A Good Day to Make Syrup

(There have been many reasons I don’t do video, and this fiasco has added a few more to the list. Botched on G+, fouled up on Facebook, and an all-around pain, this video is hand-held and rudimentary, like me, with some free cheesy ambient music, also like me. I’ve come this far with it, I might as well post it here, too.)

April 11 was the kind of day we deserve around here after the winter we just went through. Waiting for the ice to go off Fish in a Barrel Pond, I spent it stoking the fire at Bobo’s and attempting some video. The result:

Categories: Maple Syrup, Rural Life, Vermont | Tags: , , , , | 5 Comments

No Fooling, These are the Good Old Days

It may sound cruel to stand by and watch something die, but this is winter we’re talking about and there’s nothing you can do to help it along. The thing is — and this also applies to things other than winter — you don’t want to go poking at it or looking too close too soon. Under the influence of syrup, my last post did just that and winter delivered a reflexive kick to the cranium, knocking spring right out of my mind and causing me to put down the shears, deciding the beard can stay for while — at least until I get tired of it or burn it off feeding the arch at Bobo’s. One or the other; I can’t decide.

Winter and spring duke it out as they do every year and, as ugly as things get, they both end up just looking silly. Meanwhile, the rest of us wallow out through the mid-day slop and bounce home over frozen ruts at night, feeling like the punchline in some kind of big cosmic joke.

A small cosmic joke, I suppose, would be that after relating the tale of nearly kicking a lady wearing yoga pants and Ugg® boots at the grocery store (see link above) I looked out the window yesterday and saw a lady walking up the road wearing yoga pants and Muck® boots.

Regular readers of these pages know how averse we are to jokes (cosmic or otherwise) here at Fish in a Barrel Pond and will understand our desire to keep things serious while everyone else is yukking it up this April Fools’ Day.


The cold this winter was not especially extreme but it was unrelenting and it settled in deep. The “January Thaw” took place one afternoon (the 19th, I think) and there was not a single minute in February above freezing. Well into March, the sap run took a ten day break and the few woodland creatures that have been seen look a little worse for the wear. Even the fish are showing signs of the cold; this beauty was caught by my friend Eugene and his pal Purly:

Fur-bearing Trout

Fur-bearing Trout

Taken on the last day of beaver season, they’re hoping the Game Warden will let them tag it as an “incidental, miscellaneous fur-bearer” because trout season is still a couple of weeks away. It may not help their case if someone points out that the Catholic Church declared the beaver a fish in the 17th Century.

(Using many of the same technologies developed for their Vermont Hand Crafted Tenkara Rods, Eugene and Purly have been hoping to announce the release of their new line of Vermont Hand Crafted Selfie Sticks. An unfortunate deluge of legal actions prevents us from even mentioning the product at this time.)


One thing the members of The Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society do not joke about is the general desire for a return to “The Good Old Days”. You know, back when no matter what fly you tied on, the fish were as long as your leg and just jumped in the boat as you passed by.

They talk a good game, those intrepid anglers of Fish in a Barrel Pond, but this ain’t my first fish shoot and I insist on proof. Fortunately, at least one of them is honest enough to submit an actual photo taken back then, although he admits it was a slow day and most of the fish were small.

A Slow Day, and Most of the Fish were Small

A Slow Day, and Most of the Fish were Small

An exceptional day in a good season is one thing– we’ve all had one or two ourselves– but were those Good Old Days really more than a few epic afternoons here and there, the mist of time diffusing their glow and bathing even the slow days in their warmth? Every fishery hits a point where all anglers are satisfied as to size and quantity of fish caught but that point can be but an instant, related over time and passed down over cocktails (because no great story has ever begun with a salad) and burnished to the point where it becomes the standard to which all fishing tales are held.

And, by Jove, if the biggest fish a guy ever caught here took a hot pink #4 Zonker, he won’t care who says it was foul-hooked and a hot pink #4 Zonker will always be his go-to fly. You’ll see, it’s going to pay off again one of these days.

My mind can be changed and, just as I can be dissuaded from kicking women wearing yoga pants (them, not me), I can be convinced that the Good Old Days lasted a lot longer than I thought. As it turns out,  guys really were hauling out big fish way back when, as shown by this actual photo from 1912, before the days of digital manipulation:

Back in the Good Old Days

Back in the Good Old Days

It can feel like we’re the butt of a joke, flailing away the way we do sometimes in pursuit of trout, and it doesn’t help to see actual photographic proof of the way things used to be, before whatever happened happened. But we can fix it, us humans, because we are smart and powerful and can do no wrong. Some day soon ,we will all hook fish on every cast, no matter the conditions or choice of fly, and the fish will thank us for it.

In the meantime,

This Way to the Six and a Half Foot Man Eating Salmon

Happy April, fools!



Categories: +The Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society, Fly Fishing, Humor, Vermont | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Emerges, Snarling

The curmudgeonly demeanor so essential to my charm nearly veered into the ditch of sociopathic behavior a few times this winter as the Shack Nasties made their annual bid for control. The Shack Nasties are terrible things, related to Cabin Fever but having nothing to do with the need to get outside. Cabin Fever is easily treated but the Shack Nasties are insidious and, once contracted, their cure consists mostly of endurance. Hundreds of blog posts and internet articles appeared this winter, with headlines like “Ten Quick Hacks to Beat the Winter Blahs” and I could almost relate, but my hacking was from working in the cold air and, on a good day, if I tried real hard, I could almost get myself worked up to “blah.”


When folks who are used to a lot of snow say, “That’s a lot of snow,” you know it’s a lot of snow.

Ya think?

Ya think?

Where the ground doesn’t freeze much more than three feet deep most years, burying water lines four feet deep should do the trick, except in those years the ground freezes down to five, causing even the most stoic Vermonters to quietly cuss to themselves. But after a drive through a squall, over Horrible Mountain to the grocery store for bottled water and standing in line behind a lady yammering on her phone about that evening’s wine selection, I’m afraid my cussing might not have been to myself. In fact, I know it wasn’t but, gosh darn it, you don’t serve Barolo with Dover Sole and who in the heck convinced the women of New Jersey that yoga pants and Ugg boots are appropriate winter-wear anywhere in the world, let alone Vermont?



Old Farmer’s Almanac, February, 2015

Every year, winter’s back breaks and, every year, I make a joke about how it’s too bad you can’t just shoot winter in the head and get it over with, but the protracted death of winter is one of the best parts of spring and, after a winter like this one, it is a pleasure to gawk while it dies. Trees and power lines came down as the snow piled up, the cold settled in and more than a month passed between days (or in our case, hours) above freezing, but the coldest days have passed and all of a sudden it appears we’ve turned a corner (or at least tried to) as the roads have become a little less icy.


The Second Day of Mud Season

There are those who say spring is the season that most defines Vermont and its inhabitants and I agree. Not the spring of pussy willows and daffodils and baby bunnies on Easter cards, but the spring of thawing and melting and mud. The one time of year when the only people who are here are the people who live here, and most of them know better than to stand up at Town Meeting and ask if maybe the road crew shouldn’t “try thinking outside the box this Mud Season.” The only thing better than the mud this time of year (and the entertainment provided by those who think something can be done about it) is that the maple trees begin to wake up, the sap flows and the arch is fired up on Bobo’s Mountain.

The Arch at Bobo's, March 12, 2015

The Arch at Bobo’s, March 12, 2015

A quick two-day thaw brought a 2,000-gallon run of sap and a drop in temperatures brought it to an end, meaning that the first boil of 2015 could be a shake-down affair, without the pressure of 2500 trees gushing all day and having to boil like hell just to keep up.

First Steam of 2015

First Steam of 2015

As often happens, 40 gallons of sap did not equal one gallon of syrup but this particular batch of syrup tastes like it’s already on pancakes, with as much melted butter as you wish you could really have and, like the best rum, coffee or beer, you can’t shine a light through it. Whether or not it tastes so good because it’s the first syrup of the season, after a winter when I almost kicked a lady wearing yoga pants (are those things supposed to blouse?), I don’t know, but I do know that mud and maple go together and, if the first thaw of March is any indication, there’s going to be plenty of both. After months of challenging cold and snow, the Shack Nasties have loosened their grip and slipped away at last. Dirt roads turn to mud, sap becomes syrup, and Quill Gordon loses all desire to kick people in line at the grocery store, transforming from snarling sociopath to just another good-natured goof driving home in the dark, bouncing over frozen ruts beneath the stars, clutching a warm jar of fresh syrup, the surest signs of spring I know.


Ready to Fill

There is still some lovely 2014 “Amber/Rich” syrup available from Bobo’s, for those who need a fix now and wish to avoid the muddy drive over, but it won’t be long before those empty barrels are filled with this spring’s sugary goodness, ready to be bottled and shipped to far-flung corners of the world. While waiting for the next sap run and boil, as folks in these parts struggle to stay out of the ditches, here’s an official Bobo’s Mountain Sugar video to watch. Notice how just talking about syrup is enough to make some people smile.

Categories: Maple Syrup, Rural Life, Vermont | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Repeat as Necessary

Fish in a Barrel Pond, in Winter

Winter Scene (In Color), Fish in a Barrel Pond

This ain’t my first trip around the sun and we’re passing through a very familiar stretch of orbit right now. Shrouded in snow, littered with  snapped utility poles and downed trees, it is winter and we cope with the cold, brace against the wind and prepare for the occasional shredding of the network of power and communication lines that serve this neck of the woods. No one needs to be told to go home and hunker down until the storm is over, allowing plows, emergency workers and utility crews to do their jobs, and no one emerges from their shelter pissed off that they took cover from something short of Doomsday itself.

It is winter. Embrace it, endure it, or leave. Continue reading

Categories: +The Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society, Humor, nature, Rural Life, Vermont, Winter | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Closing Up

Everyone is anxious in spring, wondering when the ice will be gone, but I don’t field many inquires as to the time of its first appearance. The ones I do are often followed by, “But isn’t that early? or, “But isn’t that late?” or some such other nonsense.

nov 18

Fish in a Barrel Pond, November 18

Continue reading

Categories: nature, Vermont, Winter | Tags: , , , , , , | 1 Comment

How Are Things in Glocca Morra?

Every now and then I am struck by something that gives me pause, that makes me stop for a moment and think. It might be the serenity of a fine fall day, or it could be the top fifteen feet of a tree that was deader than it looked and folded back in exactly the opposite direction intended, but two weeks ago I was struck by the news that Larry and Ruth Daley had drowned in a pond, one apparently trying to save the other, while going about their duties as caretakers of a property in Peru, Vermont.

Both still working in their eighties, they were probably doing things they’d done for years, the same way they’d always done them, and no one will ever know for sure what happened. It was a few days before anyone knew anything happened at all.

The View from Fish in a Barrel Pond remains dedicated to those who somehow find a way to get away from it all, but most especially to those who take care of them when they get there — the caretakers, attendants, guides, outfitters, rangers, managers, support staff and others who not only make sure everyone has plenty of toilet paper and gets back home intact, but also do everything they can to be sure the places we love are still there when we come back.


Just About Wore Out

The skinny jeans of spring are now the fat pants of fall, held up by suspenders until I’m back to my winter weight, which doesn’t take nearly as long as it used to.

Another season has come and gone at Fish in a Barrel Pond, six full months of Life Among the Anglers, a fly fishing dream. They’re all back in what they call the “real world” but their presence is still felt, if only in stark contrast to their absence.


I Don’t Care if it Rains or Freezes …

Oak leaves skitter and crab across the dooryard, maple and birch molder in the woods, and now when it rains no one complains. The wind is not cursed and the sun and the clouds are not judged. The trout take their proper place in the overall scheme of things and Nature goes on, doing the things it does whether the anglers are here or not. So do I, but with a lot less wiping of whiskers and sweeping up toenails now that the camps are closed down. Continue reading

Categories: Fly Fishing, Humor, nature, Vermont | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Struck Dumb

Having spent countless hours watching others fly fish, I can say I’ve learned a thing or two from the anglers of Fish in a Barrel Pond. More than the same old tips, tricks and “wisdom” that most of us have heard a hundred times before, a lot of what I pick up is subtle and nuanced, yet profound, and a few of these gems go so far as to challenge some of my most cherished and long-held fly fishing assumptions.

For example, in my previous post, “Halfway Through the Season,” I stood firm in my belief that when a man hands me a highball glass and asks me what the heck a guy has to do to catch fish around here, the proper response is to declare myself no expert but suggest that it probably doesn’t involve highball glasses.

My position wavered not, even when the situation was complicated by the fact that the man in question was also in his underwear, but my stance has since softened. Sooner or later, one is bound to see it all and, thanks to a kindly proctologist from the Cape, I now know that a man drinking Scotch in his underwear is just as likely as the next guy to catch a fish, as long as there’s a rod in his hand and he’s got a fly on the water.

The anglers of Fish in a Barrel Pond are not the only things that leave me speechless. Here are this year’s Obligatory Vermont Fall Foliage Photos (click one to enlarge or view as a slide show):




Categories: Fly Fishing, Humor, nature, Vermont | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Halfway Through the Season

I am willing to admit that, when a man uses “finger quotes” for the fifth time, explaining why the “rules” don’t apply to him, a quick left jab to the nose may not be the best response, even if it seems perfectly appropriate at the time.

I am also willing to admit that, when on the way to stupid, pain-in-the-ass, court-ordered anger management classes, taking it out by swerving into a group of young turkeys on the shoulder of Route 5 might come across as a tad offensive to some.

I will even concede that, when a real judge suggests a little “cooling off and drying out time,” a stay at Detox Mansion might not be such a bad idea, even if it might mean doing yard work with Liza Minnelli.

Each of those statements is true but none are applicable to this season at Fish in a Barrel Pond (so far). No one has been punched in the nose (yet) or been to court and ordered into behavior modification, no turkeys were harmed in the making up of this nonsense and, I assure you, Quill Gordon’s Steel-Toed Drinking Shoes remain laced, all the way to the top.

The ice went out and the loons returned. The large black and white aquatic birds came back, too. It’s been all anglers, all the time, following pretty much the same script as every year, except for the 18 hours I spent spiraling in the vortex of airport Hell that is United Airlines in Houston, or being struck by the thought that I, of all people, could arrive late, find my way through a throng of thousands from one terminal to another in Chicago, and catch a flight with just seconds to spare while a man from (name any city) can barely find his way around an old camp in Vermont measuring 20′ x 20′.

Six times in the last 12 weeks posts have been started and not finished, leaving three people wondering what might have happened to Quill Gordon. The truth involves discussing feelings and emotions and such so, when people ask, I just let them go on thinking I’ve been raking leaves with Liza.


Lucky, I guess.

Continue reading

Categories: +Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Here We Go Again

Fish in a Barrel Pond, April 20, 2014

Fish in a Barrel Pond, April 20, 2014

An entire winter’s worth of snow slowly condensed into a thick layer of ice, sitting on lake ice that formed in December. With less than a week before Opening Day, there was nothing to be done about the ice but hope it would go out in time. Meanwhile, there were camps to prepare, repair, and otherwise make ready for the upcoming season.

Fish in a Barrel Pond, April  21, 2014

Fish in a Barrel Pond, April 21, 2014

Woodland creatures were evicted, floors were swept, and beds were made, as if there were no ice at all (other than in the usual low spots in water lines) and, while anxious anglers left messages asking about the lake, cussing and banging gave way to sighs of relief at the sound of trickling faucets. Continue reading

Categories: +The Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society, Fly Fishing, nature, Vermont | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Recently Seen (Photo Gallery)

It is a photo-rich environment around here, which explains why there is nearly always a camera in the truck or slung over my shoulder. No need for sneaking around or hiding and waiting to see interesting things; I can stop along the road through the swamp or look just offshore, on the ice, and see something worth photographing.

Winter is over and spring is gaining ground.

(Click a photo to enlarge and/or open a slide show.)

Categories: nature, Vermont | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

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