fishing for words

Can you tell me what happened to the national habit of washing one’s vehicle yourself? I finally got the chance two days ago – meaning the rain finally let up in here in sunny California – to give my new-to-me Honda Accord its first washing and waxing. While in my usual manner I was focused on truly detailing my car, my mind had time to wander off on its own and found myself pondering the esoteric idea of the archetypal American neighborhood of the 1950s and ‘60s, fostered by my earliest memories and probably more strongly influenced by pop culture. 

Washing one’s car can extend beyond the simple cleaning of your conveyance. It forces me outside, as a rule on those days when the sky is blue and the sun is shining. Whilst I am known to be perhaps a bit too fastidious in the washing of a chunk of metal that barrels down the road, I find it to be somewhat of a relaxing task that brings little burden to the brain. A sort of meditation. In years gone by – even in my lifetime – it was be part of a neighborhood’s social goings-on. I’m sure it still does in a few places.

Do you remember those sunny Saturdays when almost every father on the block was out in his driveway polishing his Corvair or Beetle or Impala? Greetings were exchanged. Cars were shared and inspected. In between vacuuming the interior and hosing down the exterior, kids would get a quick squirt from the hose. The good old day, huh?

As I eased into Web page design nearly fifteen years ago, I had little of idea of the reach of the Internet. While I reached out to the world with my little Web site, the world – or at least a small portion of it – reached out to me. People from far off lands stumbled on to my little patch of HTML. Some liked what the saw. Some prodded me for more information on aloha shirts. (Check my Web site.)

Now, as I eased into a redesign of my Web site, I came to realize that a blog (derived from “WeB log,” btw) was a closer approximation to what I attempted to do with a Web site. So here I am. Blogging. Not that it is such a vanity anymore…guess I’m just going mainstream.

I have no illusion that my blogging will have a significant impact on the world. Rather, I look upon a blog as an external collection of memories and thoughts. I do not know where this might lead, but I’m sure that over time I’ll touch upon favorite topics: fishing, the Sierra Nevada and the foothills, travel and video games. So wish me luck as I join this fast growing electronic community.

During a visit to the cabin during July 2005, we – Pat, Sean and Chris – decided to take a long day trip over the Sonora Pass and to Tuolumne Meadows. If you browse through the photos below, you can see there was quite a bit of snow covering the mountains around the pass and up to the roadway.  We made good time and soon were climbing up Tioga Road (Hwy 120) in Lee Vining Canyon.  By the way, at the base of the road there is new Mobil station with a restaurant – pretty convenient though it is quite expensive. It was a nice drive, though, as very few people seemed to be in this neck of the woods. For those who are observant, you’ll see a one or two pictures the gathering clouds of an afternoon thunderstorm.

The water was high everywhere through the canyon and Tuolumne Meadows.  It was quite amazing. Even the various agencies (National Forest, National Park Service and state park system) had posted temporary signs warning of high water and the possibility of hikers having to cross swollen streams.

Exactly three hours later, we arrived at the Tioga Pass Entrance Station. The sky was clear, snow was all around and the water was high. I had forgotten how beautiful it was. The pass only opened on June 24, a tad bit more than two weeks prior to our visit and the campground would not open for another two days.

One of our first stops was Tioga Lake. While we were there, two fly fisherman were floating on tubes, with their legs in the very cold water. During our stop, Sean just had to assemble a snowball – a bit of a novelty in July. The snow was different from what one might be accustomed to seeing as there was no human activity interfering with its melting…at least until we arrived!

And for my immediate family members…does this picture of the boys with the stringer of fish look familiar? It was taken near one of the campsites at which we stayed. Sure, it has asphalt laid down in the parking spot now and the koisk has been moved, but the Tuolumne Meadows campground is much the same.But out trip was about fishing. We started fishing the Tuolumne River, just outside the campground, but didn’t have any luck. Next, we tried Tioga Lake, where Sean and Chris had a few strikes and saw a few trout follow lures in, but no bites. Then we stopped at Ellery Lake, where Chris pulled in a few trout. Sean also had a few hits, but dad was skunked.

I think the whole day was made worthwhile for Sean (and me) at Lee Vining Creek. During all of our visits to the streams of the Sierra, the trout seemed to know Sean was coming. But Chris, during a previous visit to the Lee Vining Canyon with Boy Scouts, directed us to this little bend in the Lee Vining Creek – which is more of a small river. Sure, they were prob’ly hatchery trout, but they sure were fun to catch. Near as we can recall, without “fisherman’s exaggeration” creeping in, Sean pulled in about six fish, Pat about ten and Chris maybe a dozen or so. Five are in the freezer awaiting their fate.

The nice thing about this jaunt is that we weren’t in a hurry. We took our time on the return leg, driving through June Lake Loop about five-ish and finally reaching Bridgeport close to six. After gobbling down some grub at the ‘Jolly Cone’ we then headed up the road, passing the Marine Corps’ Mountain Warfare Training Center. Along the way we stopped to take in a few vistas – the slowness forced by the twists and turns of the road force one to take in the beauty along the way.

After cresting Sonora Pass, Chris wanted to use his new camera, so we stopped at the East Flange Pass overlook. (Apparently, this pass used as a landmark by the pioneers and Forty-Niners as they descended from Sonora Pass.) Chris jumped out, scrambled around the granite formation and found a small tree for his subject. The photo in the album is looking towards the southern Sierra Nevadas and Yosemite.

Our last stop was at the Dardanelles Reservoir, about thirty miles from Twain Harte and viewed from a fantastic overlook. We arrived about 8:30 p.m., just as the sun was setting. From the overlook one peers down into a deep canyon at the reservoir, which I have read has little accessibility because of the steep canyon walls, but does harbor some trout.  I hope to return during daylight hours as one is offered a tremendous view up and down the canyon and to the mountains north. About forty minutes later we were ‘home’ at the cabin, just in time to wash the smell of fish from our bodies (I even had fish stuff on my shirt).  Yeah, it was a long trip but a great trip that I would gladly undertake again.

When I shifted to a new position at work, it was decided that I might get a quick education by attended on of our conferences, so it was off to New Orleans. (The fact that it was in New Orleans and that I had never been there convinced me that it might be a good thing.) I was put up at the Alexa Hotel, which has (had?) and entrance on Bourbon Street.  At this end, it sure did not seem like much, but that may have been because my visit was in the early afernoon, apparently before many folks had awakened.

Further down Bourbon, things got a bit more lively. At a bare minimum, every block inlcudes some kind of bar, restaurant, t-shirt shop, smoke/cigar shop, gift shop and strip club. Even if there is just a hole in the wall just big enough for a cooler, someome will be selling beer or cocktails out of it. And every bar has cocktails to go!

I had decided that during my first evening in New Orleans that I would chase down a highly recommended restaurant for some old-school New Orleans food. On the way there, I passed the St. Louis Cathedral, as I left Bourbon Street and headed towards the Mississippi River. During his second visit to the United States, Pope John Paul II celebrated there.  The St. Louis Cathedral, completed in 1794 and the oldest church in New Orleans, can be seen from Jackson Square, which has always been an open area in the heart of the French Quarter. Originally known as the Plaza d’Armas, this common area was used at times as military parade grounds, and later as a market place for fish, fowl, and produce. It faces the Mississippi River and contains a statue of its namesake, Andrew Jackson, the hero of the Battle of New Orleans. In the square is a memorial to the Louisiana Battalion Washington Artillery, which has fought in every major war since the Civil War. 

St. Louis Cathedral also can be seen from the banks of the Mississippi River. Crossing through Jackson Sqaure puts one on Decatur Street, which I found more to my liking than Bourbon Street. Decatur Street is where one can find Sbisa’s Café, Central Grocery Co. and the Café du Monde (of beignet fame). I had my first New Orleans meal at Sbisa’s and highly recommend it for its great seafood. I thoroughly enjoyed my dinner, which started with Bayou Crab Cakes with spring onion salad and a mustard-based Creole sauce, and Seafood Gumbo, followed by an entrée of Blackened Redfish topped with fried, jumbo Gulf shrimp and Creole sauce. (The view over Decatur is nice and the staff was great.) It was nice for me - though not so nice for the restaurant - that all was eerily quiet when I made it Sbisa’s Café. As I mentioned, the cafe offers a nice view from the balcony, with music from a jazz piano floating up from the ground floor. Dinner was followed by a serving of beignet, after which I rolled back to my hotel.

Along Decatur Street, just in front of Jackson Square, is where the various tour carriages line up. Though people hold the reins, it was funny to watch the mules automatically organize themselves as they lined up behind each others’ carriages. So habitual is this behavior, one attendant, who was not paying attention, had to run after his carriage.

I passed by the statue of Andrew Jackson again Thursday night…but not because I had meant to. I was in search of The Praline Connection, a down-home-style restaurant recommended by my sister and her husband, but was misdirected and ended up walking through the Warehouse District before I found that The Praline Connection I was sent to was the second Praline Connection, leaving me to walk back across the Warehouse District and all the way across the French Quarter. I was just about to give up when I turned a corner and there it was. I do not know if it was my hunger, but the food was good (alligator sausage followed by fried chicken with cornbread, red beans and rice, and potato salad). Dessert was a praline to go. Based on mapping my route on the computer, I walked about six miles in search of this dinner!

Look at the album and you’ll see some of the amazing vegetation in this city, ranging from an unknown purple plant to the ferns and other plants in alleyways that seem to pop up from cracks in the pavement and building’s brick exteriors.  And while the architecture of the buildings in the French Quarter is fascinating in itself, the pride and care that some folks and business put into their balconies added another dimension to what would otherwise be just another narrow street…  Most amazing was the sight of the large cargo ships I am accustomed to seeing on the San Francisco Bay chugging up a freshwater river.

On my last day, with three hours to kill before the airport shuttle would wisk me away, I again walked the Quarter in search of a muffuletta - a sandwich made with a round loaf of Italian bread, split and filled with layers of sliced Provolone cheese, Genoa salami and Cappicola ham, and topped with an olive salad. It is good. Very good and very big. So big, in fact, that I bought only a half a sandwich, ate half of that for lunch and the rest for dinner on my return flight. It was a fun visit and only in New Orleans can one be picked up in an airport shuttle piloted by a Jewish Puerto Rican named Kaleb!