Thanksgiving Day Catfish Report...

A quick check of the blog/fishing log indicates we are usually fishing on Thanksgiving. I guess it's our way of giving thanks, of worship, of being together and doing the things we like. This Thanksgiving was no different. Out on the lake with Cathy and her brother Matt we boated 32 cats up to 4 pounds. 

Matt takes big fish honors. I noticed as I scanned past reports that there have been some times that we caught the fish slip corking in the shallows in late November. I forgot the backpack with the fish finder in it but probably about 25' deep yesterday. 

On the way in we spotted this bald eagle perched in a 40' tall dead tree standing along the old river channel that snakes through the lake. Good fishing along there I bet and I made this photo at about 75 to 100 yards and once on the computer zoomed it a bit more. This bird's mate could be seen perched a couple of hundred yards away on another tall tree. 

In the area where we caught the fish I recall back in the late 70s, a time when DDT, the main culprit in the decline of eagle populations had only been banned for a few years there was an eagles nest. It was protected by orange buoys signaling a no go area for boaters. Thankfully we don't need that anymore as eagles are apparently nesting and raising young easily on the lake. 

Eagles and nearly every bird pictured on this blog are protected by the Migratory Bird Act of 1918. The Trump Administration was blocked by judge rulings as recently as August 2020 attempting to end restrictions and punishments imposed by this Act that energy companies and other business oppose as too broad. Thankfully we won't have to worry about this kind of monkey business too much longer.

The eagle sighting was not the only bird encounter of the trip. In the boat ramp parking lot this chicken was wandering around. In our meat/blood frenzy a certain person that is very fond of Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce described how you can catch a chicken by throwing a blanket over it. This person had a blanket but was persuaded to step away from the chicken. 

Now I don't know what kind of chicken this is, and it's not a protected species, but I do know chicken. Take wings, leg quarters, or a whole chicken and marinate in Melinda's Creamy Wing Sauce. Before smoking or grilling sprinkle with dry BBQ season of your choice. Before it's done apply (it's not my fave but happy wife, happy life) Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ Sauce.        

On leaving the boat ramp park we saw a nice six point buck but he did not pose for a photo. 

 

A Fat Boy Drags a Canoe Blog Post...

I guess it was a test to see if I have Covid. Driving as close as I could to the water across the dry lake bed, unloading canoe, dragging to the water, occasionally sinking to boot tops in soft mud and then push poling out to where the water was deep enough to paddle. If I was sick I don't think I would have accomplished this physical feat and I don't think I mentioned in the blog post title that fat boy was also old. 

I carried fishing poles and other that one half hearted swipe at a frog lure by a bass I caught nothing. I think this breaks up a string of successful canoe fishing trips so I might just have to spin this as a scouting trip for a good duck hunting area. Up ahead of the canoe there are several hundred North American Coots otherwise known as mud hens. Reportedly the gizzards of mud hens are a Cajun delicacy and in Texas the bag limit for these birds is 15.    

There were a few ducks mixed in and every now and then a pair would circle by looking to land but an old fat boy in a canoe looked a little suspicious. After all duck season is open even if I was not in the duck hunting business today. Note the canvasbacks ducks in the upper right corner of the next photo.   

A friend mentioned that canvasbacks might not be a tasty duck because they eat animal matter, snails, insects and in the Chesapeake Bay area Baltic clams as well as vegetables but according to Wiki migrating birds eat rhizomes and tubers. One of these would be tasty on the Thanksgiving Table next week. In the mid 19th century the canvasback was often a special dish, featured at banquets alongside the Maryland Terrapin. 

Numbers of canvasbacks have declined and in Texas you are permitted to take two of these birds on a hunting trip. I have never taken this species but hunting is not considered a factor in the wide variance of population numbers seen by these ducks but rather drought, wetland drainage and habitation loss the main problems these birds face. Protection of breeding grounds is considered the most effective tactic and numbers are on the rise since the 1990s.    

  

Speaking of drought this is as close as I dared drive my truck out on the dry lake bed without fear of getting stuck. While winter catfishing on a lake that's down can be spectacular it made for a long drag to the water and with the ground rooted up by hogs in places I doubt my canoe cart would have been helpful. I briefly considered a stroll around the waters edge to see if there was a good hiding place to ambush a duck dinner but with the muddy walking conditions I was just not that mad at them.

All in all a nice day on the water, lots of bird watching and planning for future duck dinners.  

Don't Look in the Wrong Place...

 U.S. Tico and The Man were separated by time and distance. They were connected very closely by thoughts, ideas, experience and sheer number of hours spent sitting on the porch playing a guitar. Sometimes they play with friends or family but as is often the case the task of something you believe in can be solitary. Serenading can be a lonely business. It seems there is no one listening while you sit in a little room. Or perhaps they stop by the wrong room to listen? The Man only has to reach back into close family history to find a story that could almost be the one told by himself and U.S. Tico.

With a history that reached back to the 1870s string band music was popular and instrumentation evolved to include other members of the string family with the banjo fiddle combo that defined the genre it the early days. By the 1920s String band music was well on the way to becoming the modern country music we know about today that has incorporated rap beats to sing about pickup trucks, cell phones and drinking Guaro on Costa Rician beaches. Way before Central American beach vacations The Man's family roots were in Perry County Tennessee, Lick Creek specifically near the river where his grandmother's people the Ledbetters settled in the 1850s in close proximity to the Weems (pronounced Wims) family. 

The Man's connection to the Weems family is his great grandfather, Henry Clay Ledbetter had a brother, William Brownlow Ledbetter who married Martha Hale Lewis. Martha, who passed in 1908, the best way we can date all this, had a sister Mary Jane who married William Thomas Weems, reportedly an excellent fiddle player. Their sons formed the Weems Family String Band. In 1920s Perry County my family, the Ledbetters, would surely have known and seen the Weems play music. 

The photos used here are courtesy of The Man's cousin Charles. Charles is the grandson of William Brownlow Ledbetter and grew up knowing brothers Dick and Frank Weems. In his words "they died poor and would have never guessed that a Google search of the Weems Family String Band would produce thousands of results. They played dances and fiddle contests up to their death." 

The Weems Family String Band cut two sides for Columbia Records in 1928. They were standards "Greenback Dollar" backed with "Davy". These records are quite collectable. Cousin Charles has a copy. 

Why did the Weems Family only cut only two sides? They had a career that spanned generations and decades. As this short film will explain the record company wanted more but looked for the band in Arkansas instead of Tennessee. Also cousin Charles has related that an invitation to the Grand Old Opry was missed because the wives wanted to attend the gig as well and there was not an automobile large enough available to transport all to Nashville.   

Have you heard the Weems Family String Band? Have you heard of U.S. Tico and The Man? Don't look in Arkansas.  

 

  

  

    

The Man Calls Tico...

 Back in the mid 1970s behind what some called the pine curtain, certainly a designation that was an indication of a different civilization running it's trains on it's own time there was a small University in a rural East Texas town. It was an old town and Davy Crockett had passed through there on his way to the Alamo. Maybe he should have stayed because it's likely something in the air or water was already present that created the vibe of the place.

 Hamburgers and illegal smiles were cheap. Although Crockett was reportedly a fiddle player all long haired guys had guitars for this revolution. They lived in dorms that could best be described as upscale institutional. Hippie girls sunbathed on the lawn outside these dorms which decades later would be paved over for townhouse style student accommodations and the ugly but necessary parking garages. Fifteen bucks got a keg of Schlitz Malt Liquor and enough ice to keep it cool while the word spread of a gathering miles outside of town called a woodsie. During this time U.S. Tico met the Man.

It was school so they had to study a bit and U. S. Tico did get a degree of some sort. It was kind of vague, like his ancestry which he claimed was Norwegian. Maybe U. S. Norwegitico, knowing what is known now. The Man, majoring in music did not finish a course of study but did finish a useful degree 30 years later. As to the music thing about 45 years later a respected conductor told The Man that, "I see you are coming from a different place." Indeed, what we know now. 

Again back to the old days though when Pabst's Blue Ribbon was $2.39 for a 12 pack at the gas station on North. and the old Hole in the Wall Bar on Wettermark hosted great Texas Outlaw Country bands and songwriting troubadours like Rusty Weir, Steve Fromholz and Ray Wylie Hubbard backed by Jerry Jeff Walker's Lost Gonzo Band on most weekends. Those Lost Gonzos could burst ear drums with their version of "Communication Breakdown." U. S. Tico and The Man played guitars also. Cover songs were pretty rudimentary at the time but some heartfelt blues was belted out at the woodsies to the tune of brutally fingered E chord progressions with improvised lyrics bemoaning all sadness, trials and tribulations of student life.   

Just like the price of beer always going up, students move on. The day U. S. Tico left he was traveling light. He presented The Man with a set of of maroon dinner plates, more square than they were round and their surfaces scared by the sawing of cheap steak knives against cheaper, tougher meats. A gift? Maybe. The Man would eat off them for most of the next decade.

In fact it was about 10 years before they saw each other again and took a fishing trip together. Big trout cruised between the sea grass beds of Copano Bay and reds tailed on the spoil banks of the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway. They cooked this delicious seafood sautéed in butter or blackened with Cajun spices and of course better beer than PBR or Bull. 

Like the late songwriter Billy Joe Shaver says "the years rolled by, like a mighty rush of eagles..." U. S. Tico and The Man might have met at a rugby club reunion one more time but after that it would be awhile.  

There would be wives, kids, careers, happy times, sad times, proud times, grandkids, music, better guitars, many concerts, New Orleans Jazz Fests, hobbies, distractions, the tossing out ceremony of the maroon plates and all the things that happen for men as they wind through the fishing trip of life. One day, it had been maybe 30 years since The Man had seen U. S. Tico, a cryptic message arrived.

"I'm in Costa Rica. It's like college, but you don't go to classes. I have lots of time and am working on something big but need help. I want to venture the adventure! Tell our stories! Talk about music! Play music! The free thoughts are flowing!"

The Man wished he still had those maroon plates. He wondered how much a keg of Bull was these days. It occurred to him that U. S. Tico was not Norwegian.  He picked up a guitar and strummed an E chord. It was a good venture to begin an adventure.                   

Latest Retirement Engineering Project...

A few years ago we sat on Don Miguel and Alejandra's back patio under their new stand up propane heater. Things were so cozy on a cold night that we left a little early and on the way home went right by a big box store and bought ourselves one. 

Usually we put it on the back deck where the hot tube is but I guess since the deck is not enclosed it never quite heated the area up while we soaked on cold winter nights and we do have a fire pit in the other outside sitting area so our heater always seemed like a fifth wheel when it came to outside winter warming. In the summer we usually stored it under the barn overhang.   

On checking it out for use this year, just in case it does get cold I could not get it lit. My first thought was it is a few years old and basically a cheaply made imported item with a planned lifespan. So I did what any retired guy worth his salt would do and I took it all apart. The discovery was that some how the hose was defective and would not deliver propane to the burner. Down in the barn was a hose, a part from a long burnt out fish cooker that had been saved by my packrat self.  Only problem it's too short.   

So I remove a section of the pipe that makes the thing about 8 feet tall, drill a few homes to line up screws and now we have a 6 foot tall heater which should put it a little closer to hot tub bathers and deck sitters but still be out of grandchild reach. If you are 6 feet tall and visit my house let me just set expectations that you practice good fire safety around my heater. It does have feet that can be screwed to a base of some sort which would raise it a bit more so I'll be on the look out for something like that.

Cost of adaptation and repair $0. I did throw the old hose away. Could not quite figure out why gas would not pass through other than perhaps corrosion in the regulator.

Another plus is I have this pipe left over. It will be it's own project some day.  

 

Where's the Money...

 In a time of big changes I note a local change. The City of Lufkin Recycle policy changed. The city will no longer pick up curbside recycle which they provided bins for. Budget concerns caused by the  Covid 19 impact were the reason but a search for past local news stories indicates the program has had problems with rising rates for customers, contaminated bins and general public disinterest since 2008. Personally I think we need recycle and I since I live outside the city I am glad that drop off recycle which I use for paper, plastic jugs and cooking oil continues. I sell any aluminum or metal. I barely make one kitchen sized trash bag a week. 

Along with drop off remaining the city has opened recycling up to any private companies that wish to take the service over. Customers will be allowed to keep the bin at a $5 charge. A few years ago I read a book, "Junkyard Planet" that was about the global recycle industry. The book is a few years old and the game has changed a bit but here is the description blurb from Amazon:

"When you drop your Diet Coke can or yesterday's newspaper in the recycling bin, where does it go? Probably halfway around the world, to people and places that clean up what you don't want and turn it into something you can't wait to buy. In Junkyard Planet, Adam Minter-veteran journalist and son of an American junkyard owner-travels deeply into a vast, often hidden, 500-billion-dollar industry that's transforming our economy and environment.

Minter takes us from back-alley Chinese computer recycling operations to recycling factories capable of processing a jumbo jet's worth of trash every day. Along the way, we meet an international cast of characters who have figured out how to squeeze Silicon Valley-scale fortunes from what we all throw away. Junkyard Planet reveals how “going green” usually means making money-and why that's often the most sustainable choice, even when the recycling methods aren't pretty.

With unmatched access to and insight on the waste industry, and the explanatory gifts and an eye for detail worthy of a John McPhee or William Langewiesche, Minter traces the export of America's garbage and the massive profits that China and other rising nations earn from it. What emerges is an engaging, colorful, and sometimes troubling tale of how the way we consume and discard stuff brings home the ascent of a developing world that recognizes value where Americans don't. Junkyard Planet reveals that Americans might need to learn a smarter way to take out the trash."

Apparently big money is in recycle. No telling how much I contributed to the wealth of the third world when at a city wide electronics recycle I dropped off all the old reel to reel tape players and movie projectors that had belonged to Cathy's dad. Probably recycled into missile guidance systems by some country that didn't already have them.   

Recently during a stop off in St. Louis I noticed these cans everywhere downtown. I also noticed in a food court area, where every customer was issued at their expense paper, plastic and organic food material there were receptacles to dispose of whatever part you did not consume. If a city this size can recycle what ever a consumer is using in the moment why can't we recycle household items?  

I also saw this nice manhole cover in downtown St. Loo. The Mississippi River ran a few years from here.

We are going to need some of these in East Texas as plans for the construction of a land farm for dumping of fracking waste seem to be on track to continue in the Attoyac River watershed which is already an area of concern due to e. coli contamination from substandard septic systems. 

I think we should have curbside recycle, clean water and efficient septic systems. It's not too much to ask.