outdoors

Originally the intent of the morning’s paddle was to get a photo or two of the otters known to inhabit Black Creek. Unfortunately, the semi-aquatic mammals were nowhere in sight. Perhaps they had moved farther upstream, into the Bergen Swamp.   There were numerous Canada geese on hand, adults, adolescents and goslings – and willing to have their picture taken.  

Bill Moon is a man with varied interests.  Since his retirement from the Genesee County Health Department, Bill divides his time between photography - he takes group photos of sports teams as well as nature pics – canoeing, camping and a bit of fly-rodding.  Through the years he has participated in at least thirty stage productions with Batavia Players, Batavia Rotary and the Forum Players.  But first and foremost among Bill’s endeavors is a lifelong interest in the sport of archery.

Bill was given his first bow by his Uncle John. Not long afterward, at the tender age of four, he scored his first bull’s-eye.  There was one minor problem – at the time he was standing inside a relative’s home.   With bow in hand and looking for a suitable target, he spotted a window. Taking aim at one of the small panes of glass between the mullions, Bill let fly and scored a direct hit. Despite having his bow taken away for a spell, Bill’s fascination with archery continued. A few years later his interest in the sport rapidly accelerated.

Bill was twelve when an uncle took him to see “Tembo” a movie featuring famed archer Howard Hill on safari in Africa. The footage made quite an impression, as Bill came out of the theatre with an infatuation for the sport of archery which has lasted to this day.  “Even if you had no fascination with archery or Howard Hill,” he said in reference to the film, “you will come away with an appreciation of the photography from the film,” said Bill in regards to the cinema work. He went on to explain, saying, “With no zoom lens available, they used an eighty pound camera mounted on a turret lens – 3 lenses in one.” 

Growing up in Hamilton, in New York’s Leatherstocking region, Bill made his first bow while still in high school. “It was a stick bow made from a hickory plank,” he stated. A forerunner of the bows he turns out today, that prototype proved to be a capable weapon afield. And it wasn’t far from home where he honed his shooting skills. ” There was a small woods down the street with rabbits, woodchucks, squirrels, snakes, tin cans, anything that presented a target,” he said.

Presently Bill enjoys attending various bow shoots, including the Great Lakes Long Bow Rendezvous and the Traditional Bowmen’s Rendezvous. Closer to home, he shoots with the Hawkeye Bowmen in Alden.  Needless to say, Bill also spends time shooting at targets in his backyard. Come autumn, it’s time to take to the woods.   

In addition to the longbows, Bill has crafted a number of recurves, and he also turns out wooden arrows, complete with turkey quill fletching.  Each piece of his equipment is – no pun intended - naturally good shooting. Conscientious and meticulous in his work, he’s been known to scrap a nearly completed bow and start from scratch.  The finished product speaks for itself. Well crafted and sweet shooting, Bill’s longbows are presently used by archers in five states – soon to be six as a Californian has one on order. Bill emphasized the making of bows is in no way a business. “Besides the desire to hunt, there was a longing to craft my own bow,” he said.  When friends and fellow archers saw the results, requests for a Bill Moon custom longbow began piling up. 

If you see a green pickup/ camper with a canoe loaded on top and a license plate reading “ARCHERY,”  its Bill enroute to a favorite getaway. And don’t let the canoe fool you – he probably has one or two bows along just in case.  

For the second straight year the Tonawanda Creek Carp Derby resulted in another good turnout. Ideal weather conditions attracted solo anglers as well as those who saw it as an opportunity for a family outing with upwards of forty entrants lining the creek bank for Saturday’s Carp Derby. 

Carp may not be much to look at, nor are they classified as a game fish.  However, once hooked they can put up quite a good tussle.  Several participants in Saturday’s derby can attest to that.  Shortly after the first lines hit the water, the Blecha brothers, Mike and Jeremy were the first to connect, accounting for three carp in a short time span. Their trio of fish ranged in weight from 7 to 10.5 pounds, with the latter specimen temporarily sliding into first place.  

Minutes later the Pietrzykowski brothers, Jake and Jeremy, got into the act.  Jeremy quickly set the hook after a carp inhaled his offering of corn kernels.  Minutes passed before he was able to lead the hefty bottom feeder into the shallows where Jake was waiting with the net. The fish pulled the scales to the 13lbs. 10 oz. mark.

Despite murky water conditions, there were numerous fish caught, all of them returned to the water after a brief weigh-in. The creekside camaraderie made the afternoon pass quickly and at the end of the day Jeremy Pietrzykowski  took home “Biggest Fish” honors, with the award for the smallest going to Randy Demers. 

There was quite a mix of folks lining the creek bank on this day, making for a festive atmosphere and a chance to renew old acquaintances and sample “chef” John Lawrence’s snacks hot off the grill - venison backstraps and pheasant tenders rolled in bacon.

FAMILIAR FACES IN THE CROWD: CARP DERBY PICS

 Joe Lawrence

 The Blecha Family

 Jimmy DeFreze, Jimmy, Sam, Bill & Mike Ficarella

 Dr. Joe Canzoneri with sons Nick & Mike

Mike DeFreze & Ben Buchholz

St. Joe's PE & Health Instructor Vin Romanotto

 Brian Jackson 

We went to the sandwash on monday.Jimmy caught a pretty nice fish.Is it a blue gill?

These obviously happy anglers are displaying a pair of crevalle jacks.That's my cousin Richard Silver in the stars & stripes windbreaker. Standing alongside is friend and fishing buddy, Ira Kanerick.

I remember hearing Richard once proclaim the waters off Montauk Point on the eastern end of Long Island, and area around Key West, as two of the greatest fishing grounds in the world. That was more than thirty years ago. But long before making that statement he plied the waters of Mill Pond and Black Creek in Byron, and the Tonawanda Creek where it flowed past Parker Grinnel's pasture on Dorman Rd.

Here the captain uses a cast net to collect bait fish.

Richard was born and raised in Brooklyn and it was always a treat to see him whenever he visited the home of our grandparents in fifties. He was a teenager then and I was but a little shaver and sometimes allowed to tag along with him to the above mentioned fishing holes. Later, after first serving with the U.S. Navy, then forming his own business, American Pipe & Tank Lining Co. Inc., Richard still found time to make the drive to Montauk Point where he fished for striped bass with Ira and charter skipper John DeMeo. I fished with this trio on a windy Monday morning in October of '77. We were after stripers but the waves were so bad we retreated into a tidal estuary. I wound up taking home several pounds of flounder from that trip.

Having been brought close to the boat, a shark decides to make bid for freedom.

After the hook has been set, a tarpon puts on an aerial display.

Still full of fight, the tarpon is worked carefully towards the boat.

Richard and Ira recently made a two day trip to Islamorada, in the Florida Keys and they were kind enough to pass along these photos. A variety of species, including but not limited to tarpon, shark, grouper and crevalle jacks, were more than accommodating. Along with the pictures was a note stating "The action was nonstop. If it swam, we caught it." Knowing these two long time friends, that's nothing out of the ordinary.

There’s been plenty of songbird activity around our home in recent days. The Northern Baltimore Oriole pictured here is nesting in the small woodlot next to our home, but each day makes numerous visits to our apple tree.

This mother robin is incubating her clutch of eggs in our mulberry tree

While the songbird nesting season is just getting underway, numerous waterfowl have already become new parents, as evidenced by a pair of geese keep a watchful eye on their brood of goslings.

The plane ride into the Northwest Territories revealed a barren wilderness interspersed with pristine lakes and brawling, turbulent rivers.  As the plane descended for landing we had a birdseye view of the local terrain. Visible through the windows of the twin engine Otter were endless rolling hills studded with boulders, some the size of small houses.  We had flown just beyond the fringe of the North American tree line, into the home of the barren ground caribou, ptarmigan and other tundra denizens.  The few trees that do grow here are stunted spruce and willow, the ground carpeted with caribou moss and lichen.    

The lakes and rivers here teem with lake trout, grayling and very few northern pike. Not surprisingly we failed to hook a northern during our week long stay. Not that it mattered. Our tent camp was located at Nueltin Narrows.  As the name implies, “the Narrows” is a bottleneck in 135 mile long Nueltin Lake.     

It was the third week of June, 1982, and much of the lake was still locked in ice, including a large bay in close proximity to our camp.  The remaining ice was honeycombed, and I’ll never forget the sound it made whenever a breeze picked up – like ice cubes being swished around inside thousands of crystal drinking glasses.

Because the water was deep and clear, we could look down into the lake depths, sometimes able to see the shadow of a large fish swimming by – probably a big lake trout. But the fish weren’t all that cooperative to start with. We caught lake trout, but not a great number. That would change once the cold front passed through.   Gray skies and chilly air temperatures required warm clothing – goose down and wool – and thermoses filled with hot liquid, usually cocoa or chicken broth.

After three days the sun returned, and the lake trout action heated up.  They provided great sport on light tackle, and one evening they put on an aerial display – very uncharacteristic of lake trout.  It was close to ten pm when we found a small bay full of six to eight lb.  lake trout. They went crazy for yellow and red wobbling spoons called Five of Diamonds. I don’t know how deep a one ounce spoon can sink in three seconds, but that’s where the fish were. We began reeling after a three count and the lakers wasted no time attacking the spoons. Within seconds they were on the surface, jumping, rolling and just giving a good account of North Country forktails.  By 1:30 a.m. we were feasting on broiled lake trout. After dining on all that fresh fish it was hard to fall asleep – we were wired on protein!

We found a great set of caribou antlers while hiking and saw a number of ducks including scoters, eider and several ptarmigan. One afternoon a solitary otter persisted in following us. He gave us a wide berth, staying thirty yards or more behind the boat. Once we began trolling, the aquatic mammal had no trouble keeping up and followed us for a quite a while.   

In the short sub-arctic summer only the top few inches of earth thaws.  For this reason camp food is kept in a small underground chamber and cooled by the perma-frost.  Our hosts had stocked the food locker with pork chops, chicken, etc. That didn’t stop us from dining on lake trout whenever possible.

During the sub-arctic summer the sun sets late at that latitude and we never experienced darkness. Lowest light was between 2 and 3 in the morning, a dusk-dawn setting. Today Nueltin Lake is no longer part of the Northwest Territories. In 1993 a new territory called Nunavut was formed. In Inuktitut -the language of the Inuit - Nunavut means “our land”, essentially any Canadian land north of the tree line.  On April 1, 1999 Nunavut officially became separate from the Northwest Territories.

Our last evening at North Knife Lake was spent fishing from shore where the North Knife River spills into the lake. I was fishing upstream of the others when I heard my nephew yell. Though I couldn’t see him due to dense brush, the urgency in his voice was obvious. So was the sound of splashing. Thinking he had fallen in I came running. It turns out the splashing was a big pike on the end of Chris’ line as it wallowed in the shallows. It was a dandy northern for a twelve year old, one of several he caught during our stay. All too soon it was time to board the float plane, the first of a series of plane trips that would take us back to New Jersey.

We managed to have great fun during our Jersey years, Chris, his sister Samantha and my own young ones, Jami and Sam. I’d like to think they looked forward to my ceaseless antics. Come Halloween time, they were often on the alert, waiting for me to appear out of nowhere – a closet, bushes or in a window - wearing a gnarly mask. Being the oldest of the kids in the family, Chris always caught on before the others, laughing as they ran amok, seeking an escape route.   

And what a unique laugh he had – it was a combination chuckle/cackle. Recently my son and I were remembering Chris, recalling those early years when Sam said, “What I wouldn’t give to hear that cackle one more time.”

Chris would have celebrated his forty-first birthday next month. And though I may not hear his cackling laugh, I’ll settle for a few of my favorites from our North Knife Lake photo album - Chris’ early years.

Chris' First Northern Pike

His Big Northern

Time To Head Home

Until We Meet Again........

Much of Northern Manitoba experienced early ice-out in 1980 and in early June a float plane carrying Charlie Pace, Matthew Guido, my nephew Chris Carr and I touched down on the surface of North Knife Lake, 600 air miles north of Winnipeg. It turned out to be a fisherman’s dream as the action grew hotter with each passing day.

 The afternoon of our last full day in camp found us drifting a quarter-mile upstream on a sluggish river.  Gilles Lord, who served as camp manager and guide, had pulled a jumbo northern from this spot a week earlier.He now referred to the place as “Hog Alley.”  

We were casting spoons when Chris pointed to a surface disturbance a considerable distance away.  Charlie and Matthew were in another boat close-by. They too had seen the commotion atop the water. “What s going on over there?” I asked, motioning toward the surface activity. “Otters” Gilles answered.   Due to the distance from us it was hard to make out details, yet there appeared to be several of them.  We would soon discover they weren’t otters at all.                                   

 Early that morning we stowed our gear in two boats before embarking on a twelve mile boat ride to a place called mid-camp. Along the way we motored into a shallow bay, stopping long enough to catch a few lake trout for lunch. At mid-camp Gilles needed to unscrew plywood covers from the window frames. During the winter one or more black bears had entered the cabin through the windows and devoured everything in sight, including plenty of canned goods. For good measure the culprit bit clean through a cooking pot. The only thing that survived was a can of aerosol bug repellent.

After a lunch of lake trout fillets we motored into Gilles hot spot, a widening in a narrow river that emptied into North Knife Lake. As we drifted closer to the previously mentioned surface disturbance we discovered the “otters” were actually tails - very large forked tails. What’s more, they would point straight up into the air for second or two before sliding below the surface. But another would take its place. There was always two or three visible, literally pointing to the sky.  They were huge lake trout!     

A school of big lakers had invaded the river to gorge on tullibee, a variety of whitefish.  Matthew was the first to hook up. The arch in his fishing rod and line steadily peeled from his reel signaled a big fish.  Whatever was on Matthew’s line never jumped, it just bulldogged, hugging the river bottom and giving up line grudgingly.  Because Matthew’s reel was loaded with 8 lb. test line, it was nearly an hour before a monster lake trout was visible in the gin clear water.                                                                   

Hog Alley lived up to its name on this day, yielding some mighty big fish, with Matthew Guidos lake trout earning him a listing in the 1980 edition of the Manitoba Master Angler Awards, provincial annals celebrating trophy fish.

The months and weeks leading up to that first wilderness fly-in fishing trip can be a time of great anticipation. It’s been thirty years since my first trip via float-plane, and countless thoughts drifted through my mind while counting down the days to departure. But of all the wilderness scenarios I envisioned, none included the sight before my eyes on an afternoon in late May pf 1979.

A fourteen foot, semi-V hull fishing boat containing two wide-eyed fishermen was teetering precariously atop a beaver dam. Johnny Plasko sat in the stern, Phil Albanese occupied the bow. Both were wearing the “what do we do now?” look.

Friends since the fifties, growing up and attending school together in Newark, New Jersey, Phil and Johnny were beginning to understand life in the Canadian wilds was a far cry from metro New Jersey.  

In the moments before John and Phil’s boat became airborne I was attempting to lead a second boat around the dam. In this boat were Basil Pizzuto and Dave Ryder. Holding the bow line, I moved slowly through a flooded backwater. When we heard the roar of the outboard we looked downstream. We saw Phil leaning forward, both his hands clutching the gunwale. Behind him was Johnny, one hand on the throttle and his head held high, trying to see around Phil.

I worked side by side with Johnny in those years, and there was no doubt in my mind what he was about to do.

Johnny had the throttle wide open when they made contact with the beaver dam. They nearly cleared the barrier but the prop shaft caught in the mixture of mud and sticks.

I just shook my head and continued leading the second boat around the dam. That’s when the bottom disappeared. I may have found the underwater entrance to the beaver lodge. Big Dave reacted quickly, reached over the side of the boat and with one hand snatched me out of the drink before my chest waders completely filled with water.     

BURNTBUSH RIVER

The beaver dam spanned Soucie Creek, a narrow waterway that meanders through muskeg country for three miles before spilling into the Burntbush River.

Basil and I located the head of the creek three days earlier, barely an hour after the float plane dropped us off. Thanks to the Canadian Ministry of Mines & Resources, we had been studying topographic maps of the area several weeks prior to the trip.

That first trip down Soucie Creek saw us in a square stern canoe with a 10 hp motor – and we nearly swamped it several times. We returned to camp and decided to return another day – this time in a boat. 
 

Three days later we left our camp on Soucie Lake early in the morning, negotiated the creek with no problem, portaging around the beaver dam before coming to the river.

 A day’s fishing on the Burntbush had been quite productive. There would be several fish to clean for supper. And it was Phil and Johnny, who caught the largest pike and walleye, respectfully. Both fish came from the same pool at the head of a stretch of rapids. Unfortunately, Phil’s pike – a real trophy - didn’t make the return trip. I’ll explain why.   
 

Within minutes after entering the river the fish began to cooperate. Whether spin casting or trolling we caught fish. After a lull in the action Phi said he had a fish on. It looked to be a good one, judging by the arch in his rod. We watched his line zig-zag back and forth for several minutes before he brought the fish alongside the boat where Dave was waiting with the net. With one deft scoop of the net the pike was lifted from the water. To say the fish was big would have been an understatement. No one had a scale, but in pike fishing circles, this was the size of pike referred to as a “slob.” Lying in the bottom of the net, the big fish curled itself into a U - shape, straining against the mesh.   

Phil attached the pike to an old fashioned chain and clip stringer which already held a few fish – more pike and walleyes. No sooner was the fish back in the drink when it started thrashing to beat the band, banging the stringer repeatedly against the boat and creating a racket. Every few moments Phil would lift the stringer to look at the giant pike – and who could blame him – the fish was that impressive. And when he eased it back into the water the racket began anew. Soon the fish quieted down – or so it seemed. The next time Phil checked on his fish it was gone. At the end of the stringer were the two clips he had stuck through the pikes mouth. They were pried open. All that thrashing had been the pike repeatedly twisting and turning, in the process prying open the clips and freeing itself.  
 

NORTHERN LIGHTS

After dinner that same evening, the lake was mirror calm and here and there one could see surface rises. Casting a surface plug resulted in a strike which turned out to be my first pike caught on the surface. When I caught another there was a mad dash for the boats. “Let’s take this one, John,” said Phil as he stepped off the makeshift dock and into the previously mentioned canoe. Phil should have stepped to the canoe’s center but he didn’t and the canoe rolled, sending him into the lake. Phil stayed in camp to put on dry clothes and never did fish that night. As a result he and John missed an incredible light show. That’s Phil with the net trying to retrieve sunken belongings.

We had seen the northern lights the first few evenings in camp, at the time they appeared as ghostly vapors high overhead, there one second - gone the next. But on this night Basil, Dave and I were in for a real treat. By the time total darkness enveloped the lake - about 11 pm and the fish had long since retired. We were still on the water when we saw a small speck of light overhead. Within minutes that speck grew in size until it covered most of the northern sky. Three of us sat in the boat for a considerable time without talking, staring upward at spectacular shades of blue-green, pastel-red and brilliant white draped across the heavens.        
 

All things considered, it was an eventful trip. We lived on fish and potatoes that week, save for the night Phil cooked spaghetti and concocted a sauce using ketchup. Our coffee was made in an old style percolator pot. Sipped outdoors in early morning amid the aroma of evergreens, it was amazingly tasty.  
 

THE RETURN HOME

It would be a seventeen hour drive from the float plane base to North Jersey, including a stop at Timmins, Ontario, where Johnny and Phil caught a commercial flight. There was an additional stop at Customs on the U.S. side of the Thousand Islands Bridge. Here I need to add that Dave Ryder lived on the Jersey shore in a town called Neptune – well known throughout New Jersey, but certainly never heard of at the U.S.-Canadian border.

We pulled up to the U.S. Customs booth in the wee hours of the morning, unkempt and disheveled looking as could be. The Custom’s Agent looked at us and asked Dave, who was driving, “Where ya headed?”   

“Neptune,” replied Dave.

Quickly realizing the mistake, Basil and I whispered in unison, “Say New Jersey! Tell him New Jersey!”

Dave explained by showing his driver’s ID. Eyeing us warily, the Customs Agent let us go without incident.
 

Basil, Johnny, Dave and I worked together at the Meadowlands. Three years later our group – along with Phil - would make a trip to a desolate outpost in the Northwest Territories before a return to the James Bay Frontier and adventure on the Detour River.

Before either of those trips nook place I was fortunate enough to visit northern Manitoba and experience some exceptional shallow water lake trout fishing. Stay tuned!

Looking back, winter arrived somewhat early and made its presence felt in many ways. Early on it was pleasant enough, with calm, windless days and the countryside coated white for Christmas.

A few days we had that Winter Wonderland effect - Nice to look at – for a while.

This is our backyard, filled courtesy of Tonawanda Creek. On three separate occasions the Tonawanda spilled its banks this winter.  

Finally, signs of spring! These snow geese signal more favorable weather is on the way. They found a neighbor's farm a suitable stopover enroute to their breeding grounds in the far north. 

Soon it will be time to break out the spinning rod and head for Lakeside Beach State Park and hopefully, catch that narrow window – occurring some between late March and early May - when the Lake Ontario shoreline offers a mixed bag. For a short while brown trout, cohos and even a few lake trout will inhabit the shallows      

For years I’ve been told the catfish and walleye fishing really heats up after dark on the Genesee River – maybe this is the year I’ll find the time to give it a whirl.     

I know this is Western New York and weather-wise we may not be entirely out of the woods, but at the very least, we’ve got to somewhere near the edge.

In the early sixties, Silver Lake provided some of the best fishing in New York.  In hindsight it would seem that Y Camp - $30 a week at the time - was an inexpensive fish camp, if fishing was your thing,

In the summer of 1964, in a week spanning late June and the beginning of July, five campers lived a young fishermen’s dream. Each day at dawn, occasionally mid-day and again prior to the sun going down, they experienced a bass angler’s delight - or beginners luck. It also signaled a time when those five young men graduated from worms to artificial lures.   

The first day of camp Mike Hintorn, Dave “Bongo” Barton and the Doody brothers, Dan and Joe and I were on the dock two hours before reveille.  With everyone else in camp still sound asleep we had the waterfront to ourselves. 

Soon we would discover the excitement of surface fishing for largemouth bass. But before any of us reached for a topwater lure we began with an old standby – juicy nightcrawlers.

For the better part of an hour we flipped worms, but the only takers were bluegills, sunfish, stunted perch and one or two small bass. The problem seemed to be the aquatic growth. Dense beds of milfoil and foxtail prevented our baits from sinking down to the cool, dark recesses where the big fish lay in wait. Growing weary of the pan fish, we began to pay attention to periodic surface activity in the form of splashes and swirls. 

Hastily we bit through monofilament fishing line, removing hooks and worms. Mike Hinton, Dave Barton and Joe Doody reached into their tackle box searching for surface plugs. Dan Doody pulled out a Jitter Bug. I opted for a Hula Popper, a lure that, up to that moment, had gone unused. It was still in the box with instructions. I didn’t take time to read them. As things turned out, the fish didn't seem to mind.  For the next hour we experienced a barrage of surface strikes.

Later, after reveille had sounded, a camp counselor spotted us on the dock and came down to investigate. I remember his exclamation when he lifted our heavy stringer of bass. As he held them up for inspection, the soft light of early morning enhances their colors - deep red gill rakers standing out in contrast against dark green backs. The fish are all big, much larger than any of us had ever seen, much less caught. The counselor eased the stringer back into the water and for several moments we stared at the fish, watching their pectoral fins move ever so slightly, their gills open and close slowly. With campers beginning to cluster around the flag pole for morning calisthenics every fish was released.   

That morning signaled the end of worm dunking. And that was only the beginning of what turned out to be a memorable stay at Y camp. Each morning at dawn the five of us were on the on the dock anticipating surface strikes. And our efforts weren't limited to the early morning hours. After the evening meal until just prior to sunset, we were back on the waterfront. And the results were quite similar.

Later in the week we began probing the waters in front of the arts & crafts building. From there we moved further along the shoreline. Adjacent the camp infirmary was another dock, this one quite smaller, a bit dilapidated and largely unused – until Mike Hinton decided to give it a whirl. On that morning Mike was casting a Zara Spook. A floater-diver, the “spook” floats on top when still, then dives just below the surface on retrieve. That morning, Mike used the “spook” to fill a stringer with largemouth that would be the envy of today’s tournament anglers.

  In close proximity to the small dock was a black willow. Growing at the waters edge, it was an older tree with two trunks, one of which extended out over the lake. One afternoon I saw Dan Doody perched in the tree with his fishing pole in hand. Situated on the large branch reaching out over the water, he was using a jitterbug like you would use a jig, bouncing it up and down onto the lake surface. Below him were two sizeable bass. They were lying motionless on the bottom in waist deep water, probably on their spawning beds. Dan never did entice those fish to strike, but the fact that he shinnied up that tree with fishing pole in hand then clambered out over the water indicates just what a spell those bass had on us.     

Evening was time for singing around the campfire. Later, after returning to our cabin for the night, we would sit on our bunks talking and looking up at all the names on the rafters and the ceiling. They were telltale signs of the campers from bygone days. All had left their mark the same way - printed in toothpaste. We had done likewise, breaking out tubes of Gleem or Colgate. Soon afterward it would be time for lights out followed by vespers. When all the giggling stopped and the whispers had died down, there was only the sound of the lake at night. Bullfrogs called from the swamp a few hundred yards distant, their throaty chorus easily carried across the water. There was the occasional sound of an outboard, maybe a walleye fisherman heading to his trolling grounds. Without a doubt each of us probably fell asleep with fish on our minds, eager for daybreak and big bass hiding among the weeds. 

Nobody thought to take a picture that week. But that's okay. I doubt there ever was a need for a photo. I’m sure each of them has a mental picture permanently filed away somewhere where it can never be lost.

Early on I learned the northern pike is not only willing to strike, they often do so with gusto, ambushing their prey in a quick and vicious manner. This, combined with their toothy, menacing appearance easily captures a young angler’s imagination.

In the first Pike Dreams segment I briefly mentioned my uncle, Jim Nigro, who first introduced me to fishing before he moved away. I was in high school when another uncle, Jim Soccio, visited from his home in Coral Gables, Fla. He invited me for a days fishing on Seneca Lake. I was told I need bring only a lunch. My grandmother made me a bag full of sandwiches – pepper & egg, steak & peppers – lots of them.   

Our quarry would be lake trout and we would be fishing with Bob Cass, then the Chief of the Geneva, NY Police Dept. and a part time guide on Seneca Lake. We boarded Cass’ boat before dawn and motored down the lake to a small bay where Cass dropped anchor. He rigged five poles with sawbellies, large minnow-like baits favored by lake trout anglers.  

I was about to discover my uncle was not a fan of northern pike.

The sun was barely above the horizon, the lake was flat calm and my uncle and Bob Cass were making small talk when the drag on the bow reel started screaming. Cass scurried along the gunwale and the cabin, grabbed the rod out of the holder and set the hook- or tried to. A moment later the line snapped, sounding like a .22 being fired.        

“Wow. What was that,” I shouted.

“Probably a big pike,” replied Bob Cass.

I looked at my uncle.   “We gonna fish for pike now, Uncle Jim?” I was no doubt bug-eyed, the adrenaline pumping.   

“What are we going to do with pike? They’re no good,” he said with disdain.

“Too many bones” chimed in Cass.

Later Bob Cass showed us an article in an Outdoor Life magazine. The story was about a pair of young men from New York City who had ventured to Seneca Lake for a day’s fishing. The photos depicted two smiling anglers holding numerous northern pike, every one of them much larger than any I had caught up to that time. Their guide had been none other than Bob Cass. I couldn’t help but wonder if he bothered to mention all those pike bones.

It was about that time I reached into the bag of sandwiches. The bag would be empty before we returned to the dock.

We caught two lake trout that day, the first came in the morning while still-fishing sawbellies. Afterward the day basically turned into a long boat ride. The second lake trout was the bigger of the two, weighing 6 lbs. and was caught while trolling Seth Green rigs, the forerunner of today’s downrigger.

I came away from that outing unimpressed with lake trout. No small wonder, as I couldn’t forget the sound of the drag singing out early that morning as a big northern ran with the bait. It was but another moment which fueled my pike dreams in a big way.

And dream I did, one of which I remember quite well.  I was in a boat, stream fishing in a place much like Whiskey Run, a noted stretch of Tonawanda Creek. Obviously the fish on the end of my line was a large northern pike. One moment I was able to see it below the surface, its white belly clearly visible as it twisted and turned in the depths. The next moment I was holding it aloft in the boat. It was absolutely huge! It was longer than I was tall with a girth to match its length. It was the pike I had long sought, the trophy for the wall. But as dreamscapes are so often surreal, there was one minor glitch - the pike had a gaudy silver zipper running the entire length of its belly.  

Strange dreams aside, the pursuit for big pike continued, years later leading to some memorable adventures in the Canadian far north. And it was in those sub-artic waters where my perception of the lake trout took a drastic, yet positive change. I’m looking forward to sharing those experiences with readers soon.

My first northern pike came from the waters of Tonawanda Creek where it flows past Kibbe Park. That was in 1962, and while the fish wasn’t of legal size, it conjured memories of fishing trips to Ontario’s Kawartha Lakes region with my Aunt Faith and Uncle Jim. 

That pike, while miniscule in comparison, bore a strong resemblance to the muskies I watched my uncle battle up north. 

For the first eight years of my life my world evolved around my Aunt Faith and Uncle Jim. In 1958 they moved to my aunt’s hometown in rural Georgia and I missed them a great deal. Staring at that first pike and thinking of the muskies Uncle Jim caught, something clicked then and there. Strange as it may seem, somehow the northern became a link to my aunt and uncle.  

Not long after catching my first northern, Elmwood Avenue friends Donny Joy and Frank “Junior” Ficarella were fishing the Tonawanda from a row boat. They were located along the creek bank opposite the dike on Jackson Avenue. Junior was standing up in the boat, using an oar to shake loose lures that were caught in the trees. While Junior was trying to extract the lures, something took his bait. It turned out to be a rockbass. Junior reeled it in, then, deciding to have some fun, gave it some line. The fish promptly headed for the bottom. As he attempted to reel it back in, Junior discovered the fish was stuck fast.       

“See what I get for messin’ around”, he said. “Now I’m snagged.”

Still keeping his line taut, Junior felt it slowly coming toward the surface. Looking down into the murky water he saw a long, dark object. His first thought was he had snagged a railroad tie that had fallen from one of the train bridges upstream. Then his brain registered just what he was looking at. Much to Junior’s surprise, directly alongside the boat was a very dark colored, very long and hefty northern pike. The rockbass was clamped firmly in its toothy maw. The fish was apparently taking stock of the situation as it was lying just beneath the surface, moving only its pectoral fins. The big fish then opened its mouth, releasing the rockbass before drifting back into the murky depths from whence it came.

That same summer I was catching crayfish a few yards downstream from the dike. A blackbird, maybe a grackle, was perched atop a small tree branch on the opposite shore.         

I was aware of the blackbird, yet not paying it any mind – not until the water directly beneath it exploded. An obviously very big fish tried to eat that blackbird and to this day I’d always assumed it was a pike. Admittedly, I didn’t see the fish, just a lot of frothy white water. That incident shed some light on the pike’s nickname, “waterwolf. “ 

Time spent with my Aunt Faith and Uncle Jim, in addition to the above mentioned events on the banks of the Tonawanda were but a few of the catalysts leading not only to a lifelong infatuation with northern pike, they also paved the way for a series of fly-in fishing trips into the Canadian far north in search of Esox lucius, the “waterwolf.”

I’ll keep you posted.

It’s that time of year again. As the days grow warmer and the nights stay cold, the sap starts to flow.  Did you know that New York State is the third largest producer of maple syrup in the world? Maple producers are celebrating that fact at this year’s 14th Annual Maple Weekend™. This year the event takes place on March 21-22 and 28-29 from 10am - 4pm each day. Maple producers throughout New York State will open their sugarhouses to demonstrate the making of maple products "from the tree to your table." Almost 50 maple producers throughout

Western New York will participate. You can check this website for a list of participants: http://www.mapleweekend.com/locations.htm.

This free, family-oriented event gives you a chance to see how New York maple producers make some of the world's finest maple syrup and maple products. Visitors can see all aspects of maple making, from tapping the trees to get the sap, to boiling sap into maple syrup. Some producers will also demonstrate the making of maple syrup into other products including maple cream, maple cotton candy and maple sugar.

The public is encouraged to visit more than one farm as some producers use traditional methods while some employ new methods. Many of the farms will also have a variety of other activities including horse and wagon rides, snowshoeing, guided walks in the woods and kids' corners.

Mark your calendars for March 21-22 and 28-29, 2009 and take the family out to experience New York State maple!