view counter

All (All)

When you can’t fish, practice casting

Looking out my front window on a beautiful January morning, I could see that the sun was shining brightly and the wind calm. My eyes settled on the skiff in the driveway, covered with its blue winter-weather blanket. I mused that with a little effort I could pull the cover, hook up the trailer and be on the water inside of 20 minutes. Then I mentioned the thought to Deborah, my long-suffering wife.
    “Great idea,” she said. “It’s all the way up to 35 degrees, and while you’re out there you might help DNR look for the guy that fell overboard near the Bay Bridge the other day. They haven‘t found him yet.”
    “I wasn’t serious,” I countered, “just wishing.”
    The real situation was that I was still recovering from abdominal surgery in early December and forbidden by doctor’s orders from activities that involved lifting anything heavier than a six-pack for at least three more weeks. Launching a boat was out of the question, and springtime had never seemed so far away.
    I reminded myself that the next best thing to fishing was playing with fishing tackle, and I had made promises to myself last season to improve a number of skills. One was my casting accuracy. Lawn casting is a low-impact exercise that would get me out of the house and keep me active.
    I especially needed to work on placing a bait under piers and docks where perch and rockfish hold during warmer months to beat the heat of the climbing sun.
    I had once thought that the fish moved from shallow-water structures to deeper water as the sun rose, especially with a falling tide. However, an accomplished skinny-water angler named Woody Tillery dispelled that idea. Woody’s strategy was based on his experience that, as the sun rose, the fish felt exposed and so tended to congregate in the cooler shaded areas under the piers and docks. The shade rendered the fish mostly invisible to marauding osprey and herons.
    Anglers, however, could cast into those shady refuges as the water level under the structures fell.
    Using that strategy, Woody’s score of white perch was impressive and often included a surprising number of keeper rockfish. It was quite a revelation at the time.
    But I found that method of casting was far from an easy task. An angler needs to practice to become adept, and that is not an on-the-water project. It is an old angling axiom that you can either fish or practice casting, but you can’t do both at the same time.
    I addressed my accuracy issue by constructing light, easily transportable ersatz dock structure with some PVC plumbing pipe and fixtures. Setting up the apparatus on the lawn or a parking lot, I practice casting to and under the target. It’s challenging. The wrist snap necessary to keep the lure trajectory low and accurate is not simple. However, I expect the practice to pay off once I’m back on the water.
    Other techniques for working under or close to these types of structure include flipping, skipping, pitching and shooting. All can be practiced on that same apparatus and are demonstrated in a number of YouTube videos (search on fishing docks). I plan on upping my score considerably next spring by this expansion of my angling repertoire.

What’s new in Bay Weekly and beyond

If you were as lucky as I was, the days between Christmas and January 4 belonged to a different time zone. In that week, it’s possible to pretend everything’s done that needs to be done.
    Not now! 2016 has come out of the gate like a horse on a fast track with a big purse at its end. It’s already run through its first week and speeding through its second. Things are moving.
    The biggest is the Maryland General Assembly, which turns Annapolis from a sleepy town to a working capital for 90 days. One hundred eighty-eight citizen-lawmakers from every corner of the state gather, surrounded by a pack of influence-peddlers all devoted to shaping the law in their favor.
    Decisions that shape your life are being made there — and now. Find out how to follow that action in this week’s feature, Your Primer to the Maryland General Assembly.
    Everybody working at the State House will be too busy to catch the last season of Downton Abbey, started this month on PBS. But the rest of us manage the realities of our lives better with regular submersion in the plot lines of drama.
    Chesapeake Country’s many theater companies are beginning new seasons of live drama. Venus in Fur — a play to make you reconsider what you think you know about relationships, sex and power — is Colonial Players’ January eye-opening offering. Get stimulated at The Player’s theater in the round off State Circle on East Street Thursday to Sunday through January 23.
    The drama turns to our inner lives and family relationships at Annapolis Shakespeare Company’s Studio 111 Theater on Chinquapin Round Road. In 19th century Russian master Anton Chekhov’s Three Sisters, “as their lives seem to spill over into ours, we witness life happen as it happens, unscripted and untidy,” says artistic director Sally Boyett.
    Stimulate your heart to beat faster in a third drama opening this week for two performances only, January 15 and 22, An Evening with Poe at Hammond Harwood House, where you’ll meet the master of suspense, drink port and hear dramatic readings from The Cask of Amontillado.
    Art galleries are hanging their first new shows after the holidays. To open your eyes wider to the world, see what’s on the walls and in the works at Maryland Hall for the Creative Arts, St. John’s College’s Mitchell Gallery and Annmarie Garden.
    Classes to stimulate your mind and tune up your body are soon starting, as well, at colleges, art centers, senior centers and wellness centers. Meadow Hill Wellness’s Empowerment — an eight-week, life-changing, mind-body course — promises to do double duty.
    Bay Weekly is up to new things as well, with new page of short news, Dock of the Bay (a section faithful readers will remember) and new features in the works. My question of the year is how we can keep you reading. Who knows that better than you? Please stop in during my “Editor Is In” hours Thursdays in January to tell me.

Sandra Olivetti Martin
Editor and publisher; editor@bayweekly.com

National Aquarium adds baby loggerhead to its family

A loggerhead turtle hatchling from North Carolina is now living the good life at the National Aquarium, free from the dangers facing the threatened species.
    While loggerheads are less likely to be hunted for their meat or shells than other sea turtles, they are seriously threatened by bycatch — the accidental capture of marine animals in fishing gear.
    This new addition joined the Maryland Mountains to the Sea exhibit last month thanks to a partnership with the North Carolina Aquarium at Pine Knoll Shores’ Loggerhead Head Start Program, which works to rescue and rehabilitate imperiled hatchlings.
    The little loggerhead will live in the exhibit for one year. Once it has met certain growth and health criteria, it will be tagged and released along the North Carolina coast to be followed by satellite.
    “Sea turtles lead a challenging life and we’re so happy to help give them a better chance at survival,” says Beth Claus of the National Aquarium. “We are proud to be a part of this program and hope the story of this baby loggerhead will help carry home our key messages to the public.”
    Only one challenge remains for the perfect ending to this turtle tale: a name for the hero. You can help. Through January 22, you’re invited to submit suggestions to the aquarium staff. Finalists will be chosen and their names put to a public vote. The winning name will be announced February 1.
    Make suggestions at aqua.org/loggerhead. Or join Bay Weekly’s campaign for Yertle, in honor of the Dr. Seuss classic.

Two women run from society in this stirring drama

Therese Belivet (Rooney Mara: Pan) has the life she’s supposed to want. A sales clerk at a fancy department store, she has a devoted boyfriend with marriage and kids on the horizon. She wants none of it.
    When Carol Aird (Cate Blanchett: Cinderella) wanders into Therese’s store, the clerk’s world shifts. The beautiful and mysterious Carol flirts with Therese, and the young shop worker longs for a different life. Carol is everything Therese desires: beautiful, composed and a member of the New York elite.
    But Carol’s veneer of cool confidence and glamour hide a tumultuous life. After years of repression, she is ready to divorce her wealthy husband and embrace life as a lesbian. In the 1950s, lesbians were viewed as deranged deviants. She must choose between years of misery with a man she doesn’t love or social exile.
    Desperate to escape Harge and the prying eyes of New York society, Carol flees across the country while her daughter enjoys Christmas vacation with her in-laws. She asks Therese to come along.
    Can the potential lovers find a place that accepts them? Or are they doomed to travel the highway forever?
    An atmospheric character study, Carol is a slow-burn drama that rewards audiences with meticulous sets, in-depth character development and excellent acting. That is a nice way of warning you that not much happens in Carol. Billed as a thriller, this film by director Todd Haynes (Mildred Pierce) is more a period piece than a whodunit. He is more concerned with creating a tone and a specific look than refining pacing.
    His detailed recreations of the people and places of the 1950s are fascinating, and his relaxed style allows the performances to shine. But he’s a bit too languid with the story, allowing it to drag.
    As the title character, Blanchett holds the screen. Carol projects a veneer of breezy style and wit. But just below the surface is a woman fighting her confines.
    Mara is excellent as the repressed Therese, who never knew there was a life outside of heterosexual marriage. Her awakening is more joyful than Carol’s. Mara makes the most of Therese’s innocence and wonder.
    Gorgeous, well-acted and slow-moving, Carol isn’t for everyone. But if you’re an aficionado of nuanced acting, elaborate costume design and emotional depth, this film won’t disappoint.

Good Drama • R • 118 mins.

The gods do not subtract from an allotted lifespan the hours spent fishing

There is hardly any human activity more restorative, calming, comforting and just plain relaxing than a day on the water attempting to convince a fish to bite your line.
    Lots of popular recreational activities offer competition, strenuous exercise, adrenaline surges and challenge. Fishing promises quiet contemplation, fine scenery and communion with nature — with the outside chance of scoring a healthy meal.
    It is not a particularly strenuous sport. Other than casting out your bait or lure, most of your time and attention is spent waiting for the fish to decide whether or not to eat it. That pretty much puts any pressure for success directly in the hands — or fins — of the fish, leaving your mind free to wander.
    Search the word fishing online, and you’ll get over a half-billion hits. The next most popular sport, golfing, scores scarcely five percent of that number. Not bad for a game that simply requires at its most basic, a pole, some string, a hook and a worm and a good-looking piece of water.
    Children take to fishing like few other activities, which is proof positive of its basically pure and simple nature. Older men revel in its intricacies and total absorption of the self. As the novelist Thomas McGuane said, “Angling is extremely time consuming. That’s sort of the whole point.”
    I have devoted a great portion of my life to chasing fish and have never regretted a single moment. In fact, I’m a firm believer in the adage, You can never fish too much; it just can’t be done.
    One of America’s favorite sons, the author and naturalist Henry David Thoreau, is often credited with saying, “Many men go fishing their whole lives without ever realizing that it isn’t the fish they are after.” That may be the reason that the sport is so consuming and restive. It gives opportunity for philosophical reflection without the actual decision to indulge in such highbrow activity.
    I’ve never slept better than after a day on the water; that alone is an important thing in this fast-paced civilization that we’ve created. Now more than ever, our health and well-being depend on finding ways to relax and take in life.
    The secret of a happy and content life: The best time to go fishing is whenever you can.

A healthy garden for a healthy life

Gardening is the most popular of all hobbies, and for good reason. Gardening gives you hours of relaxation and great satisfaction. It is good exercise. It forces you to go outside, bringing you closer to nature. It can be enjoyed by all ages. Getting children interested in gardening can have life-long consequences. On the other hand, you are never too old to start.
    Dorothy Frances Gurney, a poet of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, says it all in God’s Garden:
    The kiss of the sun for pardon;
    The song of the birds for mirth;
    One is nearer God’s heart in the garden;
    Than anywhere else on earth.
     In Maryland, ornamental horticulture is the second largest agriculture income-producing industry. In the U.S., it ranks third. Its popularity increases as we learn more about horticultural therapy and the benefits gained from eating fresh fruits and vegetables, especially growing your own. Organic gardening has also attracted many into the field.
    Gardens can range in scope from a few potted plants to flowers and herbs to vegetable gardens to an entire landscape. Whatever it’s size, your garden — and satisfaction — will thrive if you recognize that gardening is a science. Many problems can be avoided by following proven practices and by applying the knowledge gained by controlled scientific studies.
    As you imagine your garden over winter, keep a few of those proven practices in mind. Vegetables, fruits, many annual flowers and ornamentals want sun, so locate your garden where it will receive full sun. Nothing — not fertilizers, compost nor pruning practices — can substitute for full rays from the sun.
    Consider your soil, as well. Very few horticultural plants can grow in poorly drained soils. Acid or very alkaline soils are also factors, as many species have very particular preferences.
    Nutrition is as important to the success of growing plants as a proper diet is for our wellbeing. The benefits of organic matter not only include nutrients but also improved soil potential. Chemical fertilizers cannot always substitute equal benefits.


Ask The Bay Gardener your questions at DR.FRGouin@gmail.com. Please include your name and address.

Quentin Tarantino’s Western has the good, the bad and the bloody

A blizzard traps eight strangers in Minnie’s Haberdashery just outside Red Rock, Wyoming. A cowpuncher, an English hangman, a Mexican cook and a Confederate general huddle in the drafty lodge, waiting for the storm to break.
    Last to arrive are bounty hunter John Ruth (Kurt Russell: Furious 7), his prisoner Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh: Anomalisa). The price on Domergue’s head is high, and allies have sworn to free her.
    Ruth analyzes the threat each stranger poses. Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson: Chi-Raq), a Buffalo Soldier turned bounty hunter, seems unlikely to aid vitriolic racist Domergue. Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins: Justified) is a different story. The son of a Confederate raider who hates blacks and northerners alike, he’s likely to be dangeously sympathetic to Domergue.
    As the blizzard builds, so does the tension, and as bodies drop, Domergue is confident her escape is eminent.
    Violent, crass and oddly beguiling, The Hateful Eight invites extreme reactions. Writer/director Quentin Tarantino (Django Unchained) — who has a penchant for brutal, unlikeable characters — has stacked the deck with some of the vilest characters he’s yet conjured. Racists, women beaters, rapists, murderers are all here. Hateful Eight beguiles the audience with America’s worst.
    Sergio Leone’s great spaghetti westerns inspire this film. Longtime Leone collaborator Ennio Morricone provides the soundtrack. Leone can also be felt in the sweeping landscape cinematography that makes the film look desolate but beautiful. Tarantino shot the film in 70 millimeter, an extreme wide angle that offers sweeping scale and excellent picture quality. Choose a 70mm screen, and set aside a large chunk of time, as this epic is three hours long, including overture and intermission.
    The weakest part of The Hateful Eight is the script. Tarantino revels in the grotesque, and his grindhouse sensibilities are beloved by fans. But Hateful Eight is too much of a good thing. Tarantino tries so hard to shock that disgust becomes annoying after the second hour. Always a fan of racial epithets, his script uses his favorite pejorative so often that, instead of marking his characters as racists, it makes Tarantino seem a snotty adolescent getting away with saying taboo words. Violence and sexual assault are so common that the horror of the acts is largely lost.
    Saving The Hateful Eight from parody are some excellent performances. As Domergue, Leigh manages to be funny, intimidating and sympathetic. Leigh’s feral performance relies on physical traits, but she never lets you forget that this murderess is fierce and smart. You can see her plotting at every moment. Goggins, who has made quite a career playing evil southerners, shines as a racist dolt who learns some harsh lessons about the ways of the world. He makes even the most ridiculous lines work through sheer force of will. Jackson is also in fine form, offering his usual brand of brash pontificating.
    Too bloody for general audiences, too crass for highbrows, Hateful Eight is pure Tarantino. But if you’re a fan, this movie is pretty bloody good.

Good Western • R • 168 mins.

One doctor tackles the NFL head-on

Dr. Bennet Omalu (Will Smith: Focus) speaks for the dead. A medical examiner in Pittsburgh, Omalu is obsessed with learning what led to each death.
    When Pittsburgh Steeler great Mike Webster (David Morse: True Detective) dies, Omalu is puzzled about how Webster went from local hero to homeless madman.
    He discovers that Webster’s brain was suffocating. Repeated concussions had caused it to choke from the inside out, causing violent rages, addictive behavior and rapid mental degeneration. Omalu publishes his results and names the disease: Chronic traumatic encephalopathy. Realizing that Webster’s death was not a fluke, he concludes that more players must be suffering from CTE. But there is no confirmation possible until after death.
    Meanwhile, the NFL works overtime to disgrace the doctor and his findings.
    A movie to make football fans reconsider how they spend Monday and Sunday nights, Concussion is a thriller with great potential and poor execution. Director Peter Landesman (Parkland) only touches on the many outrages in the NFL concussion cover-up. He hints at the depth and breadth of the conspiracy but stops short of full examination of the league’s commitment to stopping Omalu. Hints that the government is involved are not pursued.
    There is also a thin subplot involving Omalu’s family life that could have increased the sense of danger — had it been developed. Smith and Gugu Mbatha-Raw (Jupiter Ascending) are both gorgeous, capable actors, but their awkward chemistry makes their relationship seem forced.
    It’s a shame Landesman wastes so much time with Omalu’s personal life, because Smith is at his best fighting the NFL.
    Morse delivers the most effective performance, portraying Mike Webster’s spiral into madness.
    Concussion is an imperfect movie, but it’s a good way to start talking about how America treats its sports heroes and about the corporations that profit carelessly from their skills.

Good Thriller • PG-13 • 123 mins.

Turns out the jolly old elf is a ­gardener himself

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the yard
The branches were bare and the ground frozen hard.

The roses were dormant and mulched all around;
To protect them from damage if frost heaves the ground.

The perennials were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of compost danced in their heads.

The new-planted shrubs had been soaked by the hose
To settle their roots for the long ­winter’s doze.

And out on the lawn, the new fallen snow
Protected the roots of the grasses below.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a truck full of gifts, and all ­gardening gear.

Saint Nick was the driver — the jolly old elf —
And he winked as he said, “I’m a ­gardener myself.

I’ve brought Wilt-Pruf, Rootone and gibberellin, too —
Father can try them and see what they do.

To help with the weeding I’ve brought a Weed-Bandit
And to battle the bugs a floating blanket.

To seed your new lawn, I’ve a patented sower.
In case it should grow, here’s a new power mower.

For seed-planting days, I’ve a trowel and a dibble
And a role of mesh wire if the rabbits should nibble.

For the feminine gardener, some gadgets she loves
Plant stakes, a sprinkler and waterproof gloves.

A fungus agent for her compost pit
And for pH detecting, a soil-testing kit.

With these colorful flagstones, lay a new garden path
For the kids to enjoy, a bird feeder and bath.

And last but not least, some well-rotted manure.
A green Christmas year round these gifts will ensure.”

Then jolly St. Nick, having emptied his load,
Started his truck and took to the road.

And I heard him exclaim through the motor’s loud hum;
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a green thumb.”

–An anonymous gardener’s  take on Clement Clarke Moore’s 1823 classic

Eagles mark a turn toward the ­season of birth

Editor’s note: Bay Weekly readers voted wildlife artist and journalist John W. Taylor, of Edgewater, Best Bay Artist this year. A keen observer of nature, Taylor believes that spring begins here on the winter solstice, December 21, when daylight begins its six-month, minute-by-minute stretch. His book Chesapeake Spring collects his observations and paintings of that season, from which we reprint the first of those observations.


West River, December 26
    The sun had the afternoon sky to itself but for a lone swirl of high cloud, pale against deep azure. The river rested unruffled, touched with the same blue. Across its broad reaches near the far shore, a raft of ducks relaxed, most of the sleeping heads tucked into back feathers. A closer look revealed a gathering of squat little ruddies, tails cocked skyward. Beyond, gulls loitered on wharf pilings. (Gulls always seem to have plenty of time to stand around, doing nothing.) And half a dozen swans tipped peacefully in the shallows.
    A shrill cackling from above shattered the calm. I looked up just as an eagle folded its wings and plummeted earthward. After falling several hundred feet, it threw out its legs and flared up into the path of another eagle. The two tumbled together awkwardly for a moment, then recovered composure as they gained altitude. Tracing slow, lazy circles in the blue, they came together several times, almost brushing wings.
    From that height they could look down on all of West River and on their eyrie, an accumulation of sticks and small branches in the highest fork of a white oak. Half of the mass had been dislodged during a recent storm and had fallen into the lower portions of the tree. Repairs will have to be made within the next few weeks, before egg laying begins.
    The eagles did not call again, nor show any courtship activity, but that brief bit of interplay marked a turn toward the season of birth and renewal — toward spring. Yet by the calendar it was winter that had just begun.