STORY TIME WITH OPIE

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=100 BGCOLOR="#0099CC" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="04100640ezuavc.gif"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FF0000" FACE="Flamme LET" ><I><B>FISHIN' WIT' OPIE</B></I></FONT><FONT SIZE="6" COLOR="#FFFFCC" FACE="Arial" ><B> </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="6" COLOR="#FFFFCC" FACE="Arial" ><B>   </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#FFFFCC" FACE="Arial" ><B> </B><B>|     </B></FONT><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="FISHIN WIT OPIE"><U><B>HOME</B></U></A><B>          </B><A HREF="id83.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="ODDS and ENDS"><U><B>BACK</B></U></A><B>          </B><A HREF="id59.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="EXCERPTS"><U><B>NEXT</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id69.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="SITE MAP"><U>SITE MAP</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="WELCOME TO THE SITE"><U>WELCOME    TO    THE    SITE</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id3.htm" 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<div> <B><IMG SRC="077a2370.jpg" border=0 width="162" height="823" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> </td> <td valign="top" height=380 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> STORY TIME WITH OPIE <A NAME="storytime_with_opie_page"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id6.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="CONTACT US"><U><B>GOT A GOOD STORY FOR US?  SEND IT........</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="http://www.non-sequitor.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://www.non-sequitor.com"><U><IMG SRC="0622db30.jpg" border=0 width="813" height="179" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></U></A></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>McElligot's Pool</B></div> <div> "Young man," laughed the farmer, "You're sort of a fool!  You'll never catch fish in McElligot's Pool!  The pool is too small.  And, you might as well know it, when people have junk, here's the place that they throw it.  You might catch a boot or you might catch a can.  You might catch a bottle, but listen, young man...  If you sat fifty years with your worms and wishes, you'd grow a long beard long before you'd catch fishes!"</div> <div> "Hmmmm..." answered Marco, "It may be you're right.  I've been here three hours without one single bite.  There might be no fish...But, again, well there might!  'Cause you never can tell what goes on down below!  This pool might be bigger than you or I know!"</div> <div> "This MIGHT be a pool, like I've read of in books, connected to one of those underground brooks!  An underground river that starts here and flows right under the pasture!  And then...well, who knows?  It might go along, down where no one can see, right under the State Highway Two-Hundred-and-Three!  Right under the wagons!  Right under the toes of Mrs. Umbroso who's hanging out clothes!  It might keep on flowing...perhaps...who can tell?  Right under the people in Sneeden's Hotel!  Right under the grass where they're playing croquet!  Then under the mountains and far, far away!  This might be a river, now mightn't it be, connecting McElligot's Pool with the sea!  Then maybe some fish might be swimming toward me!  (If such a thing could be, they certainly would be!)  Some very smart fellow might point out the way to the place where I'm fishing.  And that's why I say, if I wait long enough; if I'm patient and cool, who kows what I'll catch in McElligot's Pool!  I might catch a thin fish, I might catch a stout fish.  I might catch a short or a long, long drawn-out fish!  Any kind!  Any shape!  Any color or size!  I might catch some fish that would open your eyes!  I won't be surprised if a Dog Fish appears!  Complete with a collar and long floppy ears!  Whoofing along!  And perhaps he might chase a whole lot of Catfish right straight to this place!  I might catch a fish with a pinwheel-like tail!  I might catch a fish who has fins like a sail!  I might catch some young fish, some high-jumping friskers.  I might catch an old one with long flowing whiskers!   I might catch a fish with along curly nose.  I might catch a fish like a rooster that crows.  I might catch a fish with a checkerboard belly, or even a fish made of strawberry jelly!  I might catch a Sea Horse.  (Now mightn't I now...?)  I might catch a fish who is partly a cow!  Some fish from the Tropics, all sunburned and hot, might decide to swim up!  Well they might...might they not?  Racing up north for a chance to get cool, full steam ahead for McElligot's Pool!  Some Eskimo Fish from beyond Hudson Bay might decide to swim down; might be headed this way!  It's a pretty long trip, but they might and they may.  I might catch and eel...(Well, I might.  It depends.)  ...A long twisting eel with a lot of strange bends and, oddly enough, wit a head on both ends!  One doesn't catch this kind of fish as a rule, but the chances are fine in McElligot's Pool!  I might catch a fish with a terrible grouch...or an Australian fish with a kangaroo's pouch!  Who wants to catch small ones like mackerel or trout!  That he needs an assistant to help him about!  If I wait long enough, if I'm patient and cool, who knows what I'll catch in McElligot's Pool!  Some rough-neck old Lobster, all gristle and muscle, might grab at my bait, then would I have a tussle!  To land one so tough might take two or three hours, ...the kind that likes flowers.  I might catch some sort of fast-moving bloke who zips through the waves with an overarm stroke!  (I might and I may and that's really no joke!)  A fish even faster!  A fish, if you please, who slides down the sides of strange islands on skis!  He might ski on over and pay me a visit.  That's not impossible...really, now is it?  Some Circus Fish!  Fish form an acrobat school, might stage a big show in McElligot's Pool!  Or I might catch a fish from a stranger place yet!  From the world's highest river in far-off Tibet, where the falls are so steep thta it's dangerous to ride 'em, so the fish put up chutes and they float down beside 'em.  From the world's deepest ocean, from way down below, from down in the mud where the deep-divers go, from down in the mire and the much and the murk, I might catch some fish who are all going, "GLURK!"  WHALES!  I'll catch whales!  Yes, a whole herd of whales!  All spouting their spouts and all thrashing their tails!  I'll catch fifty whales, then I'll stop for the day 'cause there's nothing that's bigger than whales, so they say.  Still, of course, it might be...that there IS somthing bigger!  Some sort of a king of      A THNG-A-MA-JIGGER!!  A fish that's so big, if you kow what I mean, that he makes a whale look like a tiny sardine!  Oh, the sea is so full of a number of fish, if a fellow is patient, he might get his wish!  And that's why I think that I'm not such a fool when I sit here and fish in McElligott's Pool!"<B>........................Dr. Seuss</B></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>How To Know a True Fisherman</B></div> <div>      No burdensome qualifications or tedious probation obstruct the entrance to this fraternity; but skill and fishing ability count for nothing in eligibility.  The oldest and most experienced and skillful fisherman will look with composure upon the vanishing chances of his catch through the floundering efforts of an awkward beginner, if the awkward flounderer has shown that he is sound at heart.  He may not fish well, but if he does not deliberately rush ahead of all companions to pre-empt every promising place in the stream, not everlastingly study to secure for his use the best of the bait, nor always fail to return borrowed tackle, nor prove to be blind, deaf and dumb when others are in tackle need, nor light a cigar with no suggestion of another, nor do a score of other indefinable mean things that among true fishermen constitute him an unbearable nuisance, he will not only be tolerated but aided in every possible way.</div> <div>      It is curious to observe how inevitable the brotherhood discovers unworthiness.  Even without an overt act it is detected--apparently by a sort of instinct.  In any event, and in spite of the most cunning precautions, the sin of the unfit is sure to find them out; and no excuse is allowed to avert unforgiving ostracism as its punishment.</div> <div>      A true fishermen is conservative, provident, not given to envy, considerate of the rights of others, and careful of his good name.  He fishes many a day and returns at night to his home, hungry, tired and disappointed; but he still has faith in his methods, and is not tempted to try new and more deadly lures.  On the contrary, he is willing in all circumstances to give the fish the chance for life which a liberal sporting disposition has determined to be their due; and he will bide his time under old conditions.  He will not indulge his fishing propensity to the extent of the wanton destruction and waste of fish; he will not envy the superior advantages of another in the indulgence of the pastime he loves so well; he will never be known to poach upon the preserves of a fortunate neighbor; and no one will be quicker or more spirited than he in the defense of his fishing honor and character.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>.........</B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Arial" ><B>an excerpt from "The Mission of Fishing and Fishermen", by Grover Cleveland.</B></FONT></div> <bR> <div> <B>Plenty of Fish in the Sea?</B></div> <div> <B>     </B>Sure, fishing is fun, venturing out into nature and breathing the fresh country air, untainted in its origins.  Fishing in its simplicity, a bobber swaying lazily on the water while sitting and pondering life‘s mysteries, is indeed relaxation at its finest.  Then there are the blessed anglers.  Those fortunate souls with boats and canoes that are able to ride the gentle rocking of the waves, only fighting slumber by focusing on the pole in hand and the great prize of catching the Big One.  In general a nice escape from the typical hectic pace we all live.    Some anglers recognize fishing as a great physical exertion:  exercise, if you will, labored out with great precision and passion.  Cast after cast of the chosen lure is a backbreaking endeavor, indeed.  This task of casting and hauling the gear from shore to shore--not to mention all the hills and rocks an angler is forced to scale--truly, by definition, is exercise.  No matter what method of madness these anglers employ, most are following one common goal:  the quest for the Big One, that fish which is larger or prettier than any other.  This could be the longest fish.  No doubt we’ve all heard the stories about the Big One that was, "as long as a man’s leg."  Or maybe the Big One is the fattest fish--"as thick as a man’s torso"--the tale grows.  And what is a pretty fish?  The concept almost seems wrong in its simplicity.  A fish:  toothy, smelly, and slimy--how can this be pretty?  A person should consider the colors and magnificent markings involved.  This must be nature’s art in purest form.  Swirls of green and gold, orange and blue, imprinted in designs of symmetry and abstraction…this is beauty in an angler’s mind, and if given a chance, even the mind of a non-angler should be able to see the beauty in a species of fish.  So when the angler finally does hook and land the fish, what then?  You release it, of course.  Yes, I know.  Some anglers are saying, "He’s lost his mind!  Eat it, mount it, do anything with it, just don’t release it!"  But they are the iniquitous and inefficient anglers:  the scourge of the catch-and-release angler.  </div> <div>           Granted, some anglers eat their catch, which I don’t have a problem with, unless, that anglers’ four-foot by four-foot deep freeze is full of flesh, burnt by the ages of a cold existence.  Moderation is the key when deciding upon the number of fish to keep.  The flesh of fresh fish is a tasty morsel indeed, and the pleasure is in the anticipation of the next fresh catch.  The idea of freezing fillet after fillet defeats the sacrament itself vitiating the meal.  By paying respect and giving thanks, anglers conscious of their actions enrich not only their bodies, but their souls as well (four thousand men, women, and children rejoiced over two Blessed fish in times past).  The icy coffins strip the taste and denaturalize the texture, leaving behind a bland and leathery piece of meat.  A angler who enjoys the sub-zero burnt offerings of a deep freeze can go visit the local fish market and experience equal pleasure from its offerings, without harming the fishery in that angler’s own backyard.</div> <div>      Yet some anglers hoard all they can.  They slide the fish on a stringer to hold up as a great monument to their success and prove their prowess as an outstanding angler.  So my proposal is just preposterous to them.  Their egos couldn’t inflate, and just the thought of releasing the fish could strip the anglers of their manhood somehow.  Some ignorant anglers keep their catch on a stringer to show off.  These thoughtless berks try to let the fish go, only to see the fish flop on its side or go belly-up all together.  The fish drifts away, never to be caught again.  Never will the fish tug another angler’s line, only drift until washed up on shore, eaten by the scavengers of the environment, or worse.  The fish could lie in front of another envious or heartbroken angler who wishes he could have felt the fight the other angler experienced.  Or, possibly the best circumstance, another greater and more powerful fish might feed off the ignorance of the self-righteous angler.</div> <div>           Understand, on any given day a lucky angler might find the fish of a lifetime pulling on the other end of the line.  For the catch-and-release angler, this is a wonderful moment in time, cherished time, time for the great intrinsic reward.  The trophy hunter has a different view altogether.  Heaven help that fish if it is the alpha-specimen because that alpha, that giant, that legend, that "Oh, I gotta tell you a fish story," is now seen merely as a trophy.  No more tackle busting for this one.  No more tail walking on the waters’ surface.  No more life.  The fish of a lifetime is hauled to the taxidermist and mounted in the same great and magnificent pose reminiscent of the scene during which, the great fish made its last fatal decision.  Then the legend is retired to an existence of hanging on the wall of a proud angler, or becoming the ornament on a seafood restaurant wall--in my opinion, a humiliating fate.  Watching its brethren be dipped in butter and delighted upon by possibly the same angler who stuck it on the wall, the fish is humbled for an eternity.</div> <div> With the advent of fiberglass and plastic, extricable and multicolored, the angler only needs dimensions and a photograph of his catch, and a complete reconstruction can be made by a skilled craftsman who might possibly be more adept than the taxidermists at preserving the dignity of the fish.  The genes live on, and the legend will tug at the end of some future anglers’ line, possibly the son or daughter of the angler who released the great fish.  This thought gives great comfort to many catch-and-release anglers.  </div> <div>      Unfortunately, I’ve seen anglers—and this time the term "angler" is used very loosely—who laugh and take great joy in torturing fish.  Stabbing the fish with sticks or slapping them against rocks and trees.  These are the terrorists of the aquatic land, red-eyed and feeling full of themselves.  The terrorists think they are amusing or impressing the other anglers who, through the grace of everything decent, try their hardest not to go over and act on the part of the fish by demonstrating the same fate upon the evil ones.  If scolded about their actions, these terrorists might respond with an "its gonna die anyway" attitude, showing their ignorance.  The most caustic problem is the build-up of lactic acid in the bloodstream.  While it’s true fish undergo great stresses when in battle, a quick landing and release does not prove to be fatal.  The survival rate of fish landed with a quality hook-set is in the range of 96 percent or higher, if properly released--this fact is printed at least once a month in most fishing publications.  Possibly, the riposte terrorists return that will antagonize any angler, "I don’t like fish."  If only fish could lash out and impart all their hatred on these individuals, maybe then these people would understand, but most likely not, as these terrorists obviously have no other emotion besides hate, and with that, reason cannot be made.</div> <div>        This may be one of the best times to talk about "C.P.R.":  catch, photograph, and release.  I think a public fishing show on Wisconsin television, coming in very snowy on my rabbit ears TV, first introduced me to the term.  I practiced C.P.R. for several years without knowing it as such, yet an acronym equaling the resuscitation of life made this train of thought clearer for me.  I breathe life back into my catches, saving them for the future generations of anglers.  Through photographs, I share my fishing experiences with everybody--anybody willing to be patient enough to sit through the vast slideshow-- without killing a single fish.  Within an hour, I’m able to show off my fishing prowess with vivid, clear, proof-positive evidence without taking a life.  Imagine that.  I receive the thrill of the experience with the added pride of showing my efforts all within the 4 x 6 confines of a very portable bravado binder--no deaths involved.</div> <div>      By killing the Big Ones and preventing them from passing on their genes of superiority, some anglers limit the number of giants in the waters.  The Big One will be no more, and those anglers are the end of the line.  Those beautiful fish with extraordinary markings and hefty dimensions, making them distinct from the other less desirable fish, are gone.  And what is the fate of the fisheries if every fish caught is kept?  The fish won’t be there for the next generation, or possibly the next fishing trip you take.  This is again where ignorance comes in.  "There have always been fish; there will always be fish" is one argument the consumers use.  This is a truth, in part, but the fish should not be targeted when spawning, and if taken in moderation, or let back into the fertile lake as fast as possible the fish will "always be."  Yet, some lakes have been fished out by the masses of angling consumers.  With the maximum number of rods in hand they undertake a great assault on the new "hotspot" besieged by the newest campaign.  Irreverently, invaders rip the spawning fish from their nests disturbing the delicate balance of life.  Nature never had a chance to begin its replenishing cycle.</div> <div>      Imagine, if you will, the first two or three months of a woman's pregnancy.  Most of the time, you can’t tell she is pregnant, likewise, it’s not easy to tell if a fish is carrying row and is in the spawning cycle.  If you take all the fish killed during spring and cut them open you would reveal eggs, thousands of eggs.  The thought of how many could have been fish enters an environmentally conscious angler’s mind.  Eggs turn into hatchlings and then grow into fingerlings, about four to six inches in length.  Hatchlings that survive long enough to become fingerlings are minimal and the number of fingerlings that haven’t been swallowed up by predators is even fewer.  It takes several seasons and a number of chases and close calls for those fingerlings to reach the size and maturity required for an angler to catch, admire, and release the fish to procreate again.  And it takes years--six to ten--before the fish will ever reach the revered status of Big One.  So when the old ichthyic legend tugs on your line and provides you with the thrill of a lifetime, pay the respect it’s due--and release it.<B>  ...........</B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Arial" ><B>G. M. Cassioppi Sr.</B></FONT></div> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>