
Please stand by
Tuesday, September 12th, 2006On my way to the U.P. and my favorite fishing resort. Outside the reach of the InterWeb, it will be a week or so before I can update this log.
Departure from Barefoot’s Resort
Saturday, July 22nd, 2006We’re heading south from Michigan, having made the decision to avoid I-75 to travel down through Indy. One of the great blunders of our stay is not getting any pictures after Marty and I slew the perch yesterday. Even Dana didn’t think of it. Stupid. It would have been a good memento, plus a potential Website shot for the Resort. Our “coach” took control of the cleaning, and we just went with the flow, in a state of joy and satisfaction, neglecting the obvious documentation. Oh well, sometimes you just get caught up in the moment, so “you had to be there.”
Lot’s of little things stick with me about the week. Like playing “Grand Theft Auto” with Marty and realizing that, although the premise of the plot-line is criminal in nature, the video game has an extraordinarily broad range of programming modules that include driving, motorcycling, bicycling, boating, and flight simulation for both planes and ’copters. In other words, the play experience is, to some degree, what the player brings to it. The level of violence is largely discretionary. Although it may still be true that it has a negative influence on younger users, for most in the target age group, it’s probably no more depraved than the average action movie that same age group thrives on. My conclusion— the criticism neglects the balance of features that make it a technical wonder and which undoubtedly contribute to its success as much as any perceived focus on the violent aspect that underlies any “shoot-em-up” video game.
I also remember talking briefly to the old mechanic fixing a Chris-Craft engine at the Hessel marina. He replied to my question about horsepower with a somewhat dismissive yet still friendly answer that indicated his attitude regarding the supremacy of horsepower— “It’s all in the gearing. But you can’t get these young guys to understand that.” He told me how he used to race boats when he was young and how he would beat boats with more horsepower by generating more torque. What will happen to all these awesome vintage boats when the generation that worshipped them as boys is gone?
And I took great pleasure in watching Marty’s director’s-cut DVD of “Mohicans”. Savoring Mann’s skillful blend of style and substance again has easily convinced me to skip his much-criticized “Miami Vice.”
Most of all, I revisit moments out on the Sartoris boat, hearing Marty’s quiet chuckles of satisfaction as we hooked perch after perch, and I flash back to some great beach frisbee, with the realization that my grandson isn’t a kid anymore.
Memories like that take the sting out of departure day.
Day Six at Barefoot’s Resort
Friday, July 21st, 2006As of last night, I think that Mr. Sartoris could no longer take it, so he invited us to go out on his boat this morning to demonstrate successful lake perch methodology. Long story made short— Marty and I brought back a basket of 34 keepers which resulted in an “all-you-can-eat” beer-battered fry later in the day.
Suffice it to say the Sartoris Technique works! I’ll be looking forward to using it again in September. What a difference a little know-how makes. As they say, “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.” Everything has to be exactly right and then… WHAM. Most catches don’t require a new bait setup. WHAM. Again and again. That man thinks like a fish. And the current conditions in the Les Cheneaux allow for a satisfying reward, if you take the proper approach.
After our big catch we went into town to get tartar sauce for Marty and also visited the Hessel dock, concluding that the weather was right to take out Walt’s Sylvan, so we had a nice boat ride when we got back, circling Government Bay, motoring out the Yacht Entrance, and then coming back around Gravelly Island. Marty got his chance to take the wheel out in open water. We had the familiar geography all to ourselves and it was really enjoyable. As the sun set, it was a classic Barefoot’s Resort scenario… campfire, frisbee on the beach, marshmallow roast, a slice of Dana’s blueberry-peach pie with a scoop of Laurie’s homemade ice cream.
Packing luggage that night didn’t even feel so bad. What a week!
Day Five at Barefoot’s Resort
Thursday, July 20th, 2006Marty hooked an eleven-inch channel cat yesterday morning while I took my conference call out in the boat, but otherwise, zero perch. Then I botched our precious panfish morsels in the kitchen when I mistook Dana’s sweetened whey powder for flour. Today’s luck was even worse, and, as Marty put it, it was a “demoralizing” day on the water. Meanwhile, Tom P is routinely bringing in 15-30 perch per day himself and his daughter Tracie was catching keepers with her little boy only 50 yards away, while we sat and watched. Hard to figure. I know there are several variables to juggle (plus Marty is a bit green and I spend a lot of time dealing with his tangles, etc.), but we should be doing better. We’ll keep trying. They’re out there. One foot-long perch jumped out of the water so close to me I should have grabbed it. All in all, no complaints. We’ve had some pretty nice days this week after the wind died down. Up to now, I’ve been getting in a good channel swim each day, but by the time we’d gone down to the lake today, the breeze had picked up again. I made an anxious crossing with loud, choppy waters that made it tough to hear any potential boats that might put me in danger. Later we watched “Master and Commander” on Marty’s console and it was even better than I remembered it, a truly great story with exceptionally well-developed characters. Seafaring in 1805 makes my dodging little motorboats look like a tame occupation. Why is it we men must find some element of daring to feel fully alive?
Day Four at Barefoot’s Resort
Wednesday, July 19th, 2006It’s early. Marty and I are getting up to go perch fishing. Dana is kindly making pancakes for us. It just dawned on me that I have a Bicycle Commission conference call this morning which I may need to join by cell from out on the lake. That’s too wild for me—I don’t even typically carry a mobile telephone in my “day job!”
Speaking of wild, I had a dream last night about getting stuck in an unknown J.J. Abrams TV series (from when he was younger) called “Submission,” and it was a phantasmagoric mix of “Baron Munchhausen,” Twyla Tharp, William F. Cody, and “Alias.” I thought, “Wow. This guy is a damn genius!” I had to laugh at myself when I woke up and realized it was a dream.
Day Three at Barefoot’s Resort
Monday, July 17th, 2006Marty and I had no luck with our fishing opener, but today we caught one yellow perch and a few sunfish (also called pumpkinseeds). They’re hard to clean. With so many activities back-to-back, I haven’t recorded nearly as much as I want to while it’s happening. The lad devised a diamond-shaped mile swim for me in Moscoe channel, so I accomplished that before we “struck out at the plate” during an expedition for northern pike tonight—at least the sunset was spectacular…
Day Two at Barefoot’s Resort
Monday, July 17th, 2006We had our gas oven go on the blink, so Dana used another one in a vacant cabin to roast a turkey breast and bake a blueberry pie. I helped roll out the top crust with a wine bottle. Marty hooked up his PS2, so now he can do his favorite thing that makes him happy, plus it will allow us to watch a DVD or two this week. Did my first channel swim before dinner last night—without fins because I forgot to carry them down to the lake. Even so, it has me thinking about a greater challenge—either speed or distance. Seeing people with perch in their baskets gets my desires going, so I need to run into town and get my license. Let the fishing commence!
Not exactly the adventure I was seeking
Thursday, July 13th, 2006All I wanted to do was locate a copy of “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” and Joan has to go and bring me under the spell of Harlan Hubbard. I walked right into it, without philosophical defenses nor emotional armor. Like a dang fool!
Well, at least I’m leaving tomorrow for a humble dwelling at Barefoot’s Resort, where I can make an effort to sort out my longing for paintbrush and engraving tool, clean and eat fish caught with my own pole, and put on my wet suit again, returning to the long meditative swims in open water that I’ve daydreamed about for nearly a year… to contemplate what life will now be like with Harlan under my skin and Joe Wood’s gaze in my imagination, keenly observing how I deal with it.
life on the fringe of society
Tuesday, July 11th, 2006While at Kelly Ridge, Joan let us pick out some of Joe Wood’s old fishing poles for our trip to Michigan. She also handed me a book by Harlan Hubbard titled “Payne Hollow.” I pointed out to her the handwritten note on the front jacket flap that said, “Not for loan.”
“Too bad,” she replied. “He should’ve stuck around to enforce it.”
I immediately began to read the small work, as Dana drove us north for a few Lexington errands. I’d never heard of this memoir—the heartfelt story of an artist-craftsman and his quest for an isolated, unconventional life close to the earth, but I quickly understood why it might have been one of Joe’s most treasured books. Hubbard describes his conviction that a longing to live an even more primitive, solitary existence is less important than the compromises necessary for the richer satisfaction of a married life.
The author did not win me over from the start, but rather by slow degrees. I’m struck with the parallel of my own experience with Joe himself. Perhaps he came to the same conclusions about a life alone. Perhaps this is my sister’s way of helping me better appreciate the natural course of their own love story.
Wow… and I still have the second half of the book ahead of me.
A great report from Cedarville, Michigan
Monday, July 3rd, 2006I spoke to Chris P on the phone today and confirmed our reservation for the hilltop mobile home at Barefoot’s Resort this month. It’s ours from the 15th to the following Saturday morning. He said they’re having the best fishing season in over ten years. Lots of yellow perch and northern pike. Marty needs to pick out one of Joe Wood’s fishing poles for the trip. Joan was kind enough to offer him one a while back.
It’s clear that the cormorant control measures are finally kicking in, and the news is exciting. To restore the natural fishing pattern of the Les Cheneaux is the ultimate goal. As much as I love fishing for king salmon in the U.P., one has to recognize that the Michigan resource managers stocked those waters with salmon in response to the dwindling number of indigenous species. It’s only too obvious now that the introduction of non-native water fowl caused a devastating ecological imbalance that’s only now being successfully mitigated.
Various & Sundry, part thirty-seven
Monday, May 1st, 2006— Month of April workout totals: Swim-4; Bike-6; Run-3; Lift-6; Yoga-7
— We stopped out at the park to watch some of Hayley’s varsity softball game, but she wasn’t having a very good night on the field or at the plate. Cliff and I talked about business. Dana and I needed to leave after a few innings, and Hayley’s team was winning, but it was my hope she’d have a much better j-v game.
— I had to do my utmost to tactfully resist the mushrooming of my Brass Band Festival involvement. It was necessary to remind others why donating creative time is worthwhile to our studio—an opportunity to represent our best ideas to the community. One shouldn’t need to explain that we volunteer for reasons that go beyond the goodness of our hearts, and that the mutual benefit doesn’t work if we end up executing production services for the featured artist.
— Seems like my old chum Scott V and I only touch base this time of year, during our shared birthday season, but nothing wrong with that. A life-long athlete, he’s recovering from disc surgery on his neck and is eager to be back to normal. His goal is to return to the ball diamond as soon as he can. In a month he plans to go fishing in Canada with his Dad and four of his brothers. Sounds like a great getaway—no phones, no TV, with just cold water in the cabins. Dadbo always talked about taking the Dixon brothers on a trip to the “North Woods,” but it never happened. I’m happy to learn Scott is getting to do it, although it makes me sad at the same time.