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Showing posts with label found in the wild. Show all posts
Showing posts with label found in the wild. Show all posts
Found in the Urban Wild: S.Jersey's Best Dry Rub Ribs
Lumpy's BBQ and Pizza, 1892 Route 70 E Cherry Hill, NJ.
An unlikely find between the Cash for Gold store and the Mathnasium. Located about twelve miles from the Land of the Cheese Steaks, Lumpy's has some of the best hickory smoked, dry rub ribs we have feasted on in some time (read as since moving North of the Mason Dixon). The pulled pork was decent as well. I asked the chef why they bother with pizza and he said it was because the ovens came with the place.
We neglected the urge to sell our gold for cash or do any mental gymnastics...and opted instead for a to go order of ribs.
From the mailbox: "freshwater fish of the northeast"
Currently in the review queue, because you can never have too many pictures of fish on the coffee table... more later.
Found in the suburban wild
I found this Orvis Outlet in Lahaska, PA but without a single item of fishing gear to be found. I suppressed my disappointment long enough to inquire as to why and was told that they weren't allowed to carry gear since there was a local Orvis fly shop near by. They did however have a large assortment of clothing and home items at reduced prices. I regret not picking up a tiny working model Medieval Catapult that was on the mark down table.
Found in the Urban Wild: Orvis Sighting
Sighted on Google Street View and rumored to be Orvis' PR Guru, James Hathaway unleashing his inner Easy Rider in Manchester VT. Since we are using him for blog post fodder we should probably include a link to the excellent Orvis Fly Fishing Guide Podcast.
Found in the Urban Wild
Vintage Shakespeare Stock Certificate
Suitable for framing and hanging in any angler's fishing room, $295 gets you this 100 share stock certificate in the Shakespeare Fishing Tackle Company. (editor's note: You won't actually own the shares as this is a "specimen" certificate kept on file by printers and such. ) The seller, Scripophily.com also has an excellent write up about the history of the company:
Although William Shakespeare, Jr., had some training in mechanics and craftsmanship, he spent his days peddling patent medicines in and around Kalamazoo. When not hawking elixirs, Shakespeare often grabbed his fishing rod and reel and bait-casted on the banks of the Kalamazoo River or at one of his home state's myriad lakes. Like his angler friends, Shakespeare was frustrated by the inherent inadequacy of multiplier reels, and in 1895 he fell back on his mechanical background and attempted to come up with a solution. Using a small jeweler's lathe, Shakespeare carved precise, curving grooves along the lengths of two round brass rods and created a device that wound back fishing line evenly on the reel spool. He named it the "level-wind," and took his creation on his next fishing trip. The level-wind worked well, drawing the line in evenly without the aid of a thumb. Those fishing alongside Shakespeare gawked at his homespun reel and asked to use it. Shakespeare made several more level-winds and handed them out. The level-winds were an immediate hit, and that was all the market testing Shakespeare needed. He filed for a patent and quickly prepared himself for his new entrepreneurial career.
Found in the wild
Urban Fly Fishing: Atomic Style
I popped some potassium iodide pills and did a little Atomic Urban Fly Fishing this weekend. No catches but I did manage to sight cast to a good sized long nose gar and almost hooked a massive turtle. Any idea what color "lining" (ala brownlining) this would be? Radioactivelining?
Steep trails and peace of mind
This past weekend I had a severe need to get on the water. The work week had been filled with change and future promises of hard decisions to be made. When Paisley emailed me saying that he could visit an area delayed harvest stream for a few hours the next day, I got my "kitchen pass" from the wife and jumped at the chance.
The weather was supposed to be rainy and reports indicated that the river we would be fishing had been heavily poached, so the chance of it holding fish was slim. The rain was a plus and the poached out status of the water was not nearly enough to dissuade me. I needed the focus that fly fishing requires. I was also in no state of mind to wield a camera, so even though we brought one, I decided to leave it back in the car.
Paisley and I met before daylight and after we consolidated our gear into his Suzuki fish wagon, made our way to the river. A first glance into some likely holes revealed no easy to spot fish. Fishing our way up the river proved our theory that the water had indeed been heavily poached. After failing to even see a single fish, much less catch one, we decided that delayed harvest fishing was useless and made a turn up a tiny feeder stream marked with a sign denoting it as wild trout waters. Jeff made the statement that since NC regulations allow anglers to keep four fish per day in the wild waters and since the delayed harvest water was empty, the poachers had probably cleaned out the wild stream as well. We could only hope that the tiny water with tough access had been enough to keep people away and the trout fishing intact.
The tiny stream was strewn with large boulders and worked its way as stair steps up the side of a steep mountain. Recent warm conditions had us watching our step as we both knew that the area is well reported to have a large population of Timber Rattlers and Copperheads. I remarked to Jeff that it was just cold enough for the rattlers not to be able to warn us if we got too close. He said that there way more Copperheads than Rattlers in the area anyway.
The river turned out to be beautiful. We worked our way over house sized boulders and around dead fall timber, fishing tiny pockets of water all the way. Many casts were made while peering out from behind rocks while casting at eye level with the pool above you. Jeff managed to pick up a six inch brookie out of one of the pools but most of the tiny pockets seemed not to hold fish.
The next step up the mountainside revealed an unusually large pool flanked by giant rocks on either side and with a fallen tree in its dead center. I waited below as Jeff crept into position to make what amounted to a blind cast around the boulder. Jeff made several casts with no reaction so I crept up the side of the rock to the right of the pocket and eased my head up over the rim so as to allow a sight line in the pool. Immediately I spied two 14-15 inch brook trout cruising the pool shoulder to shoulder. Keep in mind that a 15 inch brookie in a NC wild trout stream is about the same as a thirty inch Alaskan rainbow only much more rare. I flipped my nymph into the pool only to have the trout rise and eat my indicator (yes, I was fishing a strike indicator - this was supposed to be an easy stock trout trip). On my second cast the other trout in the pair did the same thing this time coming out of the water to try to swallow the tiny rubber indicator whole. I looked at Jeff just in time to see him get a strike and break his tippet on the set. You normally only get one or two shots at the same native trout so, having missed ours, we moved on up the river. We paused at the head of the pool and Jeff managed to pick up another trout from the whitewater. We climbed higher with some resolve to come back and visit the dead tree pool on our way back to the vehicle.
The tiny gorge was spectacular and both Jeff and I regretted the decision to leave the cameras behind. It seemed that every time we climbed up to another level, the river became more clear and the boulders more massive. However, we both agreed that even guys with fishing websites deserve some time "off the grid". We managed to fish our way up as high as we dared without the aid of ropes. On our way back down to the car I switched to a small dry fly and after getting the rust off of my hook set, managed to catch one of those gem like brook trout. Jeff was able to pick up another fish or two as well.
We left the stream and stopped off for lunch before heading our separate ways. As I drove the hour and a half back home, the thoughts of work and work issues slowly crept back into my head as if only to remind me of why fly fishing is such good therapy.
The weather was supposed to be rainy and reports indicated that the river we would be fishing had been heavily poached, so the chance of it holding fish was slim. The rain was a plus and the poached out status of the water was not nearly enough to dissuade me. I needed the focus that fly fishing requires. I was also in no state of mind to wield a camera, so even though we brought one, I decided to leave it back in the car.
Paisley and I met before daylight and after we consolidated our gear into his Suzuki fish wagon, made our way to the river. A first glance into some likely holes revealed no easy to spot fish. Fishing our way up the river proved our theory that the water had indeed been heavily poached. After failing to even see a single fish, much less catch one, we decided that delayed harvest fishing was useless and made a turn up a tiny feeder stream marked with a sign denoting it as wild trout waters. Jeff made the statement that since NC regulations allow anglers to keep four fish per day in the wild waters and since the delayed harvest water was empty, the poachers had probably cleaned out the wild stream as well. We could only hope that the tiny water with tough access had been enough to keep people away and the trout fishing intact.
The tiny stream was strewn with large boulders and worked its way as stair steps up the side of a steep mountain. Recent warm conditions had us watching our step as we both knew that the area is well reported to have a large population of Timber Rattlers and Copperheads. I remarked to Jeff that it was just cold enough for the rattlers not to be able to warn us if we got too close. He said that there way more Copperheads than Rattlers in the area anyway.
The river turned out to be beautiful. We worked our way over house sized boulders and around dead fall timber, fishing tiny pockets of water all the way. Many casts were made while peering out from behind rocks while casting at eye level with the pool above you. Jeff managed to pick up a six inch brookie out of one of the pools but most of the tiny pockets seemed not to hold fish.
The next step up the mountainside revealed an unusually large pool flanked by giant rocks on either side and with a fallen tree in its dead center. I waited below as Jeff crept into position to make what amounted to a blind cast around the boulder. Jeff made several casts with no reaction so I crept up the side of the rock to the right of the pocket and eased my head up over the rim so as to allow a sight line in the pool. Immediately I spied two 14-15 inch brook trout cruising the pool shoulder to shoulder. Keep in mind that a 15 inch brookie in a NC wild trout stream is about the same as a thirty inch Alaskan rainbow only much more rare. I flipped my nymph into the pool only to have the trout rise and eat my indicator (yes, I was fishing a strike indicator - this was supposed to be an easy stock trout trip). On my second cast the other trout in the pair did the same thing this time coming out of the water to try to swallow the tiny rubber indicator whole. I looked at Jeff just in time to see him get a strike and break his tippet on the set. You normally only get one or two shots at the same native trout so, having missed ours, we moved on up the river. We paused at the head of the pool and Jeff managed to pick up another trout from the whitewater. We climbed higher with some resolve to come back and visit the dead tree pool on our way back to the vehicle.
The tiny gorge was spectacular and both Jeff and I regretted the decision to leave the cameras behind. It seemed that every time we climbed up to another level, the river became more clear and the boulders more massive. However, we both agreed that even guys with fishing websites deserve some time "off the grid". We managed to fish our way up as high as we dared without the aid of ropes. On our way back down to the car I switched to a small dry fly and after getting the rust off of my hook set, managed to catch one of those gem like brook trout. Jeff was able to pick up another fish or two as well.
We left the stream and stopped off for lunch before heading our separate ways. As I drove the hour and a half back home, the thoughts of work and work issues slowly crept back into my head as if only to remind me of why fly fishing is such good therapy.
