Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Shore. Lunch.

At left, a taco - aka Carne Asada with a good does of style. Jon Sullivan took the snap and while it is hosted over at wikicommons, Jon let's us use the copyright-free photo for any reason at all.

I'm using it at left. Fine quality food porn.

I did a little fishing Saturday afternoon and the trout told me to come back in six or eight degrees. It was fun casting and fun to get out. Cold water, though. Nipped the teens here last week and while the ice is off, that didn't do much for warming the drift.

Could be worse. 16" won't be outside the forecast for the folks on the Au Sable and Manistee this weekend. No trout dash camp Saturday.

Shore. Lunch.

Two words. Important words. Words we trout fishermen too often ignore.

I'm done with cheese sandwiches and tinned oysters on the banks. Ok - you've got me. I'm not giving up tinned fish. Yes I like herring too and no, I'm not Scandinavian. I'm worse.

I look at something like the taco in Jon's snap and wonder why we - collective trout enthusiast we - have not done a better job with the culinary enjoyment of our outdoor activities. Sure, I'm usually excited too and yes I want to fish. I don't mind a decent meal, either.

I'm upgrading my game.

I've a day pack I can wear that's out of the way of my casting and landing fish. I've a little wood burning Solo stove (see link at right)  that will also take an alcohol burner. I've got light cookware.

That smell you detect out on the river will indeed be me making fajitas. I'll fry sausage and onions. I'll make a delightful creole rice. After dawn fishing that will be bacon and eggs.

I am rebelling against the cheese sandwich on the shore. Not. Going. To. Do. It.

We spend a mint of time and treasure - collectively or individually - on our gear. I've got more than fifty hours at the vise this winter (yes, I've got it bad this year)  and I've traded for different gear and I've bought a little, too. Overall, I've spent a substantial part of my off-season thinking, dreaming, and preparing for trout season.

I'm not even a "good" fisherman. I just like the outdoors.

When we're outfitting this year, we should consider our culinary enjoyment. Most of us can fry. Everyone can boil. Those two things and a little Thursday night preparation makes the Saturday shore lunch a fine event.

Hmm, tamales steamed stream-side and eaten out of their husks slathered in verde sauce.  Make it hot enough, it'll cut down the evening mosquitoes drifting in from the swampy parts.

Post dawn fishing omelette and coffee right on the river bank? Yes, I say. Yes!

Most of the food we love was invented for field eating, anyway. The French will fold an omlette cooked to leathery perfection into a piece of wax paper and put it in a jacket pocket before heading to the fields.

Pierogi? Pierogi!  Let's see ... butter, a skillet, a camp stove ... delicious.

We're miles from somewhere but miles are hardly a barrier to the willing. After all, we stand in cold water waving sticks. (Thanks to Mr. Gierach - brilliant line. Buy his books. All of them.). We can do with a little civilization out in the wilds.

Why shouldn't we trout fellows be known as much for our fine stream-side cuisine as for our delicate yellow sallies?

I say let's give the aluminum locusts something to stare at.

Hoist your fajita and say it with me: "I'm a trout fisherman and I'm not eating plain cheese sandwiches anymore!"

That is, if you can talk with your mouth full. (I've seen you guys at Spike's in Grayling. Some of you I know are up to the task.).


Special thanks to Steve Bird for last week's plug over at his Soft Hackle Journal. Thanks, Steve. Have a fajita. Link to the Journal is over on the right. You should be reading it.

Oh, and Oberon is out. Already. I know! I'm going to have to ask Moberon about this development. It's Best Brown weather. Well, sacrifices must be made. I'm still recovering from excessive Hopslam-ing. Bell's Two Hearted: official beverage of the Amber Liquid crew. Drink some tonight yourself.

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