Hooked

by Lee Wilbur

First time with a rod in hand. Four, five years old. Worm or whatever it was on a hook. Father had given me a baitcasting rod for birthday that year. Tip was making funny motions. I jerked up. Adrenaline, whatever that was, was flowing. Worm didn’t appear quite the same as when Dad had fitted it to the hook. Kind of mangled.

“You pulled it up too quick,” Father said. “Leave it down till you feel a good jerk on your line. Here I’ll bait it again. Move your rod ever so slightly, that way the fish will see your bait is alive.”

Dad the doctor and my Mother had bought the lake lot in 1946, soon after he’d returned from war in the South Pacific and made a down payment on the house in Southwest Harbor. An island boy from Bar Harbor. Fished this beautiful lake as a young man, and long dreamed of having a camp here. Neighbor in Southwest had mentioned lots for sale. $250 each for 50 feet on the shore. One acre stretching up the hill. Dad and neighbor went up to see the old gentleman. Took a bottle of “brown water” along, see if they couldn’t cordially work the price down a tad. Both bought two lots apiece for the asking price.

Back then, lake was alive with smallmouth bass. Wealthy “camp” owner had the idea of introducing bass to a lake that had been a major producer of landlocked salmon. By the late 40’s it was questionable whether there’d be a salmon left. Bass had taken over.

Standing there on the cleared embankment, I’d finally been able to throw bobber, bait, and hook out over the water far enough to where these bass were jumping without line on the reel looking like a mangled spider web. I paid attention to what Father had said. Left the line alone.

Soon, tip didn’t bobble. Took a definitive downward tack and really started to dance. Heart racing, “What do I do now?”

“Take it easy. Don’t horse it. Let it play a bit and then start to reel it in. I’ll net it when you get it close enough to shore.”

For once I did what I was told. Father waded out a ways with the net, probably knowing this would be one of, if not the most important, fish I’d ever catch. Fish in that net could have been a trophy. It wasn’t. Probably not more than 10" long, if that. But I’d caught a fish. King of all I surveyed. I was hooked.
Within a short few years, they’d built a log cabin with a real fireplace, “smelly” chemical toilet, and, with other lot owners, put in a road. We were spending time here. Had a succession of boats. First one I was allowed to run alone was a planked duckboat with a one cylinder, air cooled 2 hp. Elgin motor from Sears-Roebuck or Montgomery-Ward. Had to stay in sight at all times, though could be heard all over the lake. Sister Suzanne could go along. She’d soon had her “hooked” catch and become as crazy about fishing as I. It was nothing to go out in the evening, Father and Mother and us two kids, and catch a dishpan full of bass to have with our pancakes for breakfast the next morning. They’d be jumping all over the lake.

Few years, perhaps four or five, when the entire lake became my playground, I landed my first salmon. This was no panfish. This was an honest-to-god real fish. Beautiful. Couldn’t have been much more than 14", but it was gorgeous. All silver and black scales. Lively, though not as fierce a fight as a bass of the same size. Personal trophy and I hurried back to camp to show it off.

Mother fried it up that night for dinner. Flesh turned a pale pink as it cooked off. I was hooked again.

Now, in retired years, AJ and I spend our summers on this magic lake, watching and fishing for the revitalized salmon population as they stir up the calm waters in the early morning hours and just before dusk. Catch bass for deep-frying and the occasional “bass chowder.” Introduce the grandchildren and neighborhood kids to their first catch and realize each day how fortunate we are to still be here, no matter the weeks of rain we sometimes have to endure.

Pawing through a box of old books at a yard sale in Florida this winter, I came across a “Lowney’s Cookbook” first printed in 1907 by the Walter M. Lowney Co. of Boston, Mass. This was a revised edition, 1912 and I thought the Preface to be quite elegant and should be shared. “PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION..We are giving the public in this new edition eighteen admirable colored plates on three inserts which show the most common methods of cutting beef, a chapter on economical dishes, one on Southern or Creole dishes and about fifty new receipts in addition to the same superfine cook book that has been received with so much favor.

It is our aim to improve the book in every way and keep it abreast of the times. No one—not even the United States Government—has ever attempted such expensive illustrations of cuts of meat, and we believe they will be appreciated by every one who who has occasion to order provisions.

The price of the book remains the same, and we are glad to furnish a greatly improved cook book of increased cost as our recognition of the friendly attitude of the great public toward our goods.”

Written in old longhand in pencil or pen on the inside cover and unprinted pages were several delightful recipes. This one caught my eye for summer’s end.

• R E C I P E •

Mrs. Wiuk’s Tomato Mincemeat

1 peck green tomatoes – scald twice & drain
4 lbs. brown sugar
2 lbs. raisins
half cup vinegar
1 tsp cinnamon, cloves, allspice, salt

Your learned guess is as good as mine as to cooking time and the rest. Obviously for fall canning.

Fair Winds and Good Roads
– Lee S. Wilbur