This post inaugurates my new (and very first blog), Behold a Pale Horse. It will discuss my various fishing trips and other fishing-related matters that may come to mind.
So who am I? I prefer to keep my exact identity private for now. But subsequent posts will obviously leave clues to my real identity.
I can reveal that I live in the Bronx, New York. By day, I work as an editor for a publishing company in downtown Manhattan and freelance writer.
Why did I decide to name my fishing blog, Behold a Pale Horse? Obviously, I've always been fascinated by the Bible passage from 6 Revelations, 7-8: "When he opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, 'Come!' And I saw, and, behold, a pale horse, and its rider's name was Death, and Hades followed him." (This version of the passage is from the Revised Standard Edition of the Holy Bible, Catholic Edition, which is published by Ignatius Press.)
I also look forward to seeing the great Fred Zinnemann film, Behold a Pale Horse (1964), with Gregory Peck, Anthony Quinn, and Omar Sharif. (Fred Zinnemann has always been one of my favorite directors of all time.)
Finally, my last name means "horses" in a foreign language. (That should narrow it down.) I occasionally tend to look pale and tired.
Since childhood, I have always loved fishing. But I rarely had the chance to fish when I was younger. My dad doesn't fish, so he could never teach me. I went a few times. In 1980 or 1981, the father of my two oldest friends, who are twins, took us fishing on a party boat chartered by the Father's Club of our grammar school. It was a cold, cloudy day. I had to get up around 5 AM or so. I remember catching a crab or two. One of my friends got lucky, and he caught a flounder.
During the summer, our family would visit Alpicella, a tiny mountain village in northern Italy about 120 miles from Genoa, where my parents grew up. My older cousin, Franco Mazza, who is a cop now in Piacenza, took me fishing in the local streams and brooks that were allegedly populated with trout. I don't remember catching anything. While in Italy, my parents occasionally took me to this lake that was overstocked with trout. This place let you rent a bamboo pole with a metal hook and a wad of dough for bait. I remember catching a lot of fish. But it was made deliberately easy.
The years went by without me fishing. I never lost interest in it. I just didn't have the opportunity or the time.
When I attended Fordham University in the Bronx, I became friends with Joseph Pedulla, a doctoral student in the English department and an adjunct professor. (I double majored in political science and history.) Joe and I shared similar interests and views. Joe, who is 10 years older than me, is an avid outdoorsman and a master fisherman. In 1992, he took me up to one of his spots, a decaying dock off the Hudson River in Dobbs Ferry, New York. (The above image is of your correspondent in his usual spot in Dobbs Ferry a couple of weeks ago.) I didn't even own a fishing pole. "It's okay," he reassured me over the phone. "We have lots of stuff." He taught me the basics. I remember my first effort fishing in years was a disaster. I kept getting my line caught, and I lost a lot of Joe's hooks, sinkers, swivels, etc.
Joe and I would go up there occasionally, once or twice a year. (He was often a difficult person to get in touch with.) My fishing skills improved a little. (Ironically, the last time I saw and spoke to Joe was up there at the dock in Dobbs Ferry nine years ago. Joe got married, moved away, and had three kids. Joe sure has come a long way. When I first met him, his chief ambition was to appear on that Fox TV dating show, Studs.)
After Fordham, I pursued a Master's Degree in politics at the Catholic University of America (CUA), in Washington, D.C. Allow me to add some context to that time. I left a part-time job that I had for six years and that soured on me in the end. After a two-year period of quiet desperation and being in love with Kelly, a classmate at Fordham and a co-worker at the aforementioned job, from a distance, I finally revealed my feelings for her. Kelly, who considered me a good friend, was stunned. She certainly didn't feel the same way about me as I felt about her, and she wasn't pleased with the news. I kept trying to win her over with flowers and love letters, but it didn't work. I guess I alienated her more and more with each action. (Okay, stop laughing. You were young once too.) After a decent semester at CUA (Spring 1995, I had started mid-year in January), I struggled in the fall. I was in danger of doing so poorly that I could have gotten expelled. But with a lot of prayer and two merciful professors, I caught a few breaks and survived. In the following spring, I finished my coursework in triumph. I did very well in all of my courses and impressed my professors with my work. (I should add that I was always a mediocre student who just did well enough to advance.)
These changes and powerful experiences convinced me that it was time for me to start living. I finally decided to make time for fishing. I consulted with Joe Pedulla. "You want to fish with a pole that's taller than yourself," he said. (I'm 6'2.) So I went to a local Sports Authority and bought some fishing gear. My first pole was a black Shakespeare Ugly Stik. I also got a Shimano spinning reel. In fact, I still use the same pole I first bought 10 years later. I should point out that the advice Joe gave was for the type of fishing he usually does, in a big river with strong current. As for bait, he has a preference for nightcrawlers and bloodworms.
One day in Georgetown, I discovered the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal, which follows the Potomac River all the way up to West Virgina, about 185 miles. On perhaps another day, I followed the path. After walking for an hour or two, I discovered Fletcher's Boathouse, which is in a park area. At Fletcher's, you can rent a rowboat or a kayak and buy a fishing license, bait and tackle as well as soda, bottled water, and some snacks. (You can also get there by driving.)
I finished my coursework in mid-April 1996. I had until the end of May before my apartment lease expired in Silver Spring, Maryland. So I went fishing at Fletcher's.
I fished from shore. I clumsily attached the sinker and hook to my line. I often caught perch. (The Potomac is filled with them.) My technique improved. Joe told me about fish finders, which let you attach a sinker while keeping the line free. (If a line feels too heavy, the fish won't usually bite it.) He also introduced me to snap swivels, which are a convenient way to attach snelled hooks to a line.
I looked forward to nailing my first big one, but all I got were perch. (Once I caught a small sunfish.) Still, I always had fun when I went fishing. It always relaxed me. Every time I go, I always have the hope that I may catch something really big.
I moved back to the Bronx at the end of May. I was still unemployed. I had to study for and then pass the comprehensive exam (or "comps") before I would get my M.A. and officially graduate. I was scheduled to take it in the fall.
I had been on the run for several years straight. My two previous summers were occupied with work and school-related duties. (In 1994, I took several summer courses at Fordham in order to fatten my GPA before applying to graduate school. In 1995, I had an internship in London at the House of Commons as part of my grad program.) In 1996, after what I've been through, I felt like I needed a long rest for the summer. So I fished.
I discovered the Kensico Reservoir in Westchester County. It's stocked with all sorts of trout and bass. Unfortunately, I had little success with trout fishing. Once I caught a 14-inch rainbow trout using the method Joe taught me. I brought it home for dad. He cooked and ate it. Talking to other fishermen and the owner of the unfortunately now-closed Kensico Sportsman, a bait and tackle shop in Thornwood, New York, I learned how to fish for trout. For bait, you use sawbellies or minnows rather than nightcrawlers and bloodworms. Lures such as Krocodiles are useful. Although I adapted, I never did well with trout. (But still I try.)
Since 1996, I fished in a number of places. I've been to the Potomac River, Hudson River, the Kensico Reservoir, Mamaroneck Harbor in Westchester, Lake Mahopac in Putnam County, the Esopus Creek in Ulster County, and a few other places. I have yet to fish the waters surrounding nearby City Island, a beautiful carbon copy of a New England fishing town that is part of the Bronx. I'm often too cautious, preferring to stay with a specific spot such as the dock in Dobbs Ferry where I've enjoyed my best success as a fisherman.
For the record, the biggest fish I ever caught was a 22-inch striped bass out of the Hudson River in Dobbs Ferry in April 2004. In the summer of 1996, I did catch something big up at Kensico but it wasn't a fish. I'm reeling it in. It's not behaving like a fish or some garbage you accidentally hooked. When it got close to shore, I pulled back on the line. This enormous head popped out of the water. I caught a snapping turtle. It was the size of a manhole cover. (I swear that I remember that it had sharp teeth, but modern turtles don't have them.) It was quite agitated. I refused to go near it. Fortunately, it trashed back and forth in the water and got itself loose.
The most fish I ever caught in a day was around 30-35 on at least two occasions on the Potomac. I caught mostly perch though.
The worst day I fishing I ever had was in Kensico in August 1996. I was wearing my sneakers instead of my work boots. I slipped on a wet rock, and I broke my right ankle. Luckily, this DEP boat was in the area, and I hailed them down. They called for help. Since I'm 6'2 and weighed at least 230 or so, it took about 6-8 people to haul me out of there on a stretcher. I was taken to a local hospital for treatment. I couldn't fish (or even walk) for six weeks.
One of my most amusing fishing experiences took place at Fletcher's Boathouse in October 1996. (By that time, I had recovered.) I went back down to CUA to take my comps and stayed for a few days. The night before the exam, I was watching Game 4 of the World Series between the Yankees and Braves in my hotel room in Silver Spring. That was the game when the Yankees overcame a 6-0 deficit. Jim Leyritz tied it with a three-run homerun. I was ecstatic. The Yankees tied the Series in extra innings by winning 8-6. They were the underdogs. Obviously, I didn't get much studying done. So I ended up failing the exam. (I got the results in December.) The next day, Andy Pettitte, who got clobbered in Game 1, pitched masterfully. Paul O'Neill made a great catch in the bottom of the ninth as the Yankees won 1-0. I had watched the game in the Third Edition, a popular bar in Georgetown. The day after that, I took a drive to Fletcher's Boathouse. I was wearing my Yankee cap. As I approached the boathouse carrying my gear, the gentleman behind the counter looked me and exclaimed, "Hey, you look just like the guy who won the game last night!" I was flattered that he thought I looked like Andy Pettitte. (How I hope the Yankees get him back next season when his contract with the Astros expires.) At the time, I was clean shaven. Today, with the beard, I could probably pass for the great cowboy and Academy Award-winning actor Ben Johnson, a true gentleman who made many great films. I fished from shore. I didn't catch anything. I don't even think I had a single bite, but I still enjoyed myself. (And, yes, when I returned home to the Bronx, I eagerly watched Jimmy Key, who lost Game 2, win Game 6 for the Yankees, giving them their first World Series in 18 years. A time to celebrate.)
The most personally rewarding fishing experience I had was at Fletcher's in April 1997. At CUA, they give graduate students only two chances to pass the comps. If you fail it the second time, you're screwed and leave without getting an M.A. This time, I destroyed the exam and passed it. After a long struggle, I got my M.A. I skipped the graduation ceremony, and I got the degree in the mail. But I still went down there to celebrate and attend the end-of-year party at the Department of Politics at CUA. I also went to Fletcher's. This time, I rented a boat and went out on the river far from shore. There was a slight rain. I caught about seven fish, six perch and one really big catfish. At the time, the catfish was the biggest thing I ever caught. I had struggled and suffered through graduate school and succeeded against all odds. Believe it or not, at the time, getting my M.A. and finally finishing school after 20 years were the most important things in my life. I was in such a great mood that day. My whole life was ahead of me.
I should add that 99 percent of the fish I catch I throw back. Since I now own a digital camera, I might not even keep something big I may catch in order to show it off to family and friends. I'll post images of what I catch and where I fish frequently.
My aim is simple and no doubt common to most fishermen: catch as many fish as possible and catch something really, really big.
Although I have been fishing for 10 years, I certainly have a lot more to learn and lot more places to explore. This blog will record these efforts.
