Incident on the Battenkill...

[mikevalla]

Had my fried Jeep clutch not left me stranded a couple of days ago I would have headed back to the remote Adirondack ponds today. But now, temporarily, without a 4WD vehicle at my disposal the Battenkill River on the Vermont border would have to be today's destination. But that's not so bad, either, I suppose.

Snatching son Jeff's car (he's in India right now) I was soon rigging up at the parking turn-out and about ready to start casting some loops on a favorite stretch. As I shut the trunk door another vehicle pulled up and parked in front of me, dusting my windshield in the process. The guy said nothing as he stumbled out of his Volvo, grabbed his rod and waders then headed down through the brush towards the river. He seemed to know where he was heading but his out-of-state plates indicated he wasn't a local. Golly, I mumbled to myself, that dude is in a rush! He didn't even put his waders on!

I headed downstream while the other angler obviously headed through the woods upstream from our parking turn-out. In time, say 20 minutes, I gazed upstream and saw the guy, some 800ft away, working his way toward me. I reeled in and retreated to the bank. Crunched on an apple and imbibed the crisp fall colors and blue sky. My point was this dude wanted water---and was coming down my way pretty quickly. Let him have it, I thought. I'll let him fish through.

In short time he was right smack in front on me from my vantage point on the bank, still casting wildly. I said hello to him, and being that he was so close to me it was hard for him not to reply. Which he did..."Hi." That was it---and he continued casting and stumbling as he waded along downstream.

About an hour later I was back at my "borrowed" Honda. And here comes the guy, walking up the road toward his Volvo. At that point, once he reached his vehicle, he was a bit more conversant. I passed a comment to him that I thought by the way he flew out of his car---when he first arrived--that he had an appointment or something with a mighty fine trout.

"Oh no," he said. "I just didn't want you to get to my spot before I did." I expected a chuckle--but none came. I explained that I wouldn't have done that---even if I knew there was a big brown waiting up there. And he could have taken his time and rigged up--and put his waders on without running off into the woods with them.

I think he looked at me like I had eight heads or something. He said that it didn't matter because he didn't catch anything. And off he drove...

[ted patlen]

jersey?

i hope not.

[mikevalla]

jersey?

Well...I wasn't going to mention it----but yes....Jersey

[gt05254]

The world gets curiouser and curiouser, eh?
Gary

[squish67]

All to familiar!

[BrownBear]

Sad to say, pretty universal. We get the same crap up here. Mike highlighted to only solution- Back out and let them have the water. They won't be around long and certainly are no threat to the fish.

[gt05254]

But...but....but New Jersey??? How can that be??? I mean, they're such courteous drivers and shoppers here in southern Vermont. Why, I'm dumbstruck I tells ya, dumbstruck. lol
Gary

[ted patlen]

well,

i can write a volume here about why he fished like that, but no, i won't.

let's just say that his actions were typical of one who lives and works in the most densely populated area in the nation. unfortunately it is a learned response to unending stimulus. i witnessed it and was part of it for a while. i don't condone it but i understand it.

vermont? ppplllleease.

[quashnet]

This is a true story, I swear.

Over the past two decades I have made ten trips to the North Slope of Alaska to assist with fisheries biology studies of Arctic grayling in tundra rivers. The field station is truly out in the middle of nowhere, but we have north-south travel on the haul road that parallels the Trans-Alaska oil pipeline. We worked hard six days a week studying the grayling and if things were going well we sometimes had Sunday off, and of course I would go fishing!



One Sunday I requisitioned a truck and with another fellow who didn't fly fish very much drove north on the haul road to where a grayling creek crossed under the road. Our destination was not the creek, however, because it was full of grayling that we had caught, measured, tagged and released for a research project, so we didn't want to disturb them. Instead, we climbed the hillside above the creek and then set off hiking across the rolling tundra to fish a lake full of landlocked Arctic char that I knew about.



Hours later we returned from the hidden lake and, cresting the hill, saw the creek far below us and our truck parked on the rod near the crossing. There was a second vehicle, a camper parked there too, as only a year or two earlier the haul road, which had been accessible by permit only, had been opened to all traffic. We were a long way from the camper but, in that clear Arctic air, it was still plain to see a tiny, solitary figure fishing on the upstream side of the road, letting his line drift into the culvert beneath the road. I could see wild grayling rising near him, yet he persisted in fishing the culvert.

I turned to my companion, hiking with me on the high Arctic tundra between the Brooks Range and the Beaufort Sea, and said, "That culvert stuff is what we call New Jersey fishing. When we get down there you'll see that the camper has Jersey plates." I meant it as a joke, but damned if the camper didn't have a Jersey plate on it when we got down there.

I thought we would find the fisherman had caught a bunch of our tagged research grayling, but he hadn't caught a single thing. "Aren't there any fish in this creek?" he asked, even as a couple of grayling swirled on the surface thirty feet upstream from his position. "Nope," I said.

[squire]

My rule is to maintain a respectful distance and keep moving.