CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE—BAIT FOR GNATS AND MOSQUITOES

 

Jitterbug fishing lure.

     Fishing in Cortlandt Lake and Spy Pond became a hobby of sorts for the boys of my generation. Spy Pond had eels, catfish, sunfish, bluegills, bullfrogs and carp. Cortlandt Lake had shiners, eels, catfish, sunfish, bluegills, trout, pickerel, largemouth bass, and perch. Below the dam were suckers in season. Continental Village was a great place for freshwater fishing in the years that my family lived there.

     During the summer months the best time to fish was in the evening. Boys fishing from a rowboat used live bait (shiners) and artificial lures. Of the latter my favorite was the jitterbug. It was designed for bass. My friend Paul Kuty preferred the Hula Popper lure. I doubt if the bass could distinguish colors at night but they could hear the jitterbug sputtering on the surface of the lake behind a boat and it drove them into a frenzy. They attacked it as though it was fish junk food. The addiction didn't last long. It ended when a bass was caught and tossed into the bottom of the boat.

     Bread was good for sunfish and minnows but bass hit on something more substantial, an object colored black and green with yellow eyes and a small aluminum plate in front. It had two underside triple hooks. It had to stay afloat and it had to make a noise. That was the essence of the jitterbug. In the years that I fished in Cortlandt Lake I caught several bass over 15 inches long, and one that was eighteen inches long.

     Pickerel preferred shiners. Deep fishing near the dam or from the sides of the dam produced the most pickerel. They were bony but they tasted almost as good as perch, which I caught in or near the same locations.

     The best place to catch eels and catfish was at the lake inlet, where there was a small wooden bridge. Here my friends and I witnessed a host of fishing oddities. Fish jumping out of the water to catch surface and low flying insects. Catfish that swallowed a hook and bait so deep into the stomach that the only way to retrieve the hook was to pound the catfish with a big rock and split it open. I used to jump on the head of the catfish with my heel. Some of the catfish fought back. They had pectoral and dorsal spines that would sting a hand or arm on contact. The stings itched at the spot of penetration. Catfish used these weapons defensively. The catfish would flip and flop when a hook was retrieved from its mouth, and it was the lucky, as well as careful boy, who did not get a catfish sting for a souvenir.

     The eels were a different class of critters. Slimy and smooth, they would try to wiggle out of the hand of the boy holding it with one hand while pulling the hook out of the eel's mouth with the other hand. The situation called for a third hand—not for the immediate business at hand, but to ward off the mosquitoes and gnats that were in the face, hair and sometimes mouth of every boy fishing at the bridge. We were bait for gnats and mosquitoes. Large horseflies were a terror during the day, but the tiny stinging insects were worse because they could not be seen easily or felt until they drew blood. Thick clouds of these tiny blood-suckers could be seen hovering over the bridge before nightfall. We thanked the hungry hordes of bats that dove into them after dark.

     In 1953 I hooked an eel at the inlet bridge but failed to land it. I will never forget it. It was larger than a man’s arm and I had a hard time reeling it toward shore. At times it felt like dead weight. It bit my fishing line and snapped it. It then got away.

     If this eel is still alive today I would not like to be the person who hooked it.

     Eventually we learned to apply insect repellent before we left home. Despite this defensive measure the aggressive insects at the bridge flew into our mouths and got caught in our throats. Good reason to keep your mouth shut while fishing. That was also part of the learning process. Another part of the learning process was the use of wire leaders. With the hook and weight located at one end of the leader, the other end was tied securely to the fishing line. The wire leader prevented the eels from cutting the line with their teeth.

     All of the boys used night crawlers and cut-up sunfish or bluegills to catch catfish and eels. We usually obtained our bait the day and night before we scheduled a fishing event. Each of us obtained our own bait. A flashlight, an empty tin can and quick hands were a few of the tools necessary to get a good supply of night crawlers. Scientific journals called these large earthworms Lumbricus Terrestris. Thank God they didn't bite.

     Most people have no idea how fast and slippery these worms are when an attempt is made to pull them out of the ground. My friends—Cliff Holmes, Paul Kuty, Raymond Kuty, Wayne Matthews, Danny Ferguson, Frankie Smith, Alan Monowitz, Billy Wert, and Myron Lazar—became worm-catching experts. Leftover rainfall or early dew aided a worm-catching enterprise. Nature’s competitors were inactive when we harvested these worms. Moles recognized the threat to their territorial dominion and retreated when they heard human footsteps above them. Robins were envious but did not compete after dark. Cats, dogs and skunks did not interfere.

     Until now I have not mentioned the presence of snapping turtles or water snakes in the lake. Long ago I saw a copperhead in the lake near the inlet bridge. It was swimming close to shore when it disappeared. I never saw a rattlesnake in the lake but they can swim too. I saw several water snakes. During the ten years I lived in Continental Village I saw many venomous snakes on land. I was never bitten but I killed a few. Snapping turtles were frequently seen in the lake too. Some were large enough to cause serious injury to swimmers who dared to approach them.

     More than the fear of venomous snakes in the lake, the fear of thin ice on the lake was a greater fear. A single boy could walk on ice that was one inch thick. Several boys walking or skating on the same thin ice area would be inviting trouble. Sometimes we dared each other to go as far as we could on thin ice. We would start from the beach and walk or skate toward the inlet. The first hint or sound of cracking ice caused an immediate retreat. The safer option was a game of hockey. Playing hockey was more of a challenge and more satisfying.

     The figure skaters were a different breed. They showed up with fancy new skates and bright-colored winter clothes and skated smoothly in circles. Men and boys, woman and girls, all skated in a shoveled out area near the primary beach or secondary beach (across the lake) when there was solid ice underneath. No one drew more attention than Butterball Hauser. Mr. Hauser got his nickname due to his stomach girth. My step-father called him Butterball, as did several of the volunteer firemen. He had a spherical shape like a large toy top, and when he spun in place on ice he looked like a large toy top. The only thing missing was the string. Yet the man was an absolute marvel of dexterity on the ice. I never saw him make a mistake or fall.

     My respect for thin ice tells me that I skated too far with this chapter.