Oh, happy day! Spring is here!
A positive sign was the ice fisherman on the Hudson ice, relaxing on a reclining lawn chair, of all things.
Was that true resourcefulness or just wishful thinking?
Springtime when the children were young seems like a different lifetime. It was such a long time ago.
But then, it is amazing when something triggers a forgotten memory and another interesting story is born.
April 1 should have been a red-letter day on our family calendar. Trout fishing was always quite an event for our family, since our 10-year-old son was a focal point with preparations and endless plans.
He loved to fish and still does to this day.
Before the crack of dawn, Duane would be up, dressed, breakfast gobbled down and out the door. We didn't see him until the sun went down.
Where was the expected catch?
It would be caught, cleaned, fried and eaten ... right on the site.
We lived in Franklin for a good 27 years, and the famed Ouleout Creek was close by.
There were always numerous fishermen lining the banks: Young, old, gals and guys ... but not too many had a small fire going with a frying pan waiting for a delicious meal.
"Instant catch, instant prep and cook, instant eat and enjoy" was Duane's motto of the day during fishing season.
I did get a photo when Duane brought a nice-sized trout home for the family.
Focusing on the catch, he managed to hold his hand with fish out toward the camera lens. He stood in the background and the trout appeared monstrous.
It made a good "fish story."
As years passed and the children were out of the nest, we decided to do the camper scene.
One of the interesting experiences was up by Mexico, N.Y.
The Salmon River was not too far away so we decided to have a look-see, since everyone for miles around would relate tales about the fantastic natatorial spawning fish from Lake Ontario.
The riverbanks were wall-to-wall fishermen. One onlooker loaned me his Polaroid glasses to look down into the river where the waters had receded to the point that the fish were trapped in deep holes. The glasses took the shiny watery reflection away and you could actually see the huge salmon lying deep in the recesses awaiting their demise. They could not get away and were at the mercy of the anglers as they whipped their lines every which way. That was some sport!
Our observation point was high on the bridge over the river. There were as many sportsmen and as many there were waiting to fish, but nothing was happening. Nobody was catching anything. Ho-hum.
We were just about to mosey along to the many shops when we heard a loud, deep, gruff voice calling, "Hang in there you guys. I'm coming. I'll show you all how it's done." All heads were turned in expectation.
Wading under the bridge was a seasoned, old, whiskered codger heading for the frustrated anglers. Pole in hand, handy net hooked on to the rubber waders, bib pockets stuffed full of cigarettes, and the much-loved floppy fishing hat with lures galore snug on his head, there came a heavy-set oldster waving his arms. He certainly was calling attention to himself by all the theatrics, as if he was the only one with real fishing expertise. He'll show them!
Stepping from rock to rock with his floppy oversized waders he focused on his next stepping stone. It was covered with slippery soggy moss and down he went, head over tin cans, splash, face down in the water. The bib pockets gave up the packs of cigarettes as they floated away. The droopy dripping hat was still snug on his head as he struggled to get a footing to upright himself. Humiliation was quite evident as the old codger limped away with waterlogged rubber waders sloshing with each step. There was silence. (So much for an overconfident braggart!)
Returning to our campground with our unbelievable tale we encountered one of our neighbors with his catch lying on the "cleaning table." Our interest was piqued as he gladly gave us his fish-filleting lesson. The super sharp knife easily layered the large salmon slices of pink flesh until a gummy grayish mass was exposed toward the tummy area. What's that?
After the explanation of how important it is to remove all of that gray glop that contains an accumulation of contamination including toxic metal, I decided to buy our fish at the supermarkets.
Elaine W. Kniskern is a 75-year-old resident of Schenevus and a grandmother of five.
