Streamside on Line

In this issue:

Articles, news and fly tying tips are gratefully accepted. Please e-mail them to Chuck Hodgson. Thank you.

As Bob said, the Mid-Atlantic Council of the federation of Fly Fishers (MACFFF) held their first “Fly Fishing Festival” in Shepherdstown, West Virginia on the 14th of September. The “Festival’s” activities were split between two locations.

One location was dedicated to the 1st MACFFF “Learn to Fly Fish” course in the Devil’s Backbone County Park. This park resides near the Antietam Civil War Battleground. On Saturday, the 14th, we could occasionally hear cannons being fired in the distance. As there was a reenactment of the Antietam Civil War battle (the deadliest battle of the Civil War, 28,000 fatalities). They were expecting approximately 13,000 Union and Rebel enactors to participate in this once every five years reenactment.

The interesting part of the reenactment was the small towns of Sharpsburg, MD. and Shepherdstown, WV. as they were being occupied by Union and Rebel forces on Friday afternoon and evening. Both of these towns appear as if they haven’t changed since the Civil War. Their narrow streets are lined with very old buildings, which now house small shops and eating establishments.

The Antietam Creek flows through Devil’s Backbone County Park and it has an interesting series of jagged rock ledges running right down the middle of the creek; hence the name Devil’s Backbone. The Antietam Creek then flows through the battlefield to the Potomac River. This Creek is historically infamous as flowing red with blood during the battle. Today it is a put-and-take trout stream in the spring and fall and during the warmer months it is a Smallmouth fishery.

The other “Festival” location was the Clarion Hotel and Conference Center’s Ballroom in Shepherdstown. This is where the day’s activities of fly tying demonstrations and lessons were held. There were also a number of vendors offering their fly fishing wares. According to those that had attended this daylong fly tying session it was very well attended and they considered it very successful.

The final “Festival” activity on the 14th was the annual MACFFF Banquet and Auction held that evening in the Clarion Hotel’s Ballroom. The Banquet and Auction are the MACFFF’s primarily revenue making event and it appears to have been their most successful evening.

Once the Mid-Atlantic Council firms up their plans for 2003, I would recommend that you and your family plan on participating in the fun.

Be Careful Out There and Stay Upright,

Chuck Hodgson, Streamside Editor

As my father has proven to me time and time again, there is a big difference between fishing and catching fish. “Fishing” is the soul-numbing act of sitting for hours and watching a thin cobweb of nylon trail out of sight into the black depths of the lake behind the boat while nothing happens. This is best accomplished in a light rain, the boat yawing back and forth in tsunamis, your breakfast hearing voices telling it to “come on back up.”

“Catching fish” is what the other boats do.

“Yo! Doin’ any good?” my father bellows at passing watercraft. The fishermen hold up stringers laden with white-bellied trout.

“How ‘bout you, doin’ any good?” they bellow back. When you’re fishing you have to talk like you never got out of third grade; I’m pretty sure it’s a rule.

“Naw,” my father admits. Then he points to me, like, how can I catch fish with such a worthless son?

“Whatcha usin’?” my father hollers. I once thought this meant, “What are you taking to keep from throwing up?”, like, what drugs are you using? Now I understand it to mean, “What bait have you affixed to the end of your line?”

A Burt Reynolds!” it sounds like they yell back. I blink, wondering what in the world would possess a fish to try to swallow such a thing.

Is that with the toupee, or without?

My Dad smiles and nods, like, “Okay, but you’re pretty damn stupid to use that kind of bait when obviously you’d be better off fishing with whatever I’m using,” and waits until they are out of sight before diving into his tackle box. “Aha! I knew I had one!,” he shouts, holding up what looks like my retainer from high school. “Quick, let’s put this on!” You have to wonder what the fish are thinking as our lures troll past them underwater. Fish: “Hey look Ralph, isn’t that Burt Reynolds’s retainer swimming by at a constant speed attached to monofilament, there?” Ralph fish: “Hey, I think you’re right! I’m gonna go bite it!”

Two hours later we are still fishing. My father keeps consulting his fish finder, which is blinking and beeping as if it has detected a fleet of Soviet submarines. “You think we’re going too fast?” he asks me for the hundredth time. I shrug. I’ve decided the only way we’re going to catch a fish is if our hooks collide with one, so if anything it seems logical to me to speed up.

“Montana, now that was an experience,” my father murmurs. I carefully avoid reacting so as not to encourage another retelling of the time my father went to a catch-and-release camp in Montana. To me, catch-and-release is like paying for food at a grocery store and then putting it back. I stare at my line and will myself not to regurgitate. I am so cold I could spend a week lying in the streets of Yuma, Arizona, and I would still be shivering. “Montana. Sure was amazing,” my father chants, eyeing me carefully. I am pretty sure I’m in a coma. “Very interesting story,” he remarks. “Wow, what a day. Boy. We should really talk about that one. Man. Holy smokes.”

I will not talk. My brain is on catch-and-release. I don’t even react as the tip of my father’s rod bends down as sharply as a graph of the stock market; his reel is making a sizzling sound in its holder. Then it occurs to me what I am seeing and I leap to my feet. “Dad! You’ve got a fish!”

This is such an unexpected event I feel like I’ve shouted something insane. Standing there, I am perfectly positioned to block my father’s lunge for his rod, which means I am body slammed right out of the boat and into the lake, still hanging onto the fish pole in my hand.

“Hey!” I yell with an appropriate amount of surprise. I immediately begin to initiate a drowning sequence.

My father, of course, is busy pulling in his catch, and seems remarkably disinterested in the fact that his son is fast falling behind and below his boat. “Hey!” I announce again. “Hold on to the rod!” he shouts encouragingly.

My clothes are filling with water and it is becoming increasingly difficult to picture myself breathing. He wants me to cling to something that feels like it is tied to the bottom of the lake. Screw the rod, it’s life I’m concentrating on holding on to. “HELP!” I shriek, since “Hey!” seemed to convey the wrong message. I get ready to have my whole life pass before my eyes, but all that comes to me is that I forgot to carry the trash out to the curb this morning.

Then something smacks me behind the ear. I look up, blinking, and see that my father has steered over to me and is wielding the fishnet. “Why are you hitting me in the head?” I demand peevishly. “Grab it!” he commands earnestly. I flail out, catch the net, an am pulled over to the side of the boat. With a lot of strenuous gasping, we manage to get me aboard.

I fall to the floor and leak water, panting. “The fish?” I finally manage to choke. He shakes his head.

“The rod?” he asks. I make the same negative gesture. Our defeat is so profound that we don’t even speak while he turns the boat toward shore. We’re done for the day. We pass other fishermen and don’t even ask if they’re doin’ any good.

Half an hour later we’re approaching the docks. I’ve brought up all the water I swallowed and returned it to the lake, and the sun is actually getting ready to make a comeback. “Looks like we’re going to have to wait a bit,” my dad remarks, pointing to the long line of watercraft waiting their turn at the boat ramp. He cuts the engine and we drift a bit, not saying anything.

“So,” I say finally. “Tell me about that fishing trip you took to Montana.”

W. Bruce Cameron

Editor’s Comments - Our thanks go out to the contribution of W. Bruce Cameron and the June 2002 FFF ClubWire. The above short story was copyrighted in 2000. Bruce may be reached at http://www.wbrucecameron.com.  He is an internationally known humor columnist who most recently wrote a best seller entitled, “8 Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter,” which is now an ABC TV Show starring John Ritter.

First and foremost, I would like to sincerely thank those of you who bought raffle tickets for the “Something for Everyone” raffle sponsored by the Federation of Fly Fishers-Mid-Atlantic Council (MAC-FFF) which I am the current President (for those members who don’t know the Dame Juliana League is an affiliated club of MAC-FFF). Just from our club alone we raised $565 in raffle sales. I can’t thank YOU, the participants, enough for your generous contributions and support for this great raffle. Unfortunately, no one from our club won, however, we raised nearly $3000 for fly fishing education and conservation projects in our Council from this raffle.

Chuck Hodgson and I attended the event, as I was the coordinator for the Learn to Fly Fish Course. We used the same model and agenda that we have developed for our course. I ended up being the lead instructor and Chuck did a fantastic job on-stream as the streamer instructor. We had 29 students registered with 26 showing up. Devils Backbone County Park, in Boonesboro, MD could not have handled anymore as it has an abundance of trees and little casting space. Pete McCall from the Hartford Fly Anglers did a great job in working through the logistics issues of this challenge. As usual, it was a fun time, with a lot of great camaraderie among instructors and students.

This past year DJL sponsored two youngsters at the Chester County Conservation Camp. We have a report from one of those youngsters that is shared with us elsewhere in this issue of STREAMSIDE. (See below). This is a great program that will have a lasting impact on our youth as they grow into adulthood. I can say that with much affirmation as I, when I was a teenager, was sponsored by the Manhasset Bay Sportsmen’s Club in Port Washington, NY, for a one week stint at a New York State Conservation Camp in the Catskills. It was a memorable experience and led me to Cornell University with a B.S. in Fisheries Science. That led me to a 30+-year career dealing with environmental issues. There is no substitution for environmental education in anyway shape or form and sportsmen’s organizations can play a major role in that process by sponsoring kids, whether it be in a conservation camp, a fly tying event or a fly fishing course. In the end, it will all come together. I am pleased that DJL has chosen to support this effort.

The PA Fish & Boat Commission is going through some bad times now and my personal opinion is that they brought it on themselves. Peter Colangelo, their Executive Director, came from the Corps of Engineers. In my opinion, he has been ineffective and has caused more problems then created solutions to them. He needs to be removed. He has no fisheries or boating background and is not qualified to hold his post. That has been very evident in his tenure. If you have an opinion on this please let me know, as I would like to hear them. I have one caveat and that is that our local enforcement folks, those lead by Bob Bonney. He and his deputies are one of the most dedicated and cooperative people in the PFBC that I have ever known. Bob is a great resource and an advocate for fisheries enforcement. We could not have a better person with his deputies, to enforce the fishing regulations in our region.

Lastly, our streams are very dry. Please handle those trout with kid gloves and let’s hope for some rain.