Recreation Case

Productive amusement.  I have things I like to do, for sure.  Every day I make an effort to express myself, to learn something.  I am the dominant person of my kitchen, assembling supper most nights and periodically creating an elegant dinner.  I like to read.  I like to drive to destinations, admiring the scenery en route.  And I read something that requires attention most days. 

What I've not done is pursue recreation as I should.  I have cameras, fishing rods, and golf clubs but I rarely venture out to photograph, catch fish, or use the putting green.  I have two harmonicas, watercolors, pastels, drawing pencils, adult coloring books with colored pencils, even a comprehensive art kit in a wooden case.  I've made a small kit to improve my fishing proficiency.  All scattered in various parts of my desk.  

About two weeks ago, decided to gather my recreational items, art, harmonica, and knot tying into a single place.  My once daily canvas briefcase has been dormant since retirement.  Into it went one harmonica, pastels, colored pencils, sketching pencils, and a back to school watercolor tin.  My fishing knots training equipment went in as well.  And that's where they've been for two weeks, just to the left of my swivel chair.  Cameras on my desk.  Putting iron and golf balls in trunk along with a few fishing rods and the lures.  Need to reach into that attache for something each day.

Trips Downstate

Have not yet left my home state of Delaware , one of America's smallest, on this year's day trips.  Its north-south dimension far exceeds its east-west dimension, but it only takes two hours to drive from the northern border where I live to the beach at the southeastern corner, which is what I did yesterday, a trans-state journey done about once a year for decades.  Between spring break from Osher Institute through summer's end, I ventured over much of Route 1 south four other times with four other destinations.  What differed this year are the routes calculated by a different GPS which directed me to places I've not yet seen.

My tenure in my home state predates the GPS and even it s current main thoroughfare by quite a lot of years.  Delaware has had a north-south road that essentially bisects the state since the early days of the automobile.  A parallel north-south road with slightly different route number came later, providing a second path for people headed to a different set of small towns, starting at about the state's midpoint.  Using maps from the gas stations, of blessed memory, when I wanted to go to my state's beaches I could follow our main traversing road, then south of our capital, veer eastward on another road to the resort towns.  If I wanted to continue on farther south on the eastern seaboard, I could take the parallel road through the rest of the state.  Either way, the road connected, maybe even created, small towns along the route.  From the car window there were farms, a few strip malls, some state facilities.

The GPS and the limited access highway each transformed the trip through my state in its own way.  The highway, with two nominal tolls, made the drive to the beach more direct and considerably faster.  The GPS, with algorithms that differ a bit between brands, or now apps, vary the paths once exiting from the main roads to reach the final destination.

This year I installed a new app to get me where I want to go, including downstate.  I've wanted to go fishing, to visit relatives from Florida who had rented a house for part of the summer in a historical though growing town, the State Fair which takes place at approximately my state's geographic center, and two beaches in two State Parks.  Five trips, predominantly highway or numbered state route until the final few miles.  This year my new GPS changed that final part of each route in a most gratifying way.

My intent this spring  had been to fish at the Indian River Inlet.  Usually other anglers cast their hopes in a small cluster.  I could not find them, nor could I see anyone to ask.  Instead, fishing plan B, the pier at Cape Henlopen State Park.  As it routed me back onto the Coastal Highway, I detoured into Rehoboth from the connecting road at Dewey Beach.  Past Silver Lake, surrounded by lovely homes, and apparently another fishing option that I could not access.  Driving along, I came to the town of Rehoboth where I've not been in some twenty years.  Still free parking in March.  Strolled along the sidewalks, sparsely populated but no longer truly seasonal.  Most stores open allowing a few chats with the salespeople about what had changed since my last visit.  Made it past the bandstand to the Boardwalk.  Beach treats available, Thrashers, Grotto, Candy Kitchen, though none on my agenda that morning.   Back to my parking spot, on to the fishing pier, shared with but a few anglers.  No bites for any of us.

Beach time in June.  Cape Henlopen State Park has a lot of different pathways once exiting Route 1.  GPS suggested one unfamiliar to me.  I stayed with the familiar.  However the following month, I had occasion to visit a relative from Florida, not seen in ten years.  She had rented a house within walking distance of Lewes' marina and downtown, across a drawbridge, scenic and interesting destinations in their own right.  It had been years since my last time there.  Exiting the Coastal Highway has several options.  The GPS took me along what I assume is the shortest.  Off at Nassau Road, past a defunct farmer's stand, onto what was once a rural connecting road that seemed less rural.  New housing developments at highway exit gave way to a set of newer communities with McMansions, though none with entry gates visible from the road.  Past a roundabout, and the traditional Lewes emerges.  Clapboard homes from another era, little commercial activity on New Road.  Then the Marina to the left, town to the right, and forced turn in either direction at the bridge.  The GPS took us to the rented house where I parked on the grass across the street, prepared to find a violation notice under my windshield wiper that did not happen despite the town's dependence on parking revenue in the summer for its solvency the rest of the year.  Schmoozed a bit in their living room, then walking tour of the town with its shops, post office, and a hotel of another era.  Lunch places anything but fast food, trendy menu with waitresses.  More walking afterwards along the marina, cut short by drizzle.

Ordinarily, my route to the State Fair in Harrington, which I attend on alternate years, has been entirely main roads.  Exit 97 after Dover AFB to connect to Route 13, then just follow along about a dozen miles of commercial activity, some old to support the farming heritage of the area, more the expected gas stations with minimarts, strip malls with a supermarket, pharmacies and eating places with signage of national recognition.  This year my new GPS had a preferred alternative.  It took me further south on Route 1, exiting me at Frederica instead.  Route 12 would eventually connect with Route 13 near the fairgrounds but bypass much of the commercial eyesores that now line the main road and the traffic that it generates.

This was a far more pleasant drive.  One Italian restaurant, one school, then farms.  Out of the blue, the ILC Dover complex, a center of research with NASA and industrial applications.  They have to pay the scientists and executives handsomely, which explains some of the rather elegant homes that lined the route nearby, but still largely farm.  I could even see the ears of corn emerging.

Last trip, Fenwick Island.  My GPS wanted to take me along Coastal Highway  the full duration.  However the road sign pointed to Route 113 as the preferred option for getting me to the southermost part of my state.  I drove off, expecting the GPS to eventually give up its demands that I make a U-Turn and adapt to its new reality.  I've driven this way before, two different GPS devices which exit me to the local roads in different ways, assuring that I will get lost among the unfamiliar.  Sometimes I will drive through small towns with their churches and volunteer fire departments, not staying on any road very long.  Occasionally, as the coast nears, the commercial area will generate a half mile of stop and go traffic.  This GPS exited me a little north, at Frankford.  Immediately I fell behind a semi negotiating itself into a tight parking lot that served as a Mountaire Poultry facility.  Then once I could move along, I drove the rest of the way behind a Jeep from British Columbia who in all likelihood did exactly what his GPS told him to do.  It was a Delaware scenery I had not encountered previously, or it did not imprint well if I did.  Chickens.  I know this industry brings revenue to our state.  The State Fair exhibits samples of the animals themselves and booths descibing this element of commercial agriculture.  It is not nearly the same as driving past rows of buildings appearing as elongated chalets. rectangular with A shaped roofs, and what appear to be giant shades covering the long sides.  I could see no animals, no entrances, no workers.  Between the coops were fields of corn.  I imagine the harvest will end up in the feed trays, not in my supermarket sales bin.  Amid the corn fields, and on the right side of the road were vast flat fields covered with some type of low vegetation.  No clue as to what grew there.  

I did not get lost this time.  Route 20 took a diagonal path through the appealing vistal of rural Omar, Roxanna, and Williamsville, none labelled by anything other than an occasional directional sign.  No post offices to announce the town.  An occasional place to eat or a stand to buy produce or the name of the farm at the entrance of what appeared to be a long driveway.  To my surprise, for the first time, my GPS bypassed Selbyville, the last major population cluster before intersecting the final road to Fenwick Island.  As I turned left to my destination, a mall with a supermarket appeared.  Then for the rest of the ride, vacation housing clustered far closer together than in the farm areas, and appearing far newer.  Boats piered on the water, restaurants, a few doctors, places to get ice cream, even minature golf as the final traffic light arrived.  Turn left to Fenwick Island, right to Ocean City.  I went left.  The GPS did not direct me to the park's entrance, rather to its street address.  But having been there before, I knew I had to drive a little further for my afternoon on the sand.

Having lived here over forty years, met virtually every statewide elected official at least once, raised a family, and have people remark on the relative rarity of my license plate when I visit distant cities, there are parts of the state that have eluded me.  I make it to the destinations, Wilmington, my workplaces, the synagogues, the medical facillities where I have both worked and lectured, including downstate.  And the beaches, the parks, and the Fair.  Even earned a promotional beer stein from the Delaware Wine and Ale Trail which took me to as far as Delmar.  What I've done poorly may have been paying attention to the journey.  Highways, or even major state routes with lined with stores, eating places, and gas stations can mislead.  I read about poultry, a factory that makes space suits, and irrigation frames that always seem dormant.  Farms grow green pepper and melons which I eat, but only see at the grocery, never in the field.  At the State Fair I admire livestock in pens.  It took the objectivity of my current GPS to divert me from the main roads, to see where the chickens live, where the crops grow, and to realize that not all top tier PhD holders work for the megacorporations or the university.  I'm much indebted to the GPS for forcing this better appreciation of where I live.

Resume Fishing

My rods occupied part of my living room.  I might have gone fishing once last year at Bellevue State Park, my closest option.  Though the better spots, Beck's Pond, White Clay Creek, Lum's Pond, and downstate all remain unvisited.  They seem farther than I really want to drive for the joy of casting without a bite.  

I inventoried and harvested my rods.  Deep Sea to the car, small pond to car, mid-size to car.  Fly rod, second light rod, and bait caster stay in living room for now.  Have a plastic tackle box in the trunk.  And with OLLI off for a week and few appointments, a trip downstate with all three rods has become a must-do, with a few other hedonisms of being downstate tossed in.  A lunch perhaps, coffee at a specialty shop in Rehoboth, a brew at the original Dogfish Head site, or perhaps a winery or Dogfish Head Brewery on the return.  Learn the Palomar and nail knots before I go.

Not Been Fishing

My interests tend to fluctuate over time.  When the carpet cleaners came to prepare for Passover, I removed quite a few fishing rods from our living room to the hall and still have another on the floor of my car's back seat.  I've been to Walmart and Dick's, not to the more distant but better supplied Cabela's where I add to my supply of hooks and lures.  The waders hang on a hall tree near my front door and the fishing vest in the hall closet.  All unused.  I've not learned any new fishing knots in about a year.  I haven't even ventured beyond Bellevue State Park, our closest pond.  I've also not actually hooked a fish since I began a few years ago.

Still, it's worth another try this spring.  Going to Lum's Pond, despite loss of rod, and to White Clay Creek provide me some quiet and some challenge at the same time.  Beck's Pond sits a little closer and there are usually other fisherman around trying their luck from the rocky banks.  Good outings.  I could use some good outings.

Getting Outdoors

Pesach came and went a little earlier in the secular calendar than most years.  With a good deal of effort, and some pacing to adapt to my advancing years, our house has returned to chametz.  With this Festival comes spring, warmer weather, snowblower away but to be extricated in late fall so its function can be restored more effectively than this winter.  My outdoor rosemary and sage seeds, planted in transplantable cups before Pesach and placed outside have not germinated but the pots froze one day when I checked on them  Restoring sage and rosemary to my backyard herb garden has not yet reached a lost caused, though growing them from seed might have.

As Chol HaMoed reached its closing days, I afforded myself a few moments in my car and at my clipboard to anticipate what spring might enable.  First, I toured Dick's Sporting Goods store.  They had bicycles, fishing gear, golf clubs, and baseball bats.  I already have fishing gear, a putter and driver, a Schwinn that still functions sixty years after receiving it as a birthday gift updated with a safety helmet.  I had been nurturing my front door pots through the winter, mostly herbs.  One broke, replaced with another and the broken earthenware further fragmented as drainage stones for the other pots.  I went out to purchase all the seeds that I need.  My backyard beds need some layering.  Appropriate bags purchased and transported by hand truck to their sites of use.

Already I have walked a few trails in two state parks.  I photographed the outdoors using techniques I learned from this winter's Great Course on photography, purchasing a tripod to enable even more.  It's been a while since I've gone to see the Blue Rocks.  If the pandemic eases to allow stadium attendance, I could add that to this spring's outdoor activities.  Even a day at one of the State Park beaches could find its way as an outdoor activity before the summer solstice brings about the next season.

Getting outside has been an annually underperformed initiative, maybe best added to my daily task list in some form.  It can be better implemented, and should be.

Not Been Fishing

After a spring's anticipation and some misadventures like having a good rod and reel slip off the dock at Lums Pond, my quest of catching anything has deflated.  I devoted some effort to replacing and restoring equipment, made a few visits to Bellevue State Park's pond, but as the summer heat and humidity became more oppressive, my interest in casting for an hour or so largely disappeared.  I could have worked on some knots but didn't.  I might have expanded the adventure to one of Delaware's downstate angler destinations but haven't.

While I've yet to hook any of those wriggly critters, I have derived satisfaction from some of my skills and underlying efforts.  I can now cast competently with a spinning reel, tie a leader with a nail knot if I have an illustrated guide, replace a broken rod tip, spool an empty reel, and tie a hook with a clinch not, though not yet a palomar knot.  Some limits of near vision, finger dexterity and hand-eye coordination have become apparent but have enhanced my resolve to complete the tasks that require this.

What fishing may have given me is time alone, something amply replaced between my Man Cave and coronavirus limitations that have kept me more alone.  That element of escape, time to set my angling strategy, and patiently wait for a result now goes to my screens, either big screen TV where I can stream and watch laptop where I can escape to a Curiosity Stream experience not otherwise available to me.  Just me, my vision, and its cerebral connections.  All without humidity, safety masks, or tangle frustrations.  

Eventually as the outdoor environment returns to a more seasonably pleasant experience, I'll give the various ponds a second chance.

Repairing Fishing Rod

It's been a tough season for my not quite fulfilled fishing hobby.  To clean for Pesach I moved all my rods to the car, some trunk, some back seat.  I lost one rod and reel which slid off a pier as I was packing up to go home.  One ultralite rod got caught in trunk door, snapping off the tip.  It was an inexpensive one, so I harvested the reel, tossed the rod and replaced it, unaware that a tip can be replaced.  Another rod, a more costly one, never used, still with receipt attached, met a similar fate with a car door.  This one being less disposable, I contacted Cabela's which confirmed their service at rod repair.  I can take it over for an estimate, but likely not to be cost effective.  What I learned, though, is that replacement tip eyelets can be purchased for a few dollars and do not seem all that hard to install, which would have been nice to know before tossing the ultralite rod.

My new ultralite rod, purchased at Dick's for about $30, seems a little lighter than the one I discarded.  It did not come already spooled, so I bought some #4 clear monofilament which turned out to greatly challenge my near vision and finger dexterity, but I got it spooled.  At the pond, threading it through the full extent of eyelets, then tying a jig with plastic grub challenged not only my dexterity but my patience.  Once done, I had a pleasant half hour or so casting from a pier and learned something from the junior high boys who had better vision than me.  They could see a fish, targeted it with a live goldfish as bait, then hooked it long enough to see it flop around at the surface before divesting itself of the hook, which was either not adequately set or unbarbed.

I returned with my all purpose rod and reel, only to find the line tangled when I tried to thread it through the eyelets.  I had spent a good deal of effort adding a fluorocarbon leader to this one.  No fishing, back to car to home to remove the tangled part, then see if I can relearn to do a blood knot to attach a new leader.

And I've still not hooked a fish, but not ready to abandon what has been good time by myself.

Letdown

Mothers Day came and went.  It's a special day for me because I get to pamper my children's mother a bit, having outlived my own.  I get a card, a bottle of wine, and make an effort at supper elegance.  All this happened.  Maybe a little too much wine.

Today, getting out the starting gate has taken more attention than usual.  I'm not tired, not really devoid of motivation either, but past the climax.  I tried to fix my refrigerator to find that a key part does not fit, adding a return and replacement hassle.  It's a treadmill day, as was yesterday.  I set a time to do it, a duration, and a speed and just did it.  Usually when I've been consistent with this and push my limits, I eventually capture more energy so today may be an investment in that end.  I'd like to go fishing and try tying the palomar knot that I just taught myself.  However, I lolled around on the couch when I could have been doing this.  I still can.  Have not yet exchanged the seasonal clothing.  Can do that when I return from fishing.

Interestingly, I feel generally well, just let down a bit.  My fingers hurt less, my lumbar area is better and the thoracic back strain has run its course quickly.  My legs ache in the mornings but not in a disabling way.  Most other Review of Systems has been pretty good, or at least age appropriate.  It's just that motivation seems more forced than spontaneous.  Try out the palomar knot, perhaps.

Indoor Cat

Like most people with this pandemic, staying home gets priority, though not exclusivity.  For the first time since retiring I miss being a doctor amid the fray, tending to the diabetics whose illness poses a special risk.  Young persons sport perhaps, though I'm probably in a better position to handle the personal risk than those with young families.  An infection, though, would put me out action quickly and my age puts me in a raised mortality group.  So I'm mostly an indoor cat.

I could go fishing.  I will go fishing later today.  And I could uses a few minor purchases, none so urgent as to be done today.  Good weather for planting parsley in a container.  My writing and the thinking that makes it possible has not done as well.  I've done some work around the house.  Not much has elevated my spirits, though.  Nor have I undertaken my many listed tasks that could be checked off the list but have languished on the list for months or longer.

Yes, fishing later today and parsley in container.

Fishing Season Initiatives

Thus far my cumulative catch totals zero.  Not that I plan to dine on anything I extract from the local waterways if my skill improves, but I have enjoyed the quiet time outdoors, advice from other fisherman nearby, and advancing skill for which there is little doubt.

While between classes at OLLI, I tied my first successful nail knot, using a straw from WaWa snipped into a small segment.  My dexterity and close vision leave a lot to be desired so I connected two shoelaces, though if I can keep track of which nylon monofilament connects to the reel and which connects to the hook, I can probably do this with real line in the very near future.

My equipment does not need replenishing.  I have an ultralight rod and standard rod, each with spinning reel, though the ultralight green one could use some minor duct tape to hold a slipping line guide.  My lines coil when casted, likely a consequence of never replacing them and storing on the reels for extended times.  I have a fly kit, even have waders, thus the desire to master the nail knot and the blood knot.  I have a standard rod with casting reel, one that backlashes with each attempted cast.  A skill worth improving.  I do not have salt water gear.  A macho looking rod and reel for this would run about $100.  And I like driving downstate to the Indian River Inlet which attracts many anglers, but some of them have mid-sized pond rods.  Ample variety of hooks, lures, weights, bobbers.  My State Park card is permanent and my age no longer requires a state license.  Ready to resume once the days warm up a bit to where I am comfortable and the fish become less selective about what looks like food.  Very soon.