Fishing in Fresno!

Something from the tackle box:

       The right word at the right time is like precious gold set in silver.  Listening to good advice is worth much more than jewelry made of gold.  (Proverbs 25:11-12 CEV)

       This past month my wife and I flew to California to spend a few days with our oldest son, Zachary.  We hadn’t seen him, face to face, in over a year, so it was time. 

       Zac lives in the city of Fresno and works as a geologist for the Water Quality Division of the State’s Environmental Protection Agency.  Fresno is California’s largest city not located on the Pacific coast.  It sits in the Central Valley, the agricultural heartland of the state, a place where the state’s water shortage problems are the most acerbated and acutely felt.  His job entails trying to manage that problem with some semblance of fairness and sanity towards everyone involved, farmers and residents alike.  It’s a hard and thankless job. 

     From Fresno, the Sierra-Nevada Mountains are off to the northeast, with some good freshwater fishing opportunities there.  Nice trout streams and such.  The Pacific Ocean is off to the west, with some good saltwater fishing to be had all along the coast.  But the farmland and towns of the Central Valley don’t have a whole lot to offer the angling enthusiast.  There isn’t a whole lot of unclaimed open water just sitting around waiting for recreational use in this water thirsty region.  And certainly not much at all right in the city of Fresno!

       But – there is a little bit!

       There is an oasis of green on the north side of Fresno called Woodward Park, three hundred acres of pavilions, picnic areas, BMX courses, hiking trails, concert venues, manicured gardens, a wild bird sanctuary, and a series of small interconnected fishing ponds. – Yes! – Fishing ponds! – If I had known, I would have brought some tackle. – But I didn’t know. 

       Our trip to Woodward Park came on the afternoon of our first full day visiting with our son.  We had spent the morning on a car tour of the orchards and vineyards to the north and west of town.  I had seen what seemed like endless cornfields in Nebraska, but had imagined that California vineyards would have been organized on a somewhat smaller scale than that.  The ones I saw were not.  It was impressive.  In some places it was grapevines and fruit trees stretching off to the horizon just as far as the eye could see.  The grapes were all pruned back, but the fruit trees were in a late February full bloom.  It was beautiful.

       Anyway, after several hours of riding in the car and gawking at endless rows of trees full of blossoms, Zac’s mom and I wanted to stretch our legs.  So, after arriving back in town, the son suggested we go for a hike through the bird sanctuary at a place called Woodward Park, on the north edge of Fresno.  It sounded like a good idea to mom and I, - and it was!

       After walking for an hour through the hundred acres or so of relatively unimproved land, full of native songbirds, we headed back through the more “manicured” part of the park to find our car in the parking lot.  It was trekking through this part of the park that I first saw the chain of several small, connected ponds, each less than a football field in size.  And around each of them, as well as the channels that tied the ponds together, were people, quite a few of them, fishing! – I was fascinated!

       I saw all kinds of fishing techniques being used by all sorts of people.  There were old people and young people fishing.  There were Blacks, Whites, Hispanics and Orientals fishing.  I saw people casting spinners and crank baits.  I saw quite a few people throwing out hooks with worms hung under red and white plastic bobbers.  I even saw one young fellow, an obvious neophyte, tentatively trying to work a new brand new fly rod.  People were fishing in lawn-chairs, sitting on beach towels, standing along shore, or on rocks to get a little elevation.  People were fishing off the small walking bridges that crossed the channels.  Dozens and dozens of people were gathered around those ponds, all with a line in the water.  Naturally, I told Zac and his mom to go on ahead, I would catch up.  I wanted to watch for a while, take some pictures, and maybe talk with a few of my fellow enthusiasts. 

       I did watch from a distance for a short while, and what I noticed was that, despite the goodly number of anglers gathered around the ponds, - nobody was catching any fish, – or at least none that I could see. – Which made me wonder just what it was they were after, fish-wise.  Not that this is the central point of fishing for me, personally, or for them.  I assumed that some in the throng would be as aware of the sentiment behind author Henry David Thoreau’s famous observation that “Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.”  

catching a lot of nothing

       I also realized that most of them would not be aware of that sentiment.  Most fishermen, anywhere you might find them, are not aware of it.  That's what makes Thoreau's statement so acute.  But, that being said, it is also true that to really be fishing, there has to be at least the possibility of actually catching a fish!  And so, assuming that these people really were fishing, I approached a youngish looking man, who appeared to be fishing along with his two sons, each equipped with what looked like a brand new Zebco, ‘everything you need to start  catching fish' rig, to see what they were after. 

       “Hi,” I said, “I’m a fisherman visiting from Michigan.  I'm here at this park for the first time with my son, who lives here in Fresno.  What is it everyone is hoping to catch in this pond?”

       The dad just stared at his bobber and didn’t say anything.  After a pause, one of the boys replied, “Whatever’s in here, - I guess.” 

       “Well, - - - OK then. - - Good luck. - - I hope you get some of whatever’s in there – I guess.”

Koi pond in the Japanese garden

       As I headed over to the next pond in the chain, I looked into the water of this heavily fished pond, where no one seemed to be catching anything.  It seemed awfully murky to me.  I wondered if there was anything in there to catch for all the folks that were trying.  I had seen a lot of Koi over in the pond that was part of the Oriental garden section of the park.  The water was much cleaner over there, and many people were watching the fish, but that pond had also been heavily posted, “No Fishing, - under any circumstances, - EVER!”  I could understand.  Those Koi were for looking at, not catching, and that needed to be clearly understood by everyone.  But here, where people obviously could and did fish, the water seemed pretty, - well, - dead. 

a path worn smooth by fishermen

       I followed the chain of ponds to the last open water, located right next to the parking lot where Zac and Kathy were already waiting for me at the car.   This little mini-lake was a less manicured affair, with more brush and scrub trees around it, and much less tramped down by fisherman traffic. 

       There were only a few people fishing at this last link in the chain of park ponds, a few at the mouth of the channel bringing water in from the other ponds, and one lone fellow hunkered down in the brush at the far end – away from everyone else.  He was dressed in earth-tones and a hoodie that blended well into the brush he was nestled in.  He had a little stool he was sitting on, and a bucket beside the stool.  His rod was laying on the ground beside him, not in his hands for people to see, the tip out over the water, hovering just a few inches above the surface.  It was obvious to me that he was being as inconspicuously nondescript as he could possibly be. – Now here was a fisherman! 

       I made my way over the rougher ground and cover to where this fellow was sitting.  He eyed me a bit suspiciously at first, but I hoped that my smile, and my cap with a big jumping trout embroidered on the front of it, would show him that I just wanted to talk fishing.  

       “Hey there.  My name’s Mark.  I’m visiting from out of state and came to see the park with my son who lives here.  I love to fish, and saw everyone around all the ponds fishing, and I just wanted to know what you hope to catch in here.  It doesn’t seem like anyone is doing very well, - that I can see.”

       “No.  Most people come for a day and then never come back, - cuz they don’t catch nothing much of anything.”  

       “Yeah, - well, - it look to me like you come here a lot. – Which tells me that you DO catch something much of anything, - now and then!”

       My new fishing buddy chuckles.  “They stock these ponds with trout.  And you can catch them – IF you know what you’re doing – which most people don’t.” 

       “I have a feeling that you do.  Have you had any luck today?”

       Another smile – and a pause – a nod of the head – and in a very low tone,  “I have a couple on my stringer right now.” 

       “Could I see, - and take a picture of you with them?!”

Michael and his trout

       Another pause – another smile, - “Sure.”

       “What’s your name?”

       “Michael.” 

       “Wow!  Those are two nice fish, Michael.  What do you get them on?”

       “I use a chunk of homemade stink-bait that my grandpa taught me how to mix up.  I just put it on a small hook and lay it on the bottom.  Sooner or later they find it.”
       “I’ve caught suckers and catfish like that in Michigan, but I’ve never heard of catching trout that way!  But then, - what do I know? – It sure looks like it works good for you!  Boy I’d love to stay and watch you catch another one, but the son and wife are waiting for me at the car.  Thanks for making my day, Michael.” 

       “You’re welcome.”

       “Take care, and I hope you have more good luck.”

       “Thanks. – You too.” 

Something to take home in your creel:

       There are times when you want to fish were everyone else is fishing.  Those times are when you see everyone else catching fish.  But when everyone else is fishing – and not catching fish – look for the fellow who’s trying his hardest not to be noticed – and then, very politely, - and very, very discreetly, - go and see what’s going on with him!

Fishing the Ides of March

Something from the tackle box:

       I praise you, Lord God, with all my heart.  You are glorious and majestic, dressed in royal robes and surrounded by light.  You spread out the sky like a tent, and you built your home over the mighty ocean.  The clouds are your chariot with the wind as its wings.  The winds are your messengers, and flames of fire are your servants.  You built the foundations for the earth, and it will never be shaken.  (Psalm 104:1-5 CEV)

March 15, 2016       

       Today is the Ides of March, and it feels to me like Michigan is on the cusp of an early spring, or if not an early spring, a real nice harbinger of the spring to come.  Winter was not all that hard this year, which I have mixed feelings about.  I really don’t like slogging about in the snow and cold as part of everyday life, so an easy winter is good in that respect, but I had also planned to pick up the ice fishing again this year, something I used to love as a young man but haven’t done much of in the last thirty years or more.  I even asked for (and got!) a new ice auger for Christmas.     

       Alas, my schedule and the weather conspired to only let me out on an iced over Jordan Lake for two mornings through January and February.  By March the ice was gone!  My new auger only drilled about half a dozen holes total and, alas again, I drilled them in bad spots.  Not even a nibble to encourage the cold out of my freezing fingers on those two outings.

       Well, enough of that!  Today was a glorious early spring day, and we’ve felt it coming on for the past two weeks around here.  My fishing buddy, Wayne Swiler has been reminding me that the specks and perch are the first fish to come into the shallows to spawn just as soon as the ice is off the surface.  This is a fact that I’ve known for many years, but it always takes someone reminding me of it to get me motivated to get out on the shoreline with a spinning rod and catch nothing this early in the season! 

       As many times as I’ve fished my favorite spots within the first two weeks of the ice disappearing I’ve yet to catch the promised bountiful harvest of perch and crappies that everyone talks about.  I’ve never seen anyone else do it either, despite all the glowing assurances of success that you hear.  I always figured that I was better off to head out on a day trip to the Tippy Dam on the Manistee River and fish for steelhead at first thaw.  After all, if I’m going to get skunked, I might as well get skunked fishing for a fish that a man can brag about!

the pier at the public beach on Jordan Lake

       Anyway, as my car is in the shop, daytrips are out of the question right now.  So I decided to walk the four blocks from the parsonage I live in to the public beach and docks next to Buddy’s Bar and Grill on Jordan Lake, and see if maybe, this year, I could catch an early perch.  And so off I went.

       What a glorious day to go fishing in the middle of March in Michigan! The sky was more clear than clouds.  “There’s enough blue up there to sew a pair of Dutchman’s britches,” as my Grandma used to say.  And each time the Sun snuck out from behind a cotton ball into that blue and hit you, why, it felt better than lifting warm brown raisin bread out of the toaster. 

this feels so good!

       I sat down on the edge of the village pier and rigged up a small jig and grub to hang a couple of feet below a bobber on line spinning off the reel of one of my favorite rods, a lightweight noodle nine feet long.  It was glorious!  It felt so good to throw that rig out there and watch it splash into the water thirty yards away for the first time in months.

       There was a bit of a breeze, but no sharp edge to it, even when the Sun was behind a cloud.  As I watched my bobber dance on the wind churned ripples of the water my heart sang in praise to the Creator who brought me to such a wonderful place on such a beautiful day.  Fish or no fish, this was good!  I had the place all to myself for some time, giving my heart its chance to sing its psalms of thanksgiving and praise without interruption for a good half an hour, which it did.  My soul was at much at peace with the world, and with the One who made the world, as it had been since my last day of open-water fishing back in November.

       Soon enough, however, the glory of this beautiful day brought others out to this public space that I had claimed as sacred spot. 

local teens goofing off

       The first were a group of six teenagers who had come out to goof around on the floating public docks that were still stacked on the beach for the winter.  They were laughing and showing off for each other.  They were all wearing short-sleeves and eating ice-cream cones! – How wonderfully warm fifty-five degrees can feel when you’ve been wearing a heavy coat each time you’ve stepped outside for the last three months.  Still, I was glad that I had a hooded sweatshirt and a windbreaker on.  Fast approaching sixty feels different than fast approaching sixteen, I guess.  Anyway, they soon moved off to what I am sure was a more entertaining venue from their point of view.  Probably to buy Mountain Dews to wash their ice-creams down with.  I didn’t mind. 

three young fishermen approach

       But being left alone again didn’t last for long.  On the sun-sparkled lake I saw three young men making their way towards me in a rowboat.  More teens I surmised from the course language and laughter that carried to shore from a craft still well out in the lake.  As they drew closer I could see they had fishing rods with them.  Apparently I was not the only idle fisherman lured out by tales of catching specks by the bucket full at this time of the year. 

       As they dropped anchor and started fishing just thirty yards or so from my spot on the pier, I felt some gratification in knowing that my opinion on good fishing spots on this lake was considered by others in our community as being of such great value.  Yet I could have wished that they hadn’t parked quite so close to bobber.  Oh well, I am forgiving of bad fishing etiquette in the young.  Surely their dads will teach them better manners before the lake is awash with boats and anglers this summer. 

only a young man would stand up in a ten foot dingy

       To be honest, it was very pleasant for me to be able eavesdrop on their juvenile joshing and banter.  Twice they hailed passing friends on shore with an invitation to swim on out and join them in the boat.  A rude but laughing reply was returned in both cases.  Friends can get away with talking like that to one another, especially when they are still kids.  Finally, having no more luck than I was having, they rowed on down the shoreline to try the shallow waters near the veteran’s chapel, another spot everyone in town knows to be one of my favorites. 

       Another half hour of fishing by myself, and my bones began to feel the chill, despite the intermittent sunshine and my reasonable clothing.  So I reeled in my line, cleaned my hook, and started my walk back home with a smile on my face.  As I crossed the parking lot of Buddy’s I thought to myself, ‘the old soothsayer who told Caesar, “Beware the Ides of March,” sure couldn’t have had today in mind.’ 

Something to take home in your creel:

       On my walk home I cut through the village park on the path that leads right to the front yard of the parsonage that I live in, just across the street from the northwest corner of the park.  The playground, just off to my left on this path, was full of kids from toddlers to teens, along with a few grownups watching the youngest ones.  A group of pre-teens who had commandeered the merry-go-round called out as I passed, “Hey fisherman!  Did you catch any fish?!”

     “No, I did not!” I replied in mock disgust,  - “But I sure did have a good time trying!” 

       And it was true!