JohnR
08-23-2001, 12:25 PM
Jerry sent this to me the other day and I'd like to get it on the forums for you guys now and next week into the main site...
The Gospel According to the Old Timer
By Jerry Vovcsko
Those who write fishing columns are usually pretty direct, emphatic even, in dispensing advice: go here, go there, do this and that, and you'll likely catch fish, lots of them, just like I did. And I confess, I've written my share of those as well. But this one's going to be a little bit different because I'm not quite sure myself what to make of it. So with that caveat, here it is:
A couple of years ago down on the Cape I was driving along, mid-morning, looking for a good breakfast place. Now I'm very particular when it comes to breakfast. I refuse to eat at those chain restaurants that slap a few pieces of white bread toast, eggs cooked in a mold that produces perfect circles, home fries that look more like shredded wheat biscuits than potatoes, and coffee tasteless as warm dishwater. I'd rather go hungry.
What I'm looking for is a greasy-spoon type of place where the smoke from the chimney shows a touch of brown from all the butter and grease accumulated over the years. I don't want to hear about low-cal or low-cholesterol anything. Give me homefries cooked in lard on the griddle. Don't ask me bacon or sausage? I want both. Fry my eggs over easy so they glide through the butter like Michael Jackson on a moonwalk and show me coffee strong enough that the spoon stands upright for a few seconds, then let's have a spoonful or two of sugar - from a real bowl please, no packets - and a bit of cream for that rich caramel color. That's what I call breakfast. And, waitress, don't go too far away; I may need a refill or two.
Just outside Orleans I found what I was looking for, a breakfast/lunch place with sturdy tables, pine paneled walls and a view of Pleasant Bay. I knew I was in the right place when the waitress plunked down a thick, heavy, white mug which she proceeded to fill with black coffee, steaming hot. As a young marine stationed aboard a Navy LST I had learned early on that no self-respecting chief bosun's mate would drink coffee from anything but one of these mugs, and forever after I equated their presence with top notch coffee.
While I waited for my breakfast order I tuned in on a conversation going on among three old timers a couple of tables over. They all looked like they'd spent enough time on the water to rate the honorary Cape Cod designation of Cap'n. These old salts were gnawing on each other over the best method for taking striped bass via trolling from a small boat. Tube and worm surfaced now and again, as did the notion of towing an umbrella rig fleshed out with small pieces of menhaden.
But my ears really picked up when the grizzled old timer in the corner sounded in with the following:
"You're all talking through your hats. Back in the thirties I made a living trolling in the Bay with heavy braided cotton lines, the biggest surgical tubes we could get - mine were nearly as thick as garden hose - and a heavy 7/0 Siwash hook with a live eel hooked under the jaw and out the head. In those days we strung a wooden float on the line to keep the eel off the bottom and trolled real slow in water sixteen to forty feet deep, moving the float as we needed depending on the depth.
"We caught fish, by God...big fish, too. It was nothin’ special to pitch a boatful of thirty and forty pounders up on the dock at the end of a day's haul. But the real trick was this...when we hit a place where a big school of striped bass was hanging, we'd stop and take those braided lines and JIG the tube and eel and we'd keep at it till we cleaned out the honey hole. Now you tell me a better way than that to catch fish.
"And with that the old timer slammed down his coffee mug and lit up his pipe, sending huge clouds of smoke rolling across the room, no-smoking laws be dammed. I sat there absolutely flummoxed, pretty certain that I was going to have a lot harder time swallowing what I'd just heard than I would digesting my soon-to-appear plate of ham, eggs and home fries.
While I stewed over the tube ‘n eel story, the three old timers stood up, spent a moment arguing and insulting each other over their bill, then walked slowly out. As the tube-n-eel storyteller passed my table he glanced over at me and winked. Now I shared this episode with a couple of gents with whom I've fished over the years and I suppose the best take on it came from a tackle shop owner who listened carefully then said, "Well, you can generally take what those old timers tell you as gospel, even if it sounds bizarre." Then, after a pause, "Unless, of course, they're just having fun with you."
I tried the tube and eel technique this past year and I got a couple of hits but no hookups. So I'll keep making adjustments and experimenting until I've got it down pat. Cause I'm pretty certain that old timer had discovered a sure fire way of catching fish, big fish at that....unless, of course, he was just having fun with me.
Nice piece Jerry...
The Gospel According to the Old Timer
By Jerry Vovcsko
Those who write fishing columns are usually pretty direct, emphatic even, in dispensing advice: go here, go there, do this and that, and you'll likely catch fish, lots of them, just like I did. And I confess, I've written my share of those as well. But this one's going to be a little bit different because I'm not quite sure myself what to make of it. So with that caveat, here it is:
A couple of years ago down on the Cape I was driving along, mid-morning, looking for a good breakfast place. Now I'm very particular when it comes to breakfast. I refuse to eat at those chain restaurants that slap a few pieces of white bread toast, eggs cooked in a mold that produces perfect circles, home fries that look more like shredded wheat biscuits than potatoes, and coffee tasteless as warm dishwater. I'd rather go hungry.
What I'm looking for is a greasy-spoon type of place where the smoke from the chimney shows a touch of brown from all the butter and grease accumulated over the years. I don't want to hear about low-cal or low-cholesterol anything. Give me homefries cooked in lard on the griddle. Don't ask me bacon or sausage? I want both. Fry my eggs over easy so they glide through the butter like Michael Jackson on a moonwalk and show me coffee strong enough that the spoon stands upright for a few seconds, then let's have a spoonful or two of sugar - from a real bowl please, no packets - and a bit of cream for that rich caramel color. That's what I call breakfast. And, waitress, don't go too far away; I may need a refill or two.
Just outside Orleans I found what I was looking for, a breakfast/lunch place with sturdy tables, pine paneled walls and a view of Pleasant Bay. I knew I was in the right place when the waitress plunked down a thick, heavy, white mug which she proceeded to fill with black coffee, steaming hot. As a young marine stationed aboard a Navy LST I had learned early on that no self-respecting chief bosun's mate would drink coffee from anything but one of these mugs, and forever after I equated their presence with top notch coffee.
While I waited for my breakfast order I tuned in on a conversation going on among three old timers a couple of tables over. They all looked like they'd spent enough time on the water to rate the honorary Cape Cod designation of Cap'n. These old salts were gnawing on each other over the best method for taking striped bass via trolling from a small boat. Tube and worm surfaced now and again, as did the notion of towing an umbrella rig fleshed out with small pieces of menhaden.
But my ears really picked up when the grizzled old timer in the corner sounded in with the following:
"You're all talking through your hats. Back in the thirties I made a living trolling in the Bay with heavy braided cotton lines, the biggest surgical tubes we could get - mine were nearly as thick as garden hose - and a heavy 7/0 Siwash hook with a live eel hooked under the jaw and out the head. In those days we strung a wooden float on the line to keep the eel off the bottom and trolled real slow in water sixteen to forty feet deep, moving the float as we needed depending on the depth.
"We caught fish, by God...big fish, too. It was nothin’ special to pitch a boatful of thirty and forty pounders up on the dock at the end of a day's haul. But the real trick was this...when we hit a place where a big school of striped bass was hanging, we'd stop and take those braided lines and JIG the tube and eel and we'd keep at it till we cleaned out the honey hole. Now you tell me a better way than that to catch fish.
"And with that the old timer slammed down his coffee mug and lit up his pipe, sending huge clouds of smoke rolling across the room, no-smoking laws be dammed. I sat there absolutely flummoxed, pretty certain that I was going to have a lot harder time swallowing what I'd just heard than I would digesting my soon-to-appear plate of ham, eggs and home fries.
While I stewed over the tube ‘n eel story, the three old timers stood up, spent a moment arguing and insulting each other over their bill, then walked slowly out. As the tube-n-eel storyteller passed my table he glanced over at me and winked. Now I shared this episode with a couple of gents with whom I've fished over the years and I suppose the best take on it came from a tackle shop owner who listened carefully then said, "Well, you can generally take what those old timers tell you as gospel, even if it sounds bizarre." Then, after a pause, "Unless, of course, they're just having fun with you."
I tried the tube and eel technique this past year and I got a couple of hits but no hookups. So I'll keep making adjustments and experimenting until I've got it down pat. Cause I'm pretty certain that old timer had discovered a sure fire way of catching fish, big fish at that....unless, of course, he was just having fun with me.
Nice piece Jerry...