Well, now that I am back in the saddle, so to speak, the image upload function on the Skunk Report has failed. Hang on, while I poke around.

Oh, while tossing a few casts into Falmouth Harbor at lunchtime today, I used my manly 9-foot rod to accidentally snag the hook remover pliers right out of my pocket and fling them into the harbor. I spent about 20 minutes dangling way over over the bulkhead, trying to hook the rod tip onto the lanyard loop on the pliers. Guess what?

Got fish? Nope. Got pliers? Yup.

And, the image uploader works!

The day is not all bad. We’ll keep trying, however.

The Skunkmeister has been failing at fishing for quite a while.

Sometimes, when you are sick, for example, you just can’t go fishing. And you can only do so much at home, such as rummaging through old gear and reminiscing about how you lost that big one on this lure and how you never got a bite on that plug at all.

If there’s anything I can do, it’s read. So, I am starting the Skunk Report Book Review section. There are two guidelines. First, the book must have to be at least remotely connected with fishing. Second, I have to get it for free. So, authors and publishers, send me those free books for review. I’ll start with Catch and Release: Trout Fishing and the Meaning of Life by Mark Kingwell. The title itself presages a high P-factor in my rating system.

I will rate each book primarily on two factors: readability and pomposity. If I can’t get through it without breaking a sweat, then it gets a good grade. The pomposity factor (P-factor) is the key in my rating system. Most fishing books are readable, so I am not too worried about that, but most authors of fishing books are pretty full of themselves, as well, and they fancy themselves to be great philosophers. In fact, philosophizing is right up there with lying among traits found in nearly all fishermen. The P-factor will give potential readers a good gauge as to how much of this characteristic is present in a given book.

Actually, I have found that, as with lying, philosophizing comes sort of naturally to one when fishing. It’s as if we piscators are blessed with a gift, that of seeing the universe and life itself in the face of a still pond or a gently flowing mountain stream in late spring….

While faithfully observing the vaunted Falmouth squid fleet for signs of life, I caught…bronchitis and something else.

While I have been recuperating, all sorts of things have been happening. Apparently people have been catching fish left and right. But beat this if you can: I spent more than four days housebound, and my catch rate did not fall off one iota. How many people can say that?

I have been weeding out old stuff on my workbench and found this note. This is an actual note. If memory serves me, I think I picked it up off the floor at a fishing show in Providence from a couple of months ago. I thought at the time that most guys at the show did not follow this exact order. From my observations, #4 was at the top of the list, followed closely by #3. Of course, I didn’t get there until late in the day.

This makes me feel jealous, hungry, and damp all at the same time. Oh, it is a painting on copper by Jan van Kessel the Elder (1612 - 1679), and you can click on it for a larger view. The first one who can accurately identify all the sea creatures in there gets a prize of my choosing.

Okay, my friend Jay says there are squid all over the place, squid coming out his ears, he says, and he’s caught a mess of them. Well, then, I am feeling pretty darn poorly about missing the arrival of those blasted squid, and I’m not going to stand by and be made a fool of, not again. This picture here is one of those prep school, hatchery trout that I got last week. Now I’m going to thaw this guy and eat him. That’s right. This baby is going down, and no one’s gonna stop me. Moby Dick can’t stop me. Yeah.

See this? I’m da man. No one makes a fool of me over and over, specially not no fish, extra specially not no squid. Yeah, this baby tastes extra sweet right now. And I’m going out tomorrow night and get me a keeper striped bass. And I’m not even gonna stretch him. And he’s gonna taste even sweeter. Maybe I’ll even buy me a squid somewhere and catch that bass on a squid. Ain’t no squid gonna make a fool out of me.

This trout tastes darn good and darn sweet and, gaa… and, urgh… Got a bone.

Like most “fishermen” I am a glutton for punishment. Hoping to catch one of the first striped bass, I stopped on the way home from work last week to make a few casts at a couple of my favorite places. They are my favorites largely because they are easy to get to.

At Falmouth Harbor, the Land of No-Squid (at least as of last week), I stood facing south-southwest, into a pretty good blow. I ripped off a mighty cast, the kind of heave necessary in such a wind to get the darn lure anywhere beyond the rocks. The cast was indeed magnificent, and the soft plastic went way out there. Unfortunately, it was also the kind of cast that you get when the lure is unencumbered by the trailing line.

This is what comes from being cheap with the gear. Out of laziness, I had not removed a steel leader left over from last fall’s attempts at bluefish. Out of laziness, I had not rinsed the thing off with fresh water since, and so, presto, it snapped off on the first cast this spring. I could see that I had impressed the less doughty fishermen sitting warm in their vehicles, drinking coffee and watching me. Time to try somewhere else.

Next, I tried the jetty at Megansett Harbor, walking carefully atop thirty yards of slick rock. Brand new lure. No steel leader. With the wind mostly behind me this time, the first cast sailed off nicely into the harbor. Starting about the fourth crank of the reel, I began to see green stuff hanging on my line at about two foot intervals. Small globs, large globs, one after another, bobbing along. Now, if there is anything I can catch with the best, it is seaweed, and I know the characteristics of seaweed. Most of the time, this stuff just falls off. But this stuff clung there, dangling like a series of wet underwear hung out to dry on a clothesline, until it eventually all jammed up on the rod tip. Some globs even went through the rod tip and down a couple of more guides before they finally came off off. I gave up after about three casts and started staggering along the rocks back to the beach, where a curious old man was waiting, metal detector in hand

“Catch anything?” he asked.

“Nothing to brag about,” I said, then pointed at his metal detector. “You?”

“Naw,” he said. “Too early to find anything yet. Just out here to see if this thing still works.”

“Some went down to the sea in ships, doing business on the great waters.” Psalm 107:23

Others go down to the sea in lesser craft, doing small business on the shallow waters. I am one of these hearty men.

Why fuss with a boat, with all its inconvenience and expense? Compared with a boat, waders offer low cost (I got mine for free from my dad about 40 years ago), quick deployment, versatility (works on both dry land and water), no need to register with the state and stick little numbers on them, easy storage, etc. The list goes on and on.

So, my waders are like my own little boat, suitable for use in shallow water. Throw ‘em on stream side, at the pond, and on the beach.

If you insist, you can even hang a trolling motor on the back of your belt for a little boost, though you have to watch out for the prop. I prefer to use muscle power.

So here’s to all those rugged men who despise the fainthearted souls who must bob about in boats, here’s to those independent men who face the mighty ocean with only a thin skin of rubber between them and the dangers of the deep. Wade on. Just remember your long underwear.