Last November we lost a special man in our lives. My husband’s grandfather, Norm, passed away just shy of his 91st birthday. It was a hard time as Norm has been a staple in our lives since I met my husband (23 year ago). But, for my husband, he has had a special relationship with his grandfather for as long as he could remember. Before I tell you about my new painting, “Grandpa”, let me give you a little background on Norm: Tickled Pink Tickled pink – the first time I heard this phrase was when Norm was voicing his pleasure after learning about my engagement to his grandson. At first, I thought the phrase funny, but it evoked feelings of happiness, warmth, and acceptance. I can still see the light in Norm’s eyes, the rose in his cheeks, and his wide-mouthed grin when he exclaimed “I’m just tickled pink that you will be my grandson’s wife.” In the years to come, I heard this phrase repeated often – after my husband and I were married, when Norm learned I was pregnant for the first time, and when my son was born and would be carrying on the family name. Goodness, was Norm excited about this. But, it wasn’t just with our family happenings that I heard this phrase, whenever Norm learned of any other positive happenings; not just with his family but with friends too, he’d let the phrase fly. Norm cared. My husband and I met when we were just 15-years old through our love for the game of soccer – hence, I met Norm. I had never met another grandparent who was so involved with their grandchild’s sport. Norm was at each and every game, cheering loudly from the sideline. I soon learned that his support for his grandson reached much further than sports; it was woven throughout his life. Norm visited with the family every weekend, celebrated every holiday with the family, and attended every special occasion. He was a grandparent who lived for being with his family. Within a few years of meeting my husband, Norm started giving me birthday cards, Christmas cards, and notes that were addressed to his “granddaughter”. He extended the love and support he had for his family to me. He treated me like his own granddaughter. As the years passed, my husband and I continued to spend a lot of time with Norm. In college, I cleaned his townhome for him every week, which led to deep conversations out on his porch after I was done cleaning. We spent hours talking on the porch swing while sipping on soda. After my husband and I married, we had Norm over for dinner often, and he even joined us for weekends up North. Once our children were born, Norm turned into the best great-grandpa. He never missed a birthday party, baptism, or any other special event we had for our children. He also attended many of their soccer games – sitting on the sideline, cheering on the kids, just has he had done for my husband for years. Norm had definitely been our family’s #1 fan. For the past year, Norm had numerous health issues, and I was fortunate to witness something special – my husband stepped up and supported his grandfather in many different ways, just as his grandfather had done for him for so many years. The love had come full-circle. The Painting Just after Thanksgiving, Norm passed away. My husband and his family went back and forth, cleaning out Norm’s place. My in-laws stopped over one day to bring us a bag with a few of Norm’s belongings. In that bag was a photo I had taken 12 years ago. The photo was of my husband and Norm fishing on the old pontoon at my family’s cabin – I knew I had to paint this scene for my husband. Norm had kept this photo framed in his house. For weeks I hid the painting of the photo from my husband. I’d work on it while he was at work, while he was at his indoor soccer games, and while he went out ice fishing (he later revealed that he wondered why I was suggesting he go ice fishing so often). After my husband’s soccer game last week (yes, he still plays year-round), I revealed the painting “Grandpa” to him. He’s not the emotional type, so there was no crying, or “oohing” or “aahing”. Instead he stared at the painting, and continued to stare at it throughout the evening. He thanked me multiple times, and said it was “great”. He was thankful. “Grandpa” will be hung in the office among the fishing decor and soccer trophies – just as grandpa Norm would have wanted. In fact, I’m certain he would be tickled pink.
fishing
Can Contrails Predict Fishing Success?
My family likes walks. We walk almost every day – sometimes multiple times per day. The fresh air, exercise, time we get to spend chatting with each other, and the exciting things we see make every walk enjoyable and interesting. It’s our go-to way to get outside and get into nature. Two days ago, I wanted to walk in a nearby prairie at sunset because the light across the fall landscape is especially beautiful this time of year. Dried flowers dot the fields, dainty grass plumes sparkle in front of the lowering rays, and the family seems to feel the magic just as I do. But, this is not what this post is about. This post is about contrails and fishing. At the very western edge of the prairie one can find a clear lake with a sandy bottom. The kids love to explore the shores of the lake when we visit the prairie and we did just that two days ago. While the kids ran up and down the shore, made clouds out of cattail fluff, and searched for lures that others had unfortunately lost while fishing, my husband offered an interesting bit of information: “Too bad we are not fishing right now.” he said (this after he and my son had been shut out three days in a row – well, except for a few mudpuppies). “Why is that?” I questioned (thinking there may be more to this statement than the obvious fact that he’d like to fish all day – every day if he could). “You see those vapor trails [contrails] that the airplanes are leaving in the sky, and how they are slowly spreading out?” he asked. “Yes?” I questioned. “They indicate good fishing.” “How is that?” I asked, “And, where did you learn that?” “I must have read about in one of my fishing books, but I don’t remember where or which one.” he replied. To be fair, my husband has read a plethora of fishing books – books about fishing technique, fishing memoirs, fiction books about fishing, and he even studies lake and river maps. He continued: “It has something to do with pressure changes.” Today I explored this theory further using my favorite learning tool – the World Wide Web. This is what I found: A contrail is: a condensation trail left behind jet aircrafts where hot humid air from jet exhaust mixes with environmental air of low vapor pressure and low temperature. The result is a cloud similar to those that you see when you exhale and see your breath outside. Okay, so how does this affect fishing? I found a simple explanation in a bass fishing forum on BassResource.com. BassChaser57, a self-proclaimed “airline pilot by profession, BassChaser by passion,” stated: There are lots of variables i[n] bass fishing such as temperature, cloud cover, barometric pressure, wind speed and direction, moon phase, fishing pressure, rising/falling water, muddy water, etc. There is one variable that I have used over the years… it is simple and it works. Few of us can spend as much time on the water as we would like so I try to maximize my quality fishing possibilities. I do this by watching jet contrails (the white trails left in the sky by jets.) When I see the sky crisscrossed by contrails I go fishing and expect to find active bass. The explanation is simply that there is high level moisture meaning there is an approaching weather system. Many of us realize bass get active with an approaching storm or lowering barometric pressure, the contrails will tell us the same thing without having to be able to see the weather channel. The next time you see the contrails in the sky, try to go fishing and expect the Bass to be active and prove to yourself that contrails=active bass. Dan Johnson from In-Fisherman magazine defines barometric pressure more thoroughly… In a nutshell, barometric pressure—also called atmospheric or air pressure—is the weight of the air pressing down upon everything on the planet, including fish and anglers. Lest you think such a load is light as a feather, consider that a square-inch column of air rising from sea level to the top of our atmosphere weighs about 14.7 pounds. Even slight changes in barometric pressure can cause big changes in fish behavior. According to Spud Woodward, Assistant Director for the Georgia Department of Natural Resources Coastal Resources Division, fish sense pressure changes through their air bladder. He goes on to explain: Fish that have small air bladders, such as kings, Spanish mackerel, wahoo and dolphin, aren’t as affected by barometric changes as those with large bladders, such as trout, redfish, tarpon, grouper and snapper… That’s because fish with small bladders have a body density that’s closer to that of the surrounding water. They don’t sense the pressure changes as dramatically, so their comfort levels aren’t drastically altered. However, many things they eat have air bladders, and that alone could have a big impact on where you might find them and how they’ll behave. For example, zooplankton and phytoplankton have air bladders and can be caught off-guard by pressure changes causing a feeding frenzy among minnows and other small fish, which in turn brings out larger fish to eat. Woodward continues: Fish with large bladders quickly sense when the air pressure is dropping, because there’s less pressure on their bladder. And when there’s less pressure squeezing their bladders, the bladders expand a bit. When their bladders expand, fish become uncomfortable. They relieve their discomfort by moving lower in the water column or by absorbing extra gas in their bladders. These stresses cause fish to forget about eating, and instead focus on finding a depth where they can find comfort. Finally, Woodward explains the pressure changes where contrails are most evident – the period just before a low-pressure system sets in. Just what I was looking for. Let’s say we’re experiencing a prolonged period of high pressure and the fishing has been good.
Watercolor Wednesday: Rainbow Trout
Due to my new-found love of watercolor painting, I have decided to devote more blogging posts to my paintings, so on the first Wednesday of every month I will feature a new painting along with the story behind the painting. Without further ado, today I am featuring a painting that my son requested as part of his ninth birthday gift – a rainbow trout.
The Lure of Fishing
“Mom, will you write a story about fishing this week?” asked my son as we were sitting at the dinner table earlier in the week. “What made you ask that? I asked him. “Well, you like to write about nature, and fishing is a ‘naturey’ thing.” he replied. I smiled and said “You’ve got that right. I really like your idea! Fishing it is.” After all, we were planning on heading to the cabin in a few days – the place where I learned to fish when I was a little girl. The perfect spot to get me in the fishing frame-of-mind. Cabin As soon as we arrived at the cabin this evening, my family piled onto the old pontoon. My husband pushed the pontoon away from the dock, my daughter scooted onto my lap, settling in to drive the pontoon to our favorite fishing spot, and my son was busy setting up his line already. While my daughter steered the boat out of Cabin Bay (an endearing name given by my children), she commented on the shoreline just four doors down from our cabin “Look at their perfect shoreline! They have a tree hanging over the water which is perfect for bass.” That’s my little fishergirl. Tonight I’ve decided that I’m not going to fish. Instead, I’m going to start this fishing story that my son has requested – a story that I’m excited to write as fishing has been an important part of my family for many generations. In fact, my great-great-grandparents depended on fish to help sustain them, as they were farmers that were the second generation removed from Sweden, and had very little money. In the words of my great-grandfather: In the early spring before the ice was off the lake, we put our long gill nets in. We had two, I think. They were 30 feet long which gave us 60 feet of gill nets. My father and I would walk down to the lake about four in the afternoon, row out to the edge of the ice, and row slowly along the edge as the net was laid out. Sometimes we had fish to bring home with us at once. The next morning we picked off all the fish in the nets, sometimes as much as half a gunnysack full. It was always a cold job, but rewarding. These fish, mostly northern and sunfish, were all delicious coming from the ice cold water. I loved to walk along the shore wearing knee boots and shoot fish. If I shot above the water the concussion would stun the fish and they would turn up and be picked up. We shot two one day, one weighed 19 ½ pounds – another 14 pounds. This was illegal, but the game warden never bothered anyone till after World War I, when they tightened up on us. After that, we never put out the nets, but I continued to shoot fish. This was only possible when the fish were spawning and swimming in the meadows at high water. They would lay their eggs in the low meadows then go back to the deep lake, but I shot lots of big fish in season. Fishing wasn’t isolated to early spring. My great-grandfather continued: Victor Erickson and I would also spear fish in the night late in the fall. Using a gasoline torch, we could see the bottom of the lake and easily spear any fish that showed; one man rowing the boat backwards, the other standing at the stern where the light was with the spear ready to stab. Back In The Day Gone are the days of using nets and spears for fishing in my family. Our typical outing requires a rod with hook and bobber, and a tin of wax worms, a container of leeches, or a bucket of night crawlers that the kids collect after the sun goes down. Growing up, my parents or grandparents would take the children out in the old Lund or Alumacraft boats, and we would drop a line somewhere along the shore of the cabin lake. Sunfish, crappies, perch, northern, walleye, and largemouth bass were the typical species that were pulled out of the water, but dogfish, sheephead, bullhead, and carp would surprise us on occasion. I remember the excitement of seeing the bobber go down, the competitions my family used to have to see who could get the biggest or most fish, and watching wildlife as the sun went down in the evening (although, back then I didn’t realize the importance of this). As we sit on the pontoon, I ask the kids what makes fishing fun for them. My daughter simply says “I like to catch the fish.” My son replies “I like to watch the bobber start to go under, and I love not knowing if the fish is big or small, or what type of fish it is.” Neither of them commented on the wildlife around them, but my daughter admired the beautiful sunset, and my son was watching birds fly about. Immersed in their surroundings. The Fishing Experience As I look around me I see the sugar maples starting to turn hues of yellow, orange, and red on this late-September day. Majestic white pines are sparse among the maple trees, but they tower over all others – dark green with soft, long needles. Wild rice along the shoreline has started to turn autumn brown, but the arrowhead plants are still a bright green. The day has been unusually warm, gracing us with temperatures in the mid-80’s. A light breeze blows from the south – warm for the most part, but cool when the gusts lift off the cold water. The dog is lying in her favorite spot on the front deck of the pontoon. My husband and children are quiet – entranced by casting, waiting, reeling, and casting again. Wood ducks startle and fly out of nearby cattails, a sharp-shinned hawk flies overhead, and the rough squawking