Anticipation
Hey folks! I’m not quite sure how to do the column this month. I mean, we’re coming off the warmest winter in the history of this planet! What’s up with that? Now are there are any idiotic Republicans with nice-looking hairdos who wish to deny global warming out there?
It’s definitely too early to try to get a striper, mackeral or anything else for that matter. Although I’ll tell ya, them fish must be about as confused as I am! We’re dealing with ocean temps here, and it’s like a hemispheric weather pattern, so the whole planet is, shall we say, fucked up. I got no idea when the fish are going to make an appearance, or if they are going to show up at all.
Well, I guess I could scribe about freshwater fish. My fishing partner Randy has been after me for ages to get into freshwater fishing. And actually, I’m really an old hand at brook trout fishing. Nabbing brookies is one of my favorite sports. You’ve actually got to use some brains for trout, and it really is fun. Well, ’sides mosquitos, ticks and a few other minor pests. And believe me, nothing tastes better than a pan right full of brookies freshly fried. Fuck, I’m getting hungry just thinking about the little devils. And I got a way of cookin’ ’em up that’ll blow your socks off. I’ve had folks congratulate me on ’em that don’t even like fish. So between catching them, which is like winning a game of chess, and eating them, which is exquisite, you’re talking splendid.
One big problem — this column has always been about fishing in Portland Harbor. I don’t know of one spot inside Portland city limits to catch a trout. Do you? Legally, that is.
You could stock Deering Oaks Pond. Tell me that ain’t the best idea you’ve heard in quite a while. You know, out in the country, back in the skids, they’ll throw a trout in their well! Oh yeah. And the fish in there keeps the well very clean and free of any waterborne vermin you can imagine. Don’t believe me? Go ahead and check with the ol’ timers. They’ll tell you. The trout seem to find bugs without seeing them.
I hope the macks show up, along with the rest of the gang — herring, pollacks, stripes, maybe even a bluefish (which I haven’t seen in ages). Heck, maybe I’ll catch my seasonal average of about 100 mackeral, six to eight stripes. But I’ll be with you no matter what happens.
Speaking of weird weather, when I was a lad I could actually walk my way to South Portland without the bridge! No shit. We used to float on chunks of ice down in Back Cove and play pirates. We could walk across Back Cove!
My dad could walk to Peaks Island in the winter. Imagine that. Fucking unbelievable. And that ain’t all yet. My grandfather could get jobs sawing ice down the harbor. They’d use the ice for packing cold goods, keeping things fresh.
Now, going back a bit more, I know some good ol’ boys from a place called Small Point, Maine, which is where the Kennebec River meets the Atlantic Ocean. There’s some famous lighthouse there.
Anyways, these old duffers were telling me how they used to give people wagon rides to Portland. On the ice! My pals tell me they’d heat up blankets for the trip. They claimed it took about 30 to 45 minutes. Maybe an eggageration, but what a ride! It now takes one hour and 20 minutes by road.
You see what I’m getting at. How much warmer is it gonna get? This year they couldn’t find any ice on the Kennebec River.
Well, like I say, I’ll try to find some fish to write about next month. Keep your fingers crossed.
