NUMENON |
PONDERING CORE ESSENCE
NUMENON |
On June 4, 2024, I became Maine's newest Registered Guide! Something of a daydream of mine for many years, this became my 2024 Winter's Quest when the long-term forecast in December looked bleak for ice-fishing prospects. Rather than frustrate myself with uncertain conditions, I decided to dedicate my efforts and time to capture some desired credentials and build a potentially interesting future. I enrolled in courses with the Maine Outdoor Learning Center (for Registered Maine Guide certification prep) and the Atlantic Captain's Academy (for required U.S. Coast Guard endorsement as a Six-Pack Captain/Operator of an Uninspected Passenger Vessel (OUPV)). I enjoyed the course-work, have passed all the tests, and now am free-and-clear to charter clients for freshwater adventures in Maine! Meanwhile, my OUPV application is basically complete (one more simple box to check); when that is submitted and approved, I will return to Maine's Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife to sit for Tidewater examinations. Then, I'll have accomplished my true goal of being a guide for stripers on Casco Bay. In the meantime, I will simply enjoy my time out there fishing! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways
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After a tough day searching for striped bass in the boat, we returned to the float just before predicted slack low tide. This had been both my insurance policy and safety blanket for the day's catching success. So far, it had been a beautiful day, but I really wanted both of my friends to each catch a nice striper, and only N had scored during our five hours on Casco Bay in the boat. We suspended large, juicy sand-worms beneath floats and enjoyed almost instantaneous action! J landed a nice bass in the mid-20-inches range; it wasn't as large as N's 27 from the flats earlier in the day, but was still a nice fish. The day was now complete but we had some more fishing time in front of us. We alternated through a series of bites. N landed another mid-20-incher, while mine was only about 13 inches! After a short lull, we cycled through our chances again, and in a quick flurry, both N and J landed similar middle-20s fish. At this point, it had been a really good day! I was tending the rod when the float jiggled and plunged; I got tight to a good fish (it was now a little more than an hour after predicted low tide). This turned precarious when there was no stopping this fish's first run. It was well beyond the first line of mooring buoys and I was very low on line when I finally turned her. I was concerned about the angle of the fish and rubbing off on my mooring chain; so N prepped the Portland Pudgy dinghy and donned a life jacket while I carefully guided the fish away from the obvious obstructions. Soon, we were afloat and I was able to gain some line as N rowed us out. Most of the remaining fight played out between the first and second rows of moorings. N was able to keep us in the clear as I wore the fish down in a safe gap. We rested against amybaby22's mooring as I grasped the striper's lower jaw; this fish was finally subdued! N rowed us back towards the float while I revived the fish. A quick measurement against the Pudgy's gunwales indicated a conservative 41 inches; clearly my biggest ever from the float. Or was it my first from the Pudgy? The circle hook had found the corner of her jaw, and the water was a cool 60. After a few moments and with a slight spank to her tail, she swam away, energetically and seemingly none the worse for the wear. We ended the session having gone 7 for 9 with my second-biggest ever Maine striper. Not bad! There were smiles all around, and we were already looking forward to our next trip. Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways I recently enjoyed my third Spring as a Maine resident, and I was fortunately able to hit the trout harder, more consistently, and with expanded range and methods in 2024. In fact, I fished from coast to coast, as I was able to score a long weekend in Northern California with my oldest daughter, K. I shared the boat with other friends and family as schedules allowed, and I enjoyed many hours of serenity and wildness. The fish aren't as big as on the Great Lakes, but when paired with lighter tackle and considered within the frameworks of Simplicity and Quality of Experience, they are worthy quarry! I caught plenty and missed several that will have me thinking through next winter. I'll be pleased to try again in 2025! The stripers are approaching and amybaby22 will soon be moored in the salt; this part of my 2024 Fishing Calendar is coming to a close. Here's a simple summary and celebration of my 2024 Spring Trout Season... Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways What a three day stretch! I kind of miss Lake St. Clair! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways Such a lucky guy to have a daughter like K! (For so many reasons, beyond but including the particulars of this account). She'd arranged a trip for me to visit her in the San Francisco area and share some camping and fishing. After a long Maine Winter, I was more than ready to do so! After just a bit of back and forth, we settled on an itinerary that offered convenient and pleasant fun. We could relax and enjoy each other's company for a few days within an easy drive from her Bay-area home, with the prospect of catching some nice trout! And that we did! Lodging and fishing were available at Collins Lake, and Captains CK and W at FHS.com provided a stable and comfortable platform in our quest for some trout. It was a low-stress approach all the way around, and we appreciated it! Campfires, eagles, ospreys, blacktail deer, nice gear, clean beds, hot showers, ice cream and each other's company; all enhanced by plenty of trout reaching six pounds. It was a "hella" long weekend! Such a lucky guy to have shared not just this, but several decades of shared outdoor experiences with my kids. Somehow, I thought K was all grown up and ready to serve as First Mate aboard Mrs. Paul, my first vessel, 25 years ago. I wasn't quite right about that, but we still spent plenty of time on the water and we had more than our share of fun and success. We got safely home every time, too! It was an awesome gift to share these current moments, but especially so in the reflection of our previously shared experiences. Thanks, K! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways Such good luck! D&JC reached out to us after three moves and a hiatus of too many years and invited us to join them in Southwest Florida. There would be sun, beaches, warmth and fishing; and within a few hours, our schedules were cleared (if only for a long weekend) and airline tickets purchased! Finally, the hour was at hand and we were on our way. We travelled timely and without trouble, and our hosts were so kind to us, they picked us up at the airport! DC and I would fish together the next two days, but this afternoon was about relaxation and catching up. This was easy and pleasant! DC and I shared two days of guided snook fishing in the back-country while our spouses enjoyed the beach and the house's screened-in pool. All in all, things couldn't have gone better. Somewhere along the line, I did get referred to as "The Worst Kind of Person"! This hurt more than being called an "A**h*le", but since it was directed towards me for simply preferring my sandwiches "dry", i.e. without mayonnaise when on a boat in the semi-tropical Florida sun for a full day... I guess I can handle it. And, if that's the worst they can come up with in 96 hours... that's not too bad! Meanwhile, maybe I'll lean towards PB&J on unfamiliar boats in the future. (Let's face it, the jelly serves as a condiment in this situation.) And, I'm proud of my non-judgmental approach to others and their sandwich habits and shall continue (or at least try) to practice such patience with others. Darn, it was good to be warm and go fishing again! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways Christmas gifts this year included new books in all my favorite subjects; baseball, science, philosophy, and of course, fishing. My loved ones know me well, and I thank them! I was quickly drawn into "The Optimist (A Case for the Fly Fishing Life)" by David Coggins , Scribner 2021. This is exactly my kind of book; thoughtful, tangentially familiar to my experiences, written in digestible chapters for consumption on my own schedule. Pretty quickly, even from scanning the Table of Contents, I suspected I would enjoy it; I recognized many of the locales and fish highlighted. But I hadn't even made it out of the Introduction before I realized I needed to pay attention. This book offered a potential gift for me, and for any other reader, if one could accept certain ideas. Here are some lines that caught me from the book's beginning sections. I'm sure there's more to be learned from the rest of the book, but I can only type so much. And, I've already reserved my right to expand this at some later date. "Beneath the (water's) surface are mysteries we can barely make out, so we study and speculate and remember every detail we can. This is fishing." (p. 2) I can't say for sure when my fascination with the mysteries of life under water started, but they'd certainly taken a strong hold of me by the time I was eight years old or so. I was fortunate in that one life-changing day in second grade, a bulldozer arrived and started digging a hole a few hundred yards away from my house. By the next spring, the muddy hole had filled with water, and there was life! Tadpoles became frogs, and occasionally I'd glimpse an unknown creature crawling along the bottom. Somewhere in this timeframe, I joined others on roaming excursions to The Duck Pond, a mile away and at the end of our road. We used worms or bread under floats and caught tiny bluegills, horned pout, and a very occasional (and very small) largemouth bass. I recall fashioning bobbers from discarded thread spools (why did we have so many of these in the house?), and even catching a bass all by myself (although I sought assistance from an older pal to get the hook out.) It probably took an additional year or two for me to realize there were fish in The Pond next door. I'm not sure I had permission to be using my Dad's equipment, but I was swimming a red and white Dardevl through the murky water when I felt the electric jolt of a strike on an artificial lure for the first time. After so many accumulated, fruitless casts, I'd not expected this, but quickly, excitedly and luckily landed the largest bass of my life; all 12 inches of it (maybe.) I was alone, and the fish was thrashing and spikey! I'd never encountered such a beast. After a period of simply gazing at my magnificent catch. I sought help from the local hay farmer (maybe I wanted to show off, too, for the first time in my angling career?), taking his lunch break nearby. He did help, but with some disgust and agitation directed my way, and somehow I realized I would have to face these situations for myself in the future. There was much to be learned! But the fear and the shame were instantly overshadowed by the excitement and the mystery. What else was in The Pond? I was hooked; happily for life, as it turned out. And it wasn't just The Pond; it was The Piggery, Abbott's Run, Lincoln Woods, The Hollow and whatever other waters my young legs could get me to. I didn't know it at the time, but I'd started down a path of wonder, armed only with curiosity and the desire to figure things out. I tried to observe, remember, and understand. I am still trying. "I began fishing as a boy... because I loved it. If anything, it felt natural." (p. 3) "When people ask me about the attraction to fishing,... I tell them it's an outdoor sport. This is obvious of course, but it's the basic truth. You're in the natural world, usually in a beautiful place." (p. 5) This was fun! For a young boy, that's enough of a reason to continue the pursuit. The rest of my life at the time was school, hockey and baseball. School was an imposition on everything else, and hardly worth thinking or worrying about. Hockey and baseball were fun, too, but even at that age I realized that somehow I couldn't control the entire game. A few too many determinative pucks and balls had already taken stray bounces, and my first season of Little League ended (painfully) with me on deck. I was helpless, unable to do anything; I didn't like it. Somehow, I saw myself as in control with my fishing. I often fished alone, I chose the waters and the presentations, and I was doing it for myself. I liked that. I also liked that my Dad encouraged me and quickly started to defer to me in matters fishing. I rigged the rods, I baited the hooks, I pioneered (for us) new places and presentations. I was growing up. Baseball and bikes and street hockey are all outside, and I was outside as much as a kid could probably safely be. All the fun things were outside, and I only stayed inside because of weather or illness. But fishing was my introduction to the outdoors, which is deeper and more meaningful than simply being outside, and I started paying attention to the conditions around me. What's more natural than that? Embracing something fun that enabled my true presence/awareness in the outdoors; and learning to insert myself into the setting at hand. My approaches became quieter and more informed; I noticed and experienced more life around me. My family started camping, we got a canoe and then a boat; all, I think, very much to nurture this part of me. I yearned for more, devoured any "learning" I could find, picked my college in large part based on geographic location and physical setting, and became an aquatic ecologist. All while fishing local waters as much as possible. Sometimes these settings were beautiful, but they were more likely to be humble. We might notice and have an opinion; but the resident fish don't. They are equally wild, regardless; as wild, in fact, as anything depicted in a documentary on the Serengeti Plains or Okavango Delta. My local stripers are as every bit engaged in their struggle to survive and reproduce in their short, difficult lives as wolves ranging the Arctic. The bass in The Pond were, too, and my familiarity with them introduced me to a more expansive world view, one that at the very least included awareness of the fleeting, precious nature of life and the workings of a healthy ecosystem. And not in national parks or other continents, but in everybody's neighborhood, too. "Fishing requires skill and experience, but it also requires an act of faith. By definition we control only part of the equation. The fish has to complete the loop. That means living with the knowledge that success, as it's traditionally defined, requires something out of your control. That's why an angler must, at some level, be an optimist." (p.11) "The Optimist makes the case for ideals beyond angling, for a set of skills that are practiced, improved upon, and measured over time. Taken together they lead to a stronger connection to the natural world and to the enduring belief that something good might happen on the next cast and if not then certainly the one after that." (p. 12) Ah, the accumulation of skills. This might be where most of our attention and effort is spent; we know we need good casting, boat control, knot-tying, equipment maintenance, and boat launching skills. We keep buying new lures, rods and reels. And beyond; we also need to know about our targeted quarry and how they live, how the water we've chosen provides an array of options for the quarry and how this all interacts in determining and executing a presentation that has a chance of fooling the fish of our choice at the given moment, under the given conditions. There's a lifetime of exploration to discuss here, but for the purposes of this essay, I am going to say, "Enough said." Let's move on to the question of faith. Because even with perfect knowledge, conditions, equipment, and execution, there's still a chance that the fish will choose to not participate. And I'd thought I had control; I couldn't have been more wrong. The fish have to play, too. They often don't, but one has to sustain belief that the fish might engage with our efforts. Moreover, the odds of a bite only decrease as our realization of "perfection" erodes. Perfection is after all, unattainable, and whatever I am actually equipped with is a poor subset of a possible substitution for the ideal. I am fooling myself when I think I have everything under control. I also know the psychiatric dangers of being content with nothing short of perfection. So, I do believe that I can fool a fish into eating. If not on this one cast, then probably the next. If not this lure, then another. And if not on this trip, then certainly the one following. If I don't experience something I desire this year, then in 2025 or 2026. Or 2045. It'll happen. And if I can believe that, then I can certainly believe that there are co-benefits and other good things will happen along the way. Some of these will be fishing-related, but I expect most of them will affect other parts of a full life. Good scenery, good food, shared laughter and funny incidents are almost assured; other items of goodness that I cannot even imagine, likely. I'd best be aware and wise enough to recognize these along the way. I'll tip my hat to "fishing" when I encounter these events, but that feels like thanking your vehicle's transmission for delivering you safely to a destination. It's important, yes, but not the whole story. And so is fishing, to me. Important, even highly important. But just part of my story, an enabling part of my whole being, and I am simply thankful for what it has provided, and continues to provide to my well-being. And, I suspect, the well-being of those immediately around me, and a positive influence on what I am leaving in my wake. "One man represented reason, the other emotion." (p. 16) "(C) brought clarity to a mysterious process. The only other option was chaos, which was close at hand but unacceptable. We would observe our surroundings, recognize what we knew to be true, and in the end, we should triumph. If we did not carry the day, then it was because the universe had conspired to undermine us. We had done all we could and, as a result, could bear no blame." (p. 17) "Nearly every meaningful thing I've ever learned was only clear in retrospect." (p. 30) These statements are describing the author's primary mentors, what they brought to his understanding and growth in the sport of fly fishing, and a truism that certainly rings true for me. I'm a bit jealous of their collective experience; I am not sure I am mentorable. I certainly learned from my Dad. It would be easy to say that I quickly and most easily learned what NOT to do from him, at least when it came to fishing. What I did learn, all too late, is that relaxing and enjoying oneself is as valid a pursuit as actually catching fish; and that he really did invest himself in supporting my growth. As a teenager, I thought I was riding the coattails of his boat ownership and fishing trips; now I realize that he was along for the ride while he gave me the opportunity to figure things out. Thanks, Dad. I've had various fishing partners and buddies along the way, and I hope we learned from each other. In fact, I know we did, but what we learned and shared was largely technical, procedural, and logistical. I thank each and every one of them, and I look forward to future trips as a few of these relationships rekindle. I'd have embraced C as a mentor, because his scientific approach to solving the problem at hand resonates with me. That's my basic approach, and what's all this learning, observing and remembering for if not to impose order and sense; and then to apply this knowledge towards a desired resolution. Pay attention, think, apply the right tool in the right manner, and viola - success! So much of what I've learned, whether from others or by myself, has come from this approach. It's so natural to me! But I also recognize (now) that with limited time, resources and imperfect understanding, this will only get one so far. There's room for fantasy and quixotic thought in fishing, too. Sometimes these fanciful approaches will succeed and fish will be caught. My scientific self can still observe, learn and remember, even if I do not understand. And perhaps I might even enjoy and choose a method that is not the most successful at a given time; I've finally learned that's an okay use of my time, too. Perhaps it has taken too long for me to realize these things. Perhaps I've missed out on lost opportunities for other types of success. But I am glad that I can choose to embrace these findings as equally legitimate, and I still have time in front of me. Maybe even enough time to experience, recognize, and share currently unimagined, but wonderful outcomes in fishing, in the natural world order, in life. The least I can expect of myself (and others around me) for 2024 is that I remember these lessons and live them to the maximum extant I am able. I shall do my best! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways While I didn't publish a specific set of fishing goals for 2023, the season has ended and I can't help but reflect back on what was a fantastic fishing year. I could easily start and end my summary with a simple reference to capturing my largest-ever striper on July 6; but there were so many other good aspects to the season! For instance:
While I missed out on the perennial goals of catching a false albacore and landing a four-pound bass, I have to admit that I didn't even attempt to fulfill these. I was too busy chasing other dreams. I did fulfill the following typical goals:
These last five are less empirical, but certainly more meaningful. "New water" was a primary focus for the entire season. I greatly expanded my reach within Casco Bay and found many new, productive nooks and crannies. I am now pretty comfortable from Portland Head Light to the Bustins outside of Freeport. I also had some success on Square Pond, different parts of Sebago, and Narragansett Bay! I was perhaps light on new techniques, but the Minn Kota trolling motor added new dimensions to my fishing and presentations. I also captured a Personal Best Striper on the Fly in very shallow water on a shrimp pattern; this general experience, and this particular fish were highlights of the season! I also introduced the frantic "Bayman Bounce" to Broad Cove and turned some difficult fish into biters! Finally, I resurrected Great Lakes gear and techniques (long cores, copper lines and downriggers) to successfully contact Sebago's lakers. New buddies PP, CG and nephew J all joined me for pleasant sessions and stripers landed. I was also happy to host the next generation of striper stewards on both sides of my family. My travel within Maine was limited, but I found new water and lost memorable fish in both fresh and salt water across the lower part of the state. And, A and I enjoyed a non-fishing long weekend Down East and somehow landed at the Fryeburg Fair, too! My (fishing) travel outside the state was even more limited, but I was very pleased with my targeted day-trip to Narragansett Bay. I didn't find the big bait and fish I'd expected and hoped for, but fell back on small baits and estuaries to make the day and find my first stripers of the year. I'd even consider starting future seasons in Little Rhody, if only as a salute to my youth. Finally, if I award myself the extra point for NOT falling overboard (not once, all season!), I feel pretty comfortable rating this season at 9 out of 10 possible points. Overall improvement is still possible; just not especially likely! I am especially grateful for the support I've received from loved ones. Even if they cannot understand how important this is to me, they somehow still afford me the opportunity to fully participate in these pursuits. 2024 awaits; I have plans and ideas... Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways The Maritime skiff got pulled from her mooring on Columbus Day, and so that meant she could live in the garage and start fishing in fresh water for the remainder of Fall. My interest in larger trout, ease of access, driving range, and open fishing opportunities per fall regulation led me back to Lake Sebago. I enjoyed several increasingly productive trips in a row under a range of conditions varying from downright beautiful to equally as miserable. Quite often I had the State Park boating access site to myself, and I was usually miles from the nearest boat. I was seemingly always around bait and interesting structure, and I worked hard at honing my presentations to elicit more bites from the wild, resident lake trout, locally known as "togue". I mixed local intel and favored techniques with my history of trout fishing on Lake Michigan and Michigan's inland trout lakes. I resurrected a Big Jon downrigger that I had saved from Numenon and mounted it aboard amybaby22. I deployed long sections of lead core and copper wire to get my spoons down to depth, and found fairly consistent patterns of biters suspended at 45 feet and near bottom in about 75 feet of water. I'd heard that the local "bite goes white" in the fall, and I can't really argue against that point. I'd say "white glow" is even better! Equipped with excellent sonar/mapping, flexible rod holders, multiple rigged rods, the bow-mounted trolling motor, and now the downrigger, amybaby22 proved herself once again to be extremely fishy! My increased ability to troll down to speed (1.5 mph or even a bit less) kept my spoons in the zone and attractive. While none of the trout would have raised an eyebrow on Lake Michigan, I found some very decent local togue. Sebago has more of a reputation for numbers than size, but also pumps out the occasional outsized laker, so I might as well be there when it decides to eat! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways With Hurricane/Tropical Storm Lee behind us (thankfully, with no real associated problems, locally) and access to the water fully restored, the final push of the 2023 Striper Season lies before me. It's been a great season to date, but I wouldn't mind some extra icing for the cake! It's been a fulfilling season with good numbers of fish landed, way more fish longer than 28 inches than I could have ever expected, and a Personal Best. These experiences have been seasoned with plenty of missed opportunities, too, that somehow linger in my thoughts more strongly than many of the season's supposed "accomplishments". ... This was the second time in three seasons that I chose to pull amybaby22 from her mooring due to forecasted tropical storms. In both cases, nothing of consequential danger or damage happened, but one never knows. ... Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways |
Steve LachanceVia Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Michigan and now, back to New England! Archives
June 2024
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