Diabase, Basalt, Granite, Iron and Trout Fishing Round Valley Reservoir

Glorius afternoon, wild reservoir all to myself until I observed a distant, wetsuited wind surfer, and another angler came along and set up. No hits. Round Valley has over 2000 surface acres and the miles of shoreline implied are a lot for trout to range around. Bluebird skies like today's do wonders for mood, but tend to hinder trout from feeding. Months ahead of winter yet, I may catch some more before I start fishing bass again. I want to try shiners. Last winter, I witnessed a lake trout caught on a shiner. So far I've been using marshmallows and mealworms, which is the simplest approach. Sat and read Camus with coarse sand at my feet that appeared almost golden in the sunlight. 

Round Valley is known for diabase, stone related to basalt, and granite deposits exist also. Basalt has a lot of utility. It's broken into gravel, etc., and granite's ornamental value is evident in the colors you see in the wild, also. A lot of iron is present in rocks at Round Valley, the substance that to a large extent built New Jersey long before our period of hurricane recovery now. It's not all there for the getting. Just to experience the gravel and stones by touch through my boots and the rusty sight nourished my mood.

Carried Off by Sounds of the Road and Return to the Point of a Fish Hook

Weather felt right. Perhaps I just didn't have enough time to fish, 20 minutes. I looked 180 degrees to the right of this view photographed and remembered fishing for bass in May in a far corner of Round Valley.

The months since that time have been full of ideas and images for the three novels I've been working on. It feels like I've never had a bad day on the road for my job this entire six months, and I can think of only a few that weren't very pleasurable. Now I'm working on one novel to actually try and finish, rather than running around in a thousand directions at once.

I had plenty of time today to concentrate and get words on paper fished from the bottom depths, not only scattered to the winds and reflected light, or carried off by sounds of the road having become lingual phrases creatively transfigured by mental overdrive.

But I did take about a month's hiatus from actually typing this first novel I hope to finish, and finally realized I need a shot of ordinary reality to get started again. So if I get some time to fish Round Valley, catch trout, and possibly fish the canal for some of that ambulatory exercise I enjoy, expect posts to get more to the point of a fish hook.

Will there be ice in New Jersey this winter? If so, I plan to ice fish at least a couple of times. But my guess is that this winter will be another mild one. I was right last early December, but I was more certain then, too. Who knows.

Delaware and Raritan Canal State Park, South Branch Raritan River, Neshanic River, Round Valley Reservoir, Subtle Portals to Places

Delaware and Raritan Canal in great shape--haven't seen it so clear in years. I may fish it this fall or winter after all. South Branch Raritan has perfect level, but I don't intend to try for trout here, or smallmouths. The little Neshanic River is also photographed. I once photographed a mink here where I stop on occasion for a breather.

Put out a line at Round Valley, nothing. I thought of what I wrote in a recent post about living as seamlessly as possible. Certainly, if seams are denials, repressions, complications, walls by which one refuses to get up and live, then living "seamlessly" is a nice suggestion. But the facts include that every situation is unique and bound to what it is, and to move into another occurence means passing through a change, which implies a limen, a seam. Be grateful reality is this way, because if things go wrong in one place, it's possible to go elsewhere and correct them.   

Delaware and Raritan Canal

South Branch Raritan

South Branch Raritan

Neshanic River (The way I shot it, resembles the canal)

Round Valley Reservoir

Round Valley Reservoir Angler



Playful Pranks, Fun Element of Absurdity, Try, Try Again

 There's been an element of the absurd with me all my life, just as there has been with yours. Playful prankster as a kid and full of fun as an adult, I've never given up on celebrating life. Situations exist in which intense observation, rather than celebration, is needed. Life with a purpose is sure to raise eyebrows, so what I do is ignore or answer best I can, and when I'm not happy with my own results, I correct them. My father is the best example I've ever had. He's an organist and choir director who demands high artistic standards. Since I was a young boy, I've been trained at stopping, reflecting, trying again. And then doing this again, if necessary, multiple times until I get it right. Everyone on this planet is here together, but not everyone is perfectionist. The ones I would prefer not to associate with are those who might bellow that no one's perfect.

I want to live in a great, prospering, flourishing society, and I could use more adjectives to describe what will be, but don't want to weigh the words heavy. I never got very confused over self and society: no one can live without either.

I did mind my standing on a picnic table. That could be rude. But no one else was present besides my son, who knows his dad has tended to be slightly inappropriate sometimes, and I asked first, if you will, by minding what I was doing. What is it Jesus said, I forget, about going ahead and doing what you will if you know what you're doing? That statement made a very good impression on me as a youngster. Of course, even though Jesus spoke a very wise statement, he was crucified as a common criminal.

That's the Delaware Watergap in the background. Who would have thought a river would make it through that great mountain ridge wall? Impasses are meant--by definition--to be gotten through, around, or over.

Moving Much too Fast? Sure, I Want my Love to Last. Round Valley Reservoir and a Nice Rock.

Blessed relief at Round Valley. Must have moved at the speed of light or should that not be stressful? Didn't feel any stress--for what, weeks? Well, I recall feeling some in Giants stadium. But sitting on a boulder and reading Camus for an hour finally took that dreadful light out of me enough to be human again and ache a little, which feels good.

Put out a line, but knew I would catch nothing. The day I got the big rainbow, I felt the whole reservoir pregnant with possibility. Today I sat on the same rock and wrote, but the other day, the trout pulled the rod next to me right at the perfect time synchronous with what I was about to write, and did note after I caught the fish. I also cited the fish along with the ideas.

Ice Fishing New Jersey Trout: Time Can Encircle Forward Steps and a Lake is Always Rounded: It's the Nature of a Water Molecule: Air's Full of Them

I know, some lakes form elongated shape, but even these have edges rounded by water flow. Here's another of my column articles. It sketches some basics for anglers who want to catch trout this winter in New Jersey, and it relates grasp of ice fishing experience that will be of interest to ice fishermen and others alike.



New Jersey Winter Trout: Lakes and Ponds

          New Jersey’s Division of Fish & Wildlife began this winter’s trout stocking of lakes and ponds in the region November 19^th, completing the mission November 21^st. Morris County’s Mount Hope Pond and Speedwell lake; Little Swartswood Lake, Lake Aeroflex, Lake Ocquittunk, and Silver Lake in Sussex County; Hunterdon’s Amwell Lake; and Furnace Lake in Warren County have received rainbow trout 14 to 18 inches long.

          I recently spoke to Fred Matero, eager to fish Speedwell Lake in Morristown, an impoundment of the Whippany River with architecture left standing from about the time of the American Revolution. The size of the pickerel Fred has witnessed is outstanding. The lake is not loaded with them, but it’s heartening to know gamefish other than those stocked exist right at the edge of an urban setting. Take the trout home—they never make it through summers here—but leave the pickerel behind because they exist as resident fish that make the lake special.

          Any of the waters listed will harbor rainbows vulnerable to shore fishing. Perhaps most anglers use Berkeley Power Bait, which rainbows fall for easily, because the bait floats and the bright colors also create visibility. Use enough weight to place the bait in fairly deep water with about three feet of leader margin. Or you can try a marshmallow and mealworm on a size 6 hook this way, since a small marshmallow will float the bait. Some trout get caught on worms on the bottom, and weighted shiners allowed to swim on a long leader prove somewhat effective, perhaps small size best. Spinners hook a few also, but the water’s cold and if you can fish on a mild afternoon, it’s a good to let bait do the work, sit back and enjoy the weather or read a book. Open air does wonders for health and concentration.

          But the most interesting approach to lake and pond rainbows usually happens in January, February, and early March. Ice fisherman tend to catch the interest of anyone who sees them busy jigging through a hole, tending tip-ups, or sitting out on a lake on a fold out chair. The unusual extremity of weather exposure makes people wonder. But most of all, people seem to question what enjoyment exists in trying to catch fish in the dead of winter. Ice, of all things, seems counterintuitive to the freedom of casting a line and fishing currents, depths, or surf. I once got a magazine article assignment about ice fishing because, the editor told me, “I think you guys are friggin’ nuts and want to know something about it.”

           Most people aren’t drawn to a stark, frozen landscape to find serenity. Doing something very different than any activity in a controlled, heated environment provokes us to feel that others can speculate all they want about just why. It’s a good time; elevated feelings have their reasons. Going solitary or social, ice has its attractions. One of the things I like about my life is that time does not seem to steal it in the way I’ve heard others complain about this loss, and ice fishing slows and deepens experience of time uniquely. Nothing further removed from usual recreation exists--besides winter trail hiking, perhaps, or skiing a course-less, wilderness slope. Ice fishing is pursued in an environment that does not exist every winter, but when it does exist, it's as absolute as any other and stranger than most. What might astonish you is the levity you feel once you stand on frozen water. It’s impossible to know how ice awakens senses until you cut the hard stuff yourself. Ultimately, the mind centers experience in space so that time encircles you, rather than runs ahead dragging you with it.

          But if you never have tried ice fishing and want to find these things out, don’t venture onto ice alone unless you are absolutely familiar with the outdoors. No one wants to stand over water that would kill a human being in ten minutes of exposure, without knowing it’s safe or not. Find someone who knows who will take you. Guide services for hire exist.

          I first ice fished shortly after I turned 15. An older angler introduced me to a frozen pond near Plainsboro, N.J., before the vast farming acreages became McMansions. No sooner had we set a few tip-ups, I heard a thunderous crack and a deep, fluid grumbling sound, sort of like weaponry. I must have jumped three feet into the air, and Joe laughed out loud, me staring at him directly waiting for an answer.

          “The ice settles!” He said, and turned back to cutting more.

          I’ve ice fished ever since as if that first time showed me a different world. I keep going back because what I found is better than salt for sanity in a distracting world.       

Giants Football, the Jets, Apollo Space Mission, and Round Valley Reservoir

Giants beat the New Orleans Saints, 14th birthday celebration for my son who played football this fall and high school next year. I remember the 1969 success of Joe Namath and the Jets enough to have never faltered in judging them my favorite team.

I sat down, looked at the field, and saw how a 747 would fit. I like jets more than giants as indelible symbols of civility and human achievement. What's a giant by comparison, unless his name is Orville Wright?

Jimi Hendrix wrote "Catch that Feeling," but the Jet's success in 1969 was more than a feeling. It was a wave that shot right up with the Apollo space mission.

When Joe Namath showed up on TV in panty hose, he sold something that keeps garbage collectors in business. At least nowadays visionaries think hard on what to do with dumps. 

The Meadowlands stadium--I can call it that--reminded me of Round Valley with the reservoir at center. That stadium placed in the reservoir, water surface would cover all, swallow everyone and everything like the sea takes the Flying Dutchman. 

So much for me and the Giants, besides that I got the rolling stones c.d. photographed at bottom as a handout.