After tasting my smoked salmon again, I decided that it
didn’t come out so badly (it should get better with some
practice). I unpacked, reorganized, and sorted through my
email. Read over and thought about the report James
prepared on Mombo’s Trust. Got a nice reply from Kyle (no,
by Heaven, he’s not a God-cursed Spaniard!) and learned
that BCA accomplished his assigned missions. Checked out
the “Invasion” pilot on ABC. Wasted my time; it stunk…
Home again
September 21st, 2005Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy
September 20th, 2005This short note is written in the car, heading south through
central Michigan, listening to Paul Harvey, a fixture on the
radio my whole life (that guy isn’t old, he’s damn old!). As
usual, I wax introspective when I leave the Les Cheneaux,
taking internal stock of my priorities and the direction of
my life. I’ve felt such a strong desire for rededication in
my affairs, and I hope I don’t leave the contemplative mode
too quickly. How do I balance my yearning for a hermitage
in the midst of nature with my need to become even more
involved in public activities?
Day Eight at Barefoot’s Resort
September 19th, 2005My morning was devoted to cleaning up the used smoker that belonged to Bill’s dad. I played the soundtrack CD from “Master and Commander,” realizing that it was the first time I had truly listened to it. Some of these discs become mere background music in the studio. It made me want to watch the motion picture again, and I kicked myself for letting Marty’s DVD sit around the house for a month this summer without indulging. I made the offhand remark to Bill that it’s the best historical action drama since “Braveheart,” and that might actually be true, but I said it without really thinking much about it. Nevertheless, it would be interesting to know more about the Weir-Gibson connection.
I love smoked fish, but doing it myself is an entirely new thing for me. The timing is perfect today, as we organize and clean in preparation for tomorrow’s departure. We had to soak the salmon in a mixture of brine and seasonings all night. I’ll monitor the smoking process as the rainy weather makes is way through the Straits of Mackinac. There won’t be any more fishing for us in the Les Cheneaux
on this trip…
Day Seven at Barefoot’s Resort
September 18th, 2005Mike, JD, and Bob headed south this morning. Even though Bill and I stayed up late talking, we were up early to say our goodbyes. I’m glad I took the group shot last night, having learned that morning portraits are difficult to pull together on a departure day (plus we end up looking sleepy). Following Bill’s lead, I joined him on a workmanlike trek for perch in one of the small boats, starting at Little Joe Island. The outing was characterized by a lack of enthusiasm. We came back to Moscoe and spent time at the weed beds with little success. Bill caught a sunfish and keeper perch or two, but I got nothing except a bit more tan on my back… hasn’t been a good week for pan fish, but we sure tried.
I told Dana on the phone that maybe our fishing luck had run out, but the results of an evening run to Dolomite Bay were quite to the contrary—two nice Chinooks for Bill (10-1/2 and 13), and a nine-pounder for me. A lot went wrong because we weren’t used to a two-man trolling crew (snags and tangles during the salmon runs), but we managed to get each of our fish into the boat. It didn’t compare to the “Friday Night Orgasm” of 2004, when three of us hauled in 60 pounds of King in one twilight session, but it was an outing full of excitement and surprises. It gives us a good reason to resurrect Walt’s old smoker. The weather forecast for tomorrow looks like a rain-out.
Day Six at Barefoot’s Resort
September 17th, 2005We decided to sleep in little today, which comfortably set the day in a “play it by ear” mode. I prescribed myself some peaceful moments at the end of the dock, casting for morning pike above the weed beds, hoping for an extraordinary hit, but no luck. On our salmon run we motored directly to Gravely Island and set to work. It was another magnificent day, and getting “skunked” out on Lake Huron would still have been worth it, but JD proceeded to catch a two-pound Coho to prevent that distinction. Bill provided some superior piloting, keeping our submerged gear moving steadily over a 60-to-70-foot depth at the edge of the drop-off along “Salmon Alley.” It turned out to be a very relaxed day when we got back. I did some sketching and got in some good swimming time. I grilled and ate one of my salmon steaks at our traditional Saturday night “feast.”
Day Five at Barefoot’s Resort
September 16th, 2005Yesterday’s conditions were spectacular—clear skies and calm water, so we got in a good day of fishing. The early-morning “zinger” was seeing a big pike with a half-eaten fish in the clear water off the starboard (shore) side on our way out to Yacht Entrance. It confirmed a positive turn in the ecology of the Les Cheneaux. Bill and I each boated a small salmon with some well-considered work in the zone off Boot Island. With the weather remaining glorious, we headed over the reef to “Salmon Alley,” hoping to find a Chinook near the shipping lane. JD came up with a decent Coho instead, the biggest fish of the day. When we snagged our lines in unfamiliar waters near Strongs Island, due to our worries about the presence of Indian nets at East Entrance, we figured it was best to call it a day.
Our good buddy Mike had arrived on Wednesday afternoon. He treated us to some perfect BBQ chicken from the grill that night. Mike doesn’t fish, but loves to relax near the dock while we’re out on the water, which I’ve come to learn he doesn’t do very often with his fast-paced lifestyle as a top salesman in the food service industry. Last night, after the five of us enjoyed an evening at the Islander Bar in Hessel, he dropped his bummer bombshell on us—a diagnosis of aggressive rheumatoid arthritis, a potentially crippling medical condition. It’s been difficult to think about anything else since, because now I can see he’s moving much too slowly for the dynamic guy I’ve known. I felt odd when he watched me do my third channel swim yesterday. Before supper on the day he got here, I discovered a ten-pound boat anchor during my daily swim—a quarter mile out, naturally—so I got the brilliant notion to carry it back with a lifesaving stroke. It didn’t feel very heavy at first, but it was a real challenge not to drop it before I made it back. I’m sure I said some kind of cocky remark to Mike after the meaningless feat, not aware yet of his progressive debilitation. The ego can be nothing but trouble, for the most part.
Today’s weather was almost as pleasant as yesterday’s, so we basically replicated the course of action from Thursday’s expedition. After a “strike out” at the “Booty Zone,” we tried “Salmon Alley” and Bob scored his first ever salmon, a nine-pounder. Bill came back with a small pink, and then I was “up to bat.” I targeted some work in 60-to-70-foot waters, but had no hits for the rest of the session. I remained in the captain’s role when we visited the bay near the dolomite-loading port later in the evening. I was still in standby mode until a few minutes after 8 o’clock when a fish with some apparent size to it hit the port-side “dipsy-diver” line. It’s a wild feeling when the adrenals kick in after so much tedious effort, but that’s what salmon fishing is all about. JD performed an excellent netting action to help get my King into the boat. It’s appearance—a skin tone that lacked a degree of silvery gleam—indicated it was on the way to spawning waters. When we got back, it weighed in almost 12-1/2 pounds, so I steaked out most of it, fillet-cutting the tail end. It seemed to take me forever. I’m pretty slow at the fish-cleaning table, but what need is there to be in a hurry?
For the record
September 15th, 2005This is the day my friend Basil was forced to resign his position in state government by Governor Fletcher, along with the other eight individuals indicted by Stumbo’s grand jury. From the beginning, the Governor made the steadfast claim that, although mistakes were made, there was no criminal wrongdoing, and eventually pardoned all nine. Today he modified his stance to admit they violated hiring laws—unintentionally—and should leave his administration so that the controversy can be laid to rest (which his opponents will never permit, now that there’s political blood in the water).
The fact of matter is that too many Republicans went to Frankfort thinking they could play by the same rules that their rivals had written. All the Fletcher appointees needed to have done to level the field for state employment was to have abolished an illegal prerequisite that was in place for decades—Democrat Party influence. Their mantra must be (and should always have been): “Fill the political appointments with qualified Republicans, but hire in a party-blind manner the best people for the merit jobs and commence building the most competent state workforce in Kentucky history.”
Day Three at Barefoot’s Resort
September 14th, 2005A big storm moved through last night and we lost power during dinner.
Fortunately Bill had bought a jar candle on impulse, which saved us from having
to sit around my Mag-Lite to finish our meal. I remember getting up during the
middle of the night to turn off the lights in the cabin when the outage had run its
course. By morning the outlook for the day’s weather looked promising. We made
a four-man, two-boat outing to Connors Point, hoping to find yellow perch.
Inexplicably, JD and Bob each caught a northern pike. We worked Little Joe Island
and Moscoe Channel before packing it in. Clearly we’re not having luck with the
smaller species, but the return of the pike is a great development for the region.
They wouldn’t be back if it weren’t for an abundance of prey, and that must be a
result of the systematic elimination of the destructive cormorants. Perhaps the
balance we knew as recently as the mid-90s will be fully restored. Meanwhile,
we’d better focus on harvesting some king salmon.
Day Two at Barefoot’s Resort
September 13th, 2005Made our typical run to Cedarville for fishing credentials and perishables, but it
wasn’t too long before we got our lines wet. The perch weren’t biting, so I did my
initial half-mile channel swim. The water is unusually warm for the middle of
September and I didn’t even need a wet suit. Our chums JD and Bob arrived in the
afternoon, so, after prepping the Sylvan, we mounted our first salmon operation
of the trip. We got skunked, but were able to work the bugs out with a
worthwhile shakedown.
Day One at Barefoot’s Resort
September 12th, 2005Dana and I left Augusta early, barely catching the first ferry across the Ohio.
Wick had already told us that he’d never seen a day that the ferrymen hadn’t
operated due to fog, and today it was so thick we couldn’t see the other side until
the last moment (kinda spooky). We missed the rush hour in Cincinnati and arrived
at my good friend’s Tipp City house in time for Dana to make her rendezvous
with her chums from Wright State days. It was tough to say “bye” to my sweetie
after such a precious day together, but we parted and I continued north with Bill
Barefoot. I expected it to get cooler when we traversed Michigan, as it usually
does, but it stayed warm instead, all the way to the Upper Peninsula. We arrived
at Barefoot’s Resort and settled into Cabin One. The last patrons were leaving
for the season, so we had the lakefront to ourselves. After grilling a tasty
supper, we stayed up too late in fairly heavy conversation, and then took a boat
out into the channel for a midnight drift, soaking in the reality of being back in the
Les Cheneaux.
Honoring that day in ’82 when it was just our 9/11
September 11th, 2005It’s been a while since the sleepy voice inside my pillowed head murmured, “Yes… a perfect day.”
Our 23rd Anniversary celebration was in full swing by midnight. Dana and I had arrived at our B&B abode only a few minutes before, drastically delayed by a leisurely dinner at a winery across the Ohio near Maysville plus our unfamiliarity with the route to Augusta. It would have been easier to find our destination by river, since it was right at the waterfront, but this is not 1805, so we traveled by car and twice missed our turn before we located the historic Thornton Marshall House. I knew that the adverse circumstances would be a strong indicator with respect to the personalities of the proprietors, and indeed they were. Despite that fact that we arrived hours late, after they’d left more than one voice message to our dead-zone phone, our hosts met us with good cheer, warm hospitality, and a bottle of Chardonnay chilling in the spacious second-floor bedroom above their art gallery and antique shop.
The next twenty-four hours defy description—by this mediocre scribe, dear reader—so forgive a mere laundry list of the activities that filled our “perfect day” with aesthetic delight, Epicurean pleasure, and a deep soul satisfaction born of true companionship:
• Waking up to the throaty horns of barge boats working in the fog, as a magical ambient light flooded our riverside chamber.
• Our sunny walking tour of old Augusta, which survived a fiery attack by Morgan’s raiders, and a tasty buffet lunch at the Country Inn.
• Kayaking with my sweetheart up the surprisingly clean Ohio and exploring a quiet Kentucky tributary.
• Enjoying our spectacular window view of the wharf, as we listened to Eric’s “Cooler” and relaxed with generous Jerome’s old vine Zin.
• Strolling down to the Beehive Tavern for a delicious gourmet supper and getting invited (three times!) to come back for their 20th Anniversary party later that night.
• Meeting Heather on the sidewalk (a fellow graduate of DAAP) and accepting an offer of a personal tour of her design work on the Rosemary Clooney House (those brown eyes!).
• A stop near the riverbank to look downstrean at a painterly sunset over water (those frontiersmen sure knew how to pick a spot).
• Experiencing the surprise celebration for Chef Luciano “Sean” Moral and the fulfillment of a 20-year vision for his tavern and the restoration of Augusta’s riverfront, with the most extravagant “potluck” spread I’ve ever seen (alas, too sated to exploit it).
• The spontaneous song fest, including “My Old Kentucky Home” on the harmonica, and Sean’s operatic serenade for his family and friends (We were stunned to discover his “O Solo Mio” was absolutely magnificent!).
• Watching fireworks over the river (20 rockets—one for each year) as the stars came out and the carriage horse ended her long day with enough spirit to gallop down the street.
• Oh yes… leaning over a candle to look at something before bedtime and singeing the hair on my head (1805 was dangerous, man).
Leave of Absence
September 10th, 2005Tomorrow begins a lengthy period of off-line journal entries that will in due course magically appear in their ultimate blogginess…
That’s my nB
September 9th, 2005I don’t believe I understood to what extent an online discussion could break through to a new level of interactive dynamism until I had the opportunity to partake of this sweet nectar.
Doing the Most Good
September 8th, 2005I can’t remember right now how many years I’ve been involved with The Salvation Army, but I continue to learn even more about how superb an organization it truly is. I don’t regret a single minute of time I’ve lent to their cause. That incomparable balance of deep spiritual commitment and heavyweight competence in a crisis… well, it just kicks glutimus maximus!
They were gentlemen… and giants
September 7th, 2005I regret that my schedule today didn’t allow me to attend the service for Charlie Hazelrigg. Unlike so many others in this community, I never got to know him well, but I’ve had the pleasure of his kindness, charm, and wit on so many occasions that I’m feeling like I’ve lost another friend. I think he was the kind of person who had that effect on everyone who knew him.
He took a shine to Dana in the early 90s when he was asked to scrutinize her manuscript for a 64-page community viewbook we produced. His admiration for her writing skill had a strong and lasting influence on Dana’s confidence as a communicator, or that’s my observation, in any case. He never failed to ask about her when we chatted, and usually would make a characteristically mischievous remark about her good looks. That was the Dr. Hazelrigg I knew. I could imagine him as the young and dashing Naval officer… a ladies man, no doubt.
I’ve been a Rotarian for eleven years and the most memorable lunch program during that time was the meeting when Bill Balden and Charlie Hazelrigg talked about their recollections of serving in the Navy during the second World War. Balden was one of the first aviators to successfully conduct long-range bombing missions off an aircraft carrier and land at night without much fuel left. In an era of dangerous occupations, it was considered an outrageously perilous feat to achieve even once, and yet he made history by doing it again and again across the South Pacific. Hazelrigg had his ship struck by a bomb and a kamikaze plane off Iwo Jima, and the crew went on to accomplish its mission under his command. What kind of rare leadership does it take to face those circumstances and inspire men to surmount those odds?
Both Bill and Charlie are gone now. I’m proud to reside in the town in which they chose to live. It was a community made finer by their presence. It is a community now diminished by their absence.
We have GO for throttle up
September 6th, 2005Back home at the Town House, and it doesn’t take long before the studio engines are revving: deadline for a horse industry magazine ad, and Kentucky Trust jump-starts more Website refinements.
In addition, the Salvation Army Captain and I will be having a working lunch tomorrow to map out a local community relations plan for the hurricane disaster response. There are a lot of developments that the public needs to know right away. We’ll be setting up a “disaster response center” for the collection of emergency goods that the Captain will take with him when he leaves for the damage zone. The United Way wants to partner with the Army to organize a team of local volunteers to provide help under his leadership. He hopes to act as an on-site source of information for the media back here at home. The Kentucky-Tennessee Division, like others in the Southern Territory, will be opening up our summer camp for evacuee relocation. And there’s even more to communicate.
Timing is tricky, because Dana and I have a lot to accomplish before Friday, so we can take the weekend for our 23rd anniversary observation, and then after that I’ll be leaving for Lake Huron and my annual salmon harvest.
Labor Day with BJW
September 5th, 2005After breakfast with Mombo, Joan, and Darb, it was time to shake off the corsair dust. Dana, Marty, and I traveled to Indianapolis and spent the holiday with Bruce. He was eager for activity, so we did a wheelchair trip to the fountain courtyard and took some pictures. Then Dana cut his hair while Marty and I watched the middle part of “Clear and Present Danger,” which features the Bogota RPG assault on the SUVs. Harrison Ford reportedly did his own stunt driving in the final escape. I knew that scene was coming up, but I’d forgotten how well it had been crafted. If Ford can use his clout to make sure “I-J-4” comes anywhere close to the excitement of that sequence, it won’t even matter if Indy has a beer gut. (But I’m certain that Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Frank Marshall couldn’t care less about my apprehensions when it involves their decision to monkey with that trilogy.)
Fron’s vision unfolds
September 4th, 2005The Ohio Renaissance Festival!
The persona of Cap’n Lice might be too potent for extended wear. This role-playing business can be heady stuff. I’m such an amateur.
(What’s that you say?)
Voice of reason: “You don’t have to literally become a reeling pirate with his “decks awash.” That’s why they call it A-c-t-i-n-g…
As usual, Brendan hits the mark.
“Slime water” may be good for pirate blood (or mild lunacy), but bad for just about anything else.
Another long day straddling two states
September 3rd, 2005I joined my duathlon-minded chums for an early “Pound & Pedal” event prior to packing up and departing for Ohio. This year it was an unfamiliar course near Harrodsburg with numerous hills. The weather was bright—clear—stunning. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the sky, and so I took a wrong turn during the running leg that added a couple of unnecessary miles to my total distance (20 miles). I hadn’t really pushed at a racing pace, but by the time we arrived at the motel in Wilmington I was feeling rather wiped out. Family was pouring in, and I stayed up far too late socializing and making final preparations for the next day’s festivities.
Clan members make a successful escape
September 2nd, 2005The Hornsbys of Metairie are heading our way via Baton Rouge. They left Sunday morning before Katrina hit the Gulf coast. Timsby’s dad is reportedly stranded at a VA hospital where he works, and there’s no word yet about his circumstances or whether the facility is being evacuated. The family is traveling light.
We’ll connect with them in Ohio near the site of the Renaissance Festival.
Headley Lice (recently promoted by Her Majesty to the rank of Admiral) cannot get himself in the mood for a playful celebration.
Various & Sundry, part twenty-three
September 1st, 2005— Month of August workout totals: Swim-7; Bike-5; Run-5; Lift-0; Yoga-0.
— In a display of auto-beneficence triggered by serendipity, I endorsed a mildly convoluted but brilliant scheme put forward by my pal Ernst for a double upgrade of our two-wheelers—he strips his bike of its components, replacing them with state-of-the-art, gizmotic sweetness and recycles the perfectly wonderful parts to my Peugeot. I end up with a virtually “new” bicycle—an entirely different shifter/gear-ratio setup that transforms a 12-speed to a more modern 16-speed, with superior rims, performance seat, new brakes, bars, and stem, plus a lighter alloy crank assembly. The deal was sealed when he uncovered a roll of rare, hot-yellow Benotto bar tape. My 29-mile, duel-knob ride test Wednesday night was dominated by even more joyous delight than I was expecting. The single item that didn’t fit was the rear brake caliper, and so the only former elements that remained, other than my classic steel frame, were the tires, front derailleur, rear brakes, and seat post. Thus, a small, self-centered part of my life as a fitness geek is ripe with satisfaction.
— There are a lot of Americans who are no fans of the Second Amendment, and I wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard or read the question, “Why do people need that kind of a weapon to go hunting?” Too bad it could not remain an abstract quarrel, so we need not acknowledge the reality of a grim but eloquent visual checkmate—the wire photo of a New Orleans business owner standing his ground, holding a pump-action Mossberg with pistol grip.
— I’m still trying to process the recent knowledge that Marty will leave soon to live hundreds of miles away. Our relationship since he came to Kentucky has been good for both of us. I understand why it’s happening, but the realization hasn’t penetrated into my emotional body.
— Bruce is anticipating going home as soon as this weekend. This time it looks fairly solid, but there have been false starts before, so I’ll believe it when it actually happens. I hope it does soon, my son…
Lord Christ, Have Mercy
August 31st, 2005 † † †
Hell on Earth…
What will be left when the Hornsby Family returns?
