E E R F he wind
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STRONGER WATERS Straub Brewery CEO & President Bill Brock, great-great grandson of the founder, fights for more trout in Pine Creek By Brendan O’Meara
The Award-Winning Anglers’ Issue and Other Signs of Spring
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Volume 9 Issue 4
Stronger Waters
By Brendan O’Meara Straub Brewery CEO & President Bill Brock, great-great grandson of the founder, fights for more trout in Pine Creek.
8 Big Boys, Little Boys, and Pan Fish By Jeremy C. Bechtel Teach a boy to fish and feed traditions for a lifetime.
18 If You Fill It, They Will Come
By Jo Charles A leap of faith (and good advice) supplies a pond with fish— and memories.
29 Fish Made Easy
By Cornelius O’Donnell Oven, grill, or—gasp—microwave, there’s nothing hard about cooking a delicate fish.
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Cover by Tucker Worthington; Cover photo of Bill Brock by Dave Wonderlich. Photos this page (from top): by Dave Wonderlich; Courtesy of Jeremy Bechtel; by Jeff Kubina; and by Marie Z. Williams. 3
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Heart of The Mountain By Patricia Brown Davis
Dad and nature: of rainbow trout and salmon tapioca.
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The Lunker
By Fred Metarko
Back waters back when: the golden days of hooking fish and playing hooky.
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Water, Water Everywhere By Olivia M. Hall
On Seneca Lake, at the old water plant in Watkins Glen, Mr. Nelson builds your dream house.
w w w. m o u n ta i n h o m e m ag . co m Editors & Publishers Teresa Banik Capuzzo Michael Capuzzo Associate Publishers George Bochetto, Esq. Dawn Bilder D e s i g n & P h o t o g r ap h y Elizabeth Young, Editor Cover Artist Tucker Worthington Contributing Writers Angela Cannon-Crothers, Patricia Brown Davis, Jen Reed-Evans, Alison Fromme, Holly Howell, George Jansson, McKennaugh Kelley, Roger Kingsley, Adam Mahonske, Cindy Davis Meixel, Fred Metarko, Dave Milano, Gayle Morrow, Tom Murphy, Cornelius O’Donnell, Roger Neumann, Gregg Rinkus, Linda Roller, Kathleen Thompson, Joyce M. Tice, Brad Wilson C o n t r i b u t i n g P h o t o g r ap h e r s Mia Lisa Anderson, Bill Crowell, Bruce Dart, Ann Kamzelski, Ken Meyer, Tina Tolins, Sarah Wagaman, Curt Weinhold, Terry Wild S e n i o r S a l e s R ep r e s e n t a t i v e Brian Earle S a l e s R ep r e s e n t a t i v e s Michael Banik Linda Roller Administrative Assistant Amy Packard B ea g l e Cosmo Assistant
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Stronger Waters Straub Brewery CEO & President Bill Brock (below), great-great grandson of the founder, fights for more trout in Pine Creek
Dave Wonderlich
By Brendan O’Meara
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O
nce there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery. – Cormac McCarthy, The Road
Miranda Ludwig
See Stronger Waters on page 10
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Stronger Waters continued from page 9
In April of 2013, Bill Brock, CEO and President of the Straub Brewery in St. Mary’s, Pennsylvania, and Tom Finkbiner, founder of the Brown Trout Club in Slate Run, stood in Pine Creek with a barrel full of brown trout. Like a bartender, they tipped the barrel and poured it into the glass that was the river. Dozens of brown trout plopped into the water and swam away. “There we go,” Brock said. “There’s one load,” Finkerbiner said. “They’ll spread out here.” Finkbiner founded the Brown Trout Club in 2002 at first to champion the fish, which, by 2007, evolved to championing the fishing experience on Pine Creek once the fish were protected. He sells memberships to help pay for the cost it takes to raise brown trout—about $10 a fish—to stock the river. Around 2002, he noticed the state stocked the river with rainbow trout and fewer browns. “We could see the Pine Creek brown trout population declining,” Finkbiner says. “We started the club to collect money to buy a high quality brown trout—fifteen to sixteen-inch range—to stock Pine Creek.” These fish develop in a spring-fed, mud-bottomed pond, as close to natural as possible, a reason why, when they get dumped into the river, they’re as wild as they come. When the Pennsylvania Fishing Commission instituted a delayed harvest area on Pine Creek, that’s when Finkbiner shifted the focus of the club to “Develop a world-class fishery on public water with those trout,” he says. If people join the club and donate money to help keep the river stocked with the most charismatic brown trout this side of Montana, then he’ll smile through his beard and escort you down to the river himself. The delayed harvest area is a stretch of river where the fish cannot be killed until June 15. After June 15, an angler may harvest three fish a day—so long as they’re no bigger than twelve inches— Scott Walker, 570-295-1083 10
See Stronger Waters on page 13
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until Labor Day. After that, it’s back to no kill. No live bait either. The trout swallow live bait deeper and don’t have as great a chance of survival when put back in the river. Finkbiner’s detractors dislike the delayed harvest because they can’t rake in the heavy, beautifully-colored fish he spent so much money and energy on. The fuller brown trout act as mascots. So long as people know they’re there, people will return to Slate Run to fish the river. Now Finkbiner is petitioning to extend the delayed harvest area by 1.6 miles. And he has a strong man in his corner: Bill Straub. The trouble for Straub and Finkbiner becomes convincing people to preserve the fishing experience on Pine Creek. There’s an irony in trying to convince people that by extending the delayed harvest range and reducing the territory to kill the fish, that it helps future generations get into the sport. By extending the area of preservation of when the fish can be killed it ensures the experience can last a lifetime, not a single season. So far the delayed harvest has been such a success that Pine Creek resembles a Cape Cod beach in the summer: elbow-to-elbow people. Try casting a fly when you can smell the morning breath of the man beside you. Straub, too, sees the value in the stream and in extending the delayed harvest. It’s why you see Straub Brewery stamped down the left rail of the Slate Run Tackle Shop Web site. He knows the value embedded in the experience of being on the river. It’s how he met Finkbiner in the first place and how their partnership took flight. Some people come along as if by a divine hand. One man, of average height, well spoken, well traveled, and well educated, walked up from the river and approached Finkbiner with a brown trout palmed in two hands. It was a stunning trout, something an ichthyologist could admire for hours.
“Did you have anything to do with this?” the man asked. “I didn’t help you catch it,” replied Finkbiner. The man showed up again the following day swelled with the same sense of renewal. “How are you financing the club?” he asked. “Maybe I can help.” Finkbiner told the man he sold memberships. The man pulled out his card: Straub Brewery, St. Mary’s, Pennsylvania. “I had this negative feeling in my body,” recalls Finkbiner. “I’m kind of a conservationist. The trout are special to me. He’s going to want to do a competitive fishing tournament where you win a Jeep if you catch No. 7. You fish for the love of the animal because he lives in a beautiful environment.” On that day, with the business card in hand, Finkbiner, by his own admission, cringed. “I really appreciate your offer, but it took me years to get rid of a beer tournament.” “Hold on a minute,” the man said, “all I want to do is donate money.” Well, in that case. “I’d love to have you in our club,” Finkbiner said, thinking the man sincere in his words. The checks, four digits long, poured in. Signed William Brock, President and CEO of Straub Brewery. Bill Brock took the bait many years ago when his grandfather, Carl Straub, took him fly-fishing. Brock’s grandfather dropped him off at the creek and gave him a few pointers like pretending to squeeze a book under his casting arm. He had thirteen grandchildren and fishing bridged the two. “He started us on worms, salmon eggs,” Brock says. “He didn’t jam flyfishing down my throat.” Brock’s father, Harry, a Naval Academy graduate, and grandfather fared well, but were wired tight in tense jobs. The river flowing around their waders, the way the reel buzzed, and the way a trout took a fly dissolved that See Stronger Waters on page 14 13
Dave Wonderlich
Bill Brock (left) and Vince Assetta with their great browns.
Stronger Waters continued from page 13
tension. “The river was the one place I saw them totally relaxed,” says Brock. “You could see how relaxed they got the longer they were on the stream. It was amazing. You become different. You just. Slow. Down. It takes a day or two to toss your watch.” Much of the Straub Brewery imagery is tied closely to this scene. Business cards, stickers, and beer labels show a creek—Any Creek, U.S.A.— tracing the trough of a valley carved out by a retreating glacier in an Ice Age long ago. And Straub’s relationship with the Brown Trout Club, and specifically Brock’s relationship with Pine Creek, resonates with a greater vision, of a job yet to do. Brock supports the delayed harvest expansion on Pine Creek, though he understands the opposition. The expansion adds 1.6 miles to space out the creek to give fishermen some elbowroom. It’s a safe haven, for a time, when the fish can be caught and recaught by other fishermen. The bigger, iconic brown trout must be put back in the river. They are the river’s mascots and as long as fishermen the world over 14
know they’re there, then people will come back. It’s as much an economic initiative as it is an environmental one. “It lines up with our company,” Brock says. “My great-great-grandfather started [the brewery] and expected to do the right thing. In this case it upsets big fishermen because they can’t kill the fish. I’m not against big fishermen… we’re doing something powerful that helps the community.” Brock has a portrait framed on the wall of his office. He points to it and says it reminds him of his grandfather: an image of a man in waders in the middle of an anonymous creek casting his flies above the surface to the fish below. “The Straub story is not just about beer,” Brock says. “There’s such a history of how we make beer, a commitment to the natural. Is there something we can change? Something we can keep?” That question remains at the heart of the brewery and at the heart of Pine Creek. Preserving keeps tradition alive. “You fish, talk, take sandwiches, learn the territory of the fish,” says Brock.
“It’s the experience and interactions with the other people you’re with,” says Vince Assetta, vice president, general manager, and head brewer at Straub. “They’re the memories that endure. The social part of it. Usually you fish alone, your buddy is up or down the stream. It’s before and after, the social part where most of the memories are.” Assetta is the first non-family member to be on the executive board. He brought a fresh palette to the brewery, creating such crisp brews as the India Pale Lager. Brock and Assetta met late in their senior year of college at St. Vincent’s in Latrobe. In the spring of 1987, Assetta joined Brock at his grandfather’s camp. “It’s where I had my first Straub beer,” Assetta says. Later, Brock and his father took Assetta fishing where Assetta caught his first fish with a fly. It was the same hole Brock caught his first fish on a fly years before. Assetta became a CPA at Prince Waterhouse in Pittsburgh for steel companies, where he also held financial and management positions. In the back of his mind was always this idea that
Brock would come back to St. Mary’s to run the brewery. It wasn’t a foregone conclusion, but there was the potential and, if that was the case and the timing was right, perhaps they could pair up. Their friendship remained strong over the years while Brock went from Alaska to Maine to State College and Lewisburg. Assetta remained near Pittsburgh and West Virginia. In Assetta’s last job, there was a Russian takeover, lots of turmoil, layoffs, firings, reshuffling. “Work was not fun,” he recalls. By this time, Brock had decided it was his turn to drive the brewery. The timing was right. Vince met with a mutual friend and said, “Bill asked me to come to the brewery.” “Don’t do it!” the friend said. “You’re going to lose your friendship!” He took the job anyway. “I was seeking a lifestyle in northcentral Pennsylvania I didn’t have in Pittsburgh,” Assetta says. “It was the feeling of the area, more of a small town atmosphere. To work at a brewery is exciting. I never home brewed, but I made wine for twelve years so I had some knowledge of making alcoholic beverages from grapes.” Assetta earned an associates degree in brewing from the Siebel Institute of Technology in Chicago. It provided the theory to dive into the R&D brew system and usher Straub into the craft-beer age. Assetta said the average American is only ten miles away from a brewery. It was a certain measure of fulfillment he hadn’t found in his work. Assetta mires his work in the details where Brock is a big-picture thinker. They’ve had their moments of friction, but it often ends in a request to come over for dinner later that night. “It’ll be four years on April 1st,” Assetta says. “It’s been my purpose.” Before Assetta came aboard in 2010, and before Brock made the decision to return to St. Mary’s to take over the brewery in 2008, Brock had been away for some time. Like a salmon, he left home for the great beyond before he felt the inevitable pull back home. He graduated from Saint Vincent’s in Latrobe and soon went to graduate school at the University of Pittsburgh with a concentration in public policy and management. He traveled to Juneau, Alaska, and did economic consulting and research. He worked on forests, transportation, petroleum, economic impacts, benefits, even the study of building new roads to help native populations develop and grow. Brock moved back to Pennsylvania, working for the Central Pennsylvania Work Force Development Corporation. Into the new millennium, he had been in contact with his cousin, Dan Straub, about coming back to St. Mary’s. Brock had spent his time away and the looming presence of the brewery was inescapable. “Everybody has to step up when it’s their turn,” Brock says. “The brewery was See Stronger Waters on page 16 15
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(Left to right) Bill Brock, Roy Magaragol (who runs the fishery that supplies the Brown Trout Club), Vince Assetta, and Tom Finkbiner, toasting a check with Straub beer. Stronger Waters continued from page 15
good to me. I’m just borrowing the keys.” Peter Straub, Brock’s greatgreat-grandfather—a stern-looking man with narrow eyes, a widow’s peak, a thick goatee, and a frowning mouth—founded the brewery. He learned the basics of brewing beer while in Germany. He moved to the United States in 1869, just four years after the Civil War, at the age of nineteen. He settled in central Pennsylvania where he worked for several breweries. Beer was in Straub’s blood. Soon Francis Sorg, the namesake of Sorg Street where today’s Straub
Brewery resides, hired Straub as his brew master and manager. It wasn’t until 1878 that Straub took over the brewery completely. Straub began courting Sorg’s daughter, Sabina. They had ten children and when they were old enough he introduced them to the craft of brewing. What he found, in America, was a six-row barley as opposed to the two-row barley he knew from Germany. To mellow out that American strain, he mixed eighty percent barley to twenty percent corn or rice. It helped mellow the flavor and lighten the color. That was the Straub lager. When Straub died in 1913, he left that See Stronger Waters on page 48
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O U T D O O R S
(Top left) The author and son Seth; (bottom left) Jeremy, Isaac, and Jared at Hamilton Lake; (above right, left to right) Isaac, Seth, and Jared with a mess o’ pan fish.
Big Boys, Little Boys, and Pan Fish Teach a boy to fish and feed traditions for a lifetime By Jeremy Bechtel
W
hen I met my wife she already had an impressionable four-year-old boy, who had leukemia to boot. I was not sure how to bond with the little fellow, and I think he felt the same way. I soon learned that just being me was enough to keep his interest. I can remember mowing the lawn thinking I was alone in the backyard only to look behind me and see Seth and his little bubble mower following close behind. I soon found that everything I did was mocked by
the little guy. I began taking him fishing and soon learned that little boys don’t have the patience for trout and bass, or maybe it was me who didn’t have the patience to teach things that were not “easy” at such an impressionable age. Soon after that we tried pan fish. They were extremely easy to catch and I could see the light in his eyes as he reeled them in. On one of our first outings a good-sized bluegill swallowed the hook and by the time it was removed I knew it was going to die. My future
wife suggested I keep it so it didn’t go to waste. Now I knew it wouldn’t go to waste if I tossed it in the bushes since there are plenty of critters around that would be happy to get a free meal, but the tone in her voice was something I was beginning to understand (the way most married men commonly do), so needless to say the little bluegill went home with us. I thought that was the end of it, but I was gravely mistaken. Little did I know my fiancée had just paved the way for See Big Boys, Little Boys on page 20
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OUTDOORS Big Boys, Little Boys continued from page 18
a family tradition. From that day on, every time he caught a pan fish Seth wanted to take it home, so I cleverly created new rules as I went. The fish had to be at least bigger than the palm of my hand, and we had to catch at least five of them before we could take any of them home. If we caught less than my designated five, we simply let them go before we went home. At first that wasn’t a problem because he was little and I was busy putting on worms, fixing bobbers, and clearing snags for him. So I had no time to fish myself and we seldom caught five decent-sized fish. But after a few years passed the lad became an excellent fisherman, and before I knew it we were always catching my quota and then some. The next problem was cleaning and cooking the fish. Sometimes when I was done “experimenting” on them (trying to figure out how to prepare them was downright maddening), I felt like a mad scientist. I would scale them and find some strange way to cook them up that I found on the Internet. Most times I had a huge mess and a pile of tasteless pan fish that were almost unworthy of eating. At the time all that really mattered was that Seth felt a sense of pride and satisfaction knowing that he helped bring home dinner. I got to the point that I dreaded going pan fishing because I knew that my evening would be full of frustration when we got home. Many times I tried to make crazy excuses for not going fishing, but in the end the sadness on his face was always more than I could bear so we went fishing anyway. After a while I became proficient at preparing and cooking them. But then, a few years later, my second and third sons began fishing. Some nights we would have twenty or more pan fish to take care of when we got home, and at that point I had all but given up on having a normal lifestyle. I had begun having nightmares of being stuck in a hot room with small fish scales stuck all over my body, and a stench that would bring anyone in their right mind to their knees. I would wake up shaking and in a cold sweat praying for it to end. Well, you get my point. One evening my wife told me about a program that was advertised by Jim Mucci at Hills Creek State Park. Jim taught youngsters how to catch pan fish, and clean and cook them at Hills Creek Lake. I know Jim, and hadn’t seen him for quite some time, so we decided to check it out. Besides, I was hoping to learn a trick or two. And learn I did. There was a group of twelve or thirteen people at the lake when we arrived. Jim brought everything that was needed—poles, bait, the works. He also brought everything needed to prepare and eat the fish. We spent about an hour fishing and caught over twenty fish between us. To my surprise, Jim also only kept the pan fish that were the size of his palm or bigger. Done fishing, we went up to a nearby pavilion to learn how to prepare them. At first I was a little put off, because the way he taught it was so simple I should’ve figured it out myself! But after he cut up four or 20
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five of them I joined right in. He began with an electric fillet knife, starting the cut just behind the pectoral fin, which is just behind the gills, and cut down to the spine. Basically this is just like filleting any other fish except for one difference: when he came to the tail of the fish he did not cut the fillet off completely. He kept a bit at the tail intact. Then he flipped over the meat he had just cut (still attached at the tail) and began cutting from the tail up toward where the head would have been. That second cut in essence was between the skin/scales, essentially eliminating the de-scaling process. This was a whole bunch cleaner and a whole lot quicker than my method, with the only problem being that you had to sharpen your knife more often. When one side was done he just flipped over the fish and did the same thing on the other side. When you were finished you had two boneless fillets. If done correctly, you can get a lot of meat from each fillet. The last step was to cook the fish. After a good wash, each fillet was placed in egg batter. From there the kids got to help by taking corn flakes cereal and mashing it up. (I’ve come to find there are several things that can be substituted for the corn flakes, so feel free to vary this.) Each batter-coated fillet was then dropped into the corn flakes, which stuck to the egg batter well, then it was dropped into a deep fryer for a couple of minutes. That was all there was to it. The great thing about Jim’s program is that we got a chance to actually do everything. So the next time we caught a pile of pan fish we just repeated the lessons. So began a new way of life for our family. The only problem is that since I have a family of five with three growing boys we need about thirty to forty fish to make a good meal. To this day the tradition continues. We fish as a family, cut up and cook the fish as a family, and I believe some of our best memories have come from our time on the water catching pan fish on the lakes in our area. The kids feel a sense of being able to contribute and have a lot of fun while on the water. In addition to the fun I can stay connected to my kids, have those tough talks that are ever so important as a child grows up and have them in an environment full of excitement. Several years have passed since the tradition started; Seth is now nineteen years old and still jumps at the chance to pan fish with me. We do many other activities together but this story is about the seed that was planted which produced the tree that binds us together. Jeremy Bechtel is a Forest Ranger, outdoor enthusiast, husband, and father from Wellsboro, Pennsylvania.
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Heart of the Mountain
Dad and Nature
Of rainbow trout and salmon tapioca By Patricia Brown Davis
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ad was obsessed with fishing. So was Granddad, my aunts, uncles, and cousins—a family sport. We moved as a unit until we hit the stream. Then it was “every man for himself.” For Dad it was about being in the place he loved best—Nature— his religion! He prized standing in a stream, figuring out how to best a trout. This was hugely personal with him and his self-esteem. He wasn’t happy until he could crawl inside his adversary’s brain and figure out 24
a strategy. One early spring day, back in the ’50s, he came home with a roll of gauze, some food color, string, a box of pearl tapioca—and headed for the kitchen stove. Humoring Mom, he announced he was going to make his own bait. My history with bait was those slithery earthworms we had to dig up. I was fascinated and asked to watch. In a pan of water tinted a shade of salmon by the food colors, he began cooking the pearl-sized
tapioca. When done, they were drained and cooled. He then cut the gauze into small squares. Taking one of them at a time, he added a few of the salmoncolored tapiocas into the center and tied them all up with the string. Amazed, I asked him what they were and he replied, “Fish eggs! Bait!” (Wow! I wondered if this was going to let me off the hook of scrunching those icky worms onto my hooks!) While Pennsylvania streams were our favorites, we always See Dad and Nature on page 26
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LIFE Dad and Nature continued from page 24
spent special time on Catherine Creek—just across the New York line. But for me, the favorite time with my family was the yearly trip to the Willoughby River and Lake in Vermont—usually a month later than in Pennsylvania. Dad couldn’t wait to take his bait there. He was planning to do battle with those large lake trout that sometimes weighed up to four pounds each. The limit per day was five pounds or eight fish. Two good-size fish might do it. Dad had just figured out how to get the best of the Pennsylvania rainbow trout and wanted to try out his strategy on the Vermont big boys. He felt smug enough to say to his Dad, “I bet you fifty cents against two dollars you’ll get at least a twenty-incher on the first day.” Granddad wasn’t so sure and took him on. On the home streams Dad knew that if he put the bait in the water and let it sink and flow in the stream’s current, the rainbow was curious enough that it would not strike, but just “nudge” the tapioca sack. If you could feel the nudge and yank your line at the same time, you could land the fish, but timing had to be impeccable. He was on the stream a total of thirty minutes when he had his limit. The other men across the stream had been there for two hours, and—nothing. Of course they were curious, asking what bait was used. They were shocked when dad said, “Tapioca.” While the fishermen from Pennsylvania and New York knew about tapioca, it was unheard of in Vermont. Because so much of the day was left, he decided he’d teach Granddad how to catch a rainbow. It was done in the middle of a dirt road with a rod and Granddad on the reel end and Dad on the bait end as the fish—a humorous sight! But Granddad learned the timing. They went back to the stream and within an hour Granddad also had the limit; and another disbelieving audience wanted to know what bait was used. Dad reminded Granddad of their bet and pocketed the two dollars. Granddad said it was the best money he ever lost. In the meantime, word spread like wildfire in Barton, and both its stores sold out of tapioca in a day. Patricia Brown Davis is a professional musician and memoirist seeking stories about the Wellsboro glass factory. Contact her at patd@ mountainhomemag.com.
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WELCOME TO
WILLIAMSPORT
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Jeff Kubina
If You Fill It, They Will Come A leap of faith (and good advice) supplies a pond with fish—and memories By Jo Charles
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long the rural stretch of dirt road where I live there are at least eleven ponds, one of which is mine. Most of these ponds are man-made and a few are the result of industrious beavers that have since left the area. Many are stream or spring fed. But our pond is a bit more unique. It is one of the few successful, life-sustaining ponds fed totally by rainfall run-off. Ponds are constructed for a variety of reasons: water for livestock and wildlife, fire protection, recreation, and reclamation of land that lies wet.
Regardless of the reason for construction, there is always apprehension during the excavating phase, especially when there is a lack of fresh flowing water. Will it evolve into a pond or simply be a hole filled with water? Construction of our pond was the first major project we undertook after purchasing the property. Looking back, it was a bit of a naïve leap of faith. Pond construction can be a tricky proposition. Too deep and you run the risk of breaking through the clay layer that will help to retain the water. Too
shallow and it won’t support fish and other aquatic life. We worked with various county agencies to survey the location for the pond. They designed the diversion channel that would collect and divert the rainwater into the pond and the opposing spillway that would carry the overflow into the woods. They offered recommendations for depth and provided other contact information to help move us in the right direction. I still remember our anticipation of the first rainfall after the excavating See If They Fill It on page 30
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If They Fill It continued from page 29
was complete. Would it hold water and be the recreational pond we had hoped for, or had we created a big muddy hole? Slowly, over many months and numerous rainfalls, the pond filled. We watched as the level remained constant with slight fluctuations during times of drought or excess rainfall. We fretted over how muddy it was and then rejoiced as the water cleared and grass began to grow in the diversion channel, helping to reduce the amount of sediment washing into the pond. Confident that we had a viable pond, we paid a visit to Zetts Fish Farm & Hatchery in Drifting, Pennsylvania, to purchase what I have always referred to as the pond “starter kit.” They were very helpful and provided recommendations for the types and quantities of aquatic life for our pond. We came home with boxes of snails and tadpoles, crayfish, and clams. The most successful fish in our pond have been bluegills and bullheads. Cattails self-seeded near the spillway, providing natural filtration as well as cover for red-winged blackbirds that return each spring to nest in the tall reeds. The pond and surrounding area are noisy in the spring with the sound of the peepers and in early summer with the croaking of the frogs. Pairs of Canada geese, and on occasion mallard ducks, visit the pond, but we don’t encourage them to stay. Over the years we have constructed a small dock, added a rowboat, and erected a pavilion at the edge of the pond. It has brought us more joy than we could have ever imagined. All of our grandchildren and many of our nieces and nephews caught their first fish in this pond and learned how to row a boat. The frog population has been a constant source of entertainment for the children. They will spend hours walking along the edge with little nets catching tadpoles, tiny fish, and large bullfrogs. After proudly displaying their catch, they carefully place them back in the pond and watch as they disappear back into the cover of the water. We have taught them to build rafts by lashing logs together and cheered as they used long poles to navigate on the rafts from one side of the pond to the other. Our pond is the focal point for so many family activities. A quiet, private recreational mecca where, surrounded by trees and fields of wildflowers, we can block out the outside world and enjoy a variety of activities with the children. It has far exceeded our expectations when we took that naïve leap of faith to construct a hole that filled with water and turned into a vibrant pond. Jo Charles is the pen name of a Tioga County resident who spent thirty years working in telecommunications. She enjoys traveling with her husband, planning family functions, cooking, canning, baking, and collecting recipes.
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WELCOME TO
CORNING’S GAFFER DISTRICT
The Lunker
Backwaters Back When
Tequask
By Fred Metarko
I
t was in the late nineteen-fifties and the weather outside the classroom was beautiful. Trout season had just started, and as we sat there looking out the window we could hear the fish calling us. The next morning, Darrell Dochstader and I were walking along Route 6, one hand with our thumbs in the air and the other carrying fishing rod and bait, headed toward the Galeton area. It didn’t take long and we were climbing into an ol’ rattling pickup. “Skipping school, huh?” the driver asked with a knowing glance. “Yep,” we replied (rather quietly) as we settled in. “Don’t blame you. It’s a good day for fishing,” he stated. The old gentleman seemed glad for our company as we rambled along. He talked a lot and asked many questions of us. He told stories of his fishing adventures, many quite comical. With each story we were given lessons about the art of angling. We were schooled on rods, reels, line, hooks, bait, sinkers, and even when and where to go. Finally we reached the off-road to Darrell’s grandfather’s camp. We thanked the kind fellow for the ride and fishing advice and headed up the dirt road to camp. 34
The warmth of the camp’s fire felt good, as Darrell’s grandpa greeted us. He was working on some equipment and offered us a chance to settle down for a spell. We were anxious to get started on catching some trout. He said, “Go right ahead, but I’ll wait till later when they’ll be biting.” We were out for hours and harvested only a few fish. Grandpa went for an hour or so and returned with a limit—and the limit was more back then. So we decided to go with him to learn his secret spots and techniques. During our visits he taught us a lot about stream fishing for trout. We improved our approach, presentation, and time on the water, which greatly increased our catch rate. He even showed us the little larvae you can find in the clumps of twigs that float in the backwaters of a stream. Back in school it was no secret why we were absent, and we were often asked, “How was the fishing?” It was no big deal—even a teacher asked how we did and where we went. Today if you skipped to go fishing your parents would get a call, and they would round you up and take you back to school. Then you would be suspended for having sharp hooks and a fishing knife in your pockets. (Although this would give you a few more days to get back on the water.) Many things have changed in fifty some years: school policies, fishing regulations, access to open water, water quality, costs related to the sport, and participation have all been affected through the years. My hope is that the opportunities to enjoy the experiences of being on the water and the sport of angling will exist for the future and for our grandchildren. Fred Metarko, The Lunker, is a member of the Tioga County Bass Anglers (www. tiogacountybassanglers.com).
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F I N G E R
L A K E S
Seneca Lake, from the deck of one of the new condominiums at Water Works Center in Watkins Glen. Developer Bruce Nelson (right) above the project at the old Municipal Light and Water Plant on Salt Point Road.
Water, Water Everywhere
On Seneca Lake, at the old water plant in Watkins Glen, Mr. Nelson builds your dream house Story and Photos by Olivia M. Hall
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ne look at the view was all it took. When Bruce Nelson climbed up to the rooftop of the former Municipal Light and Water Plant in Watkins Glen to see the deep blue waters of Seneca Lake spreading below, he knew he had found his next project. Since that day two years ago, Nelson has not only converted the historic structure—originally built in 1905— from a gutted shell into a fully occupied four-apartment residence with an in-house art gallery, but has taken his lake-inspired vision and run with it. Tw e l v e n e w l y c o n s t r u c t e d condominiums right next door are slated for completion in late spring, taking the Water Works Center project to a level that even local government 36
representatives had not anticipated when they first approached Nelson. “We’re extremely fortunate to have attracted Bruce Nelson as a developer in this county, where this is actually his third project (in addition to the recently restored Montour House and Broadway School in Montour Falls),” said Schuyler County Administrator Timothy O’Hearn. “His vision for the potential of the property exceeded ours.” Taking over a failed attempt by another developer to breathe new life into the building with the help of a Restore New York grant, Nelson brought the experience of some thirty years in construction and a decade in property development, as well as additional, private funding to bear.
“Historic preservation is a niche, a little risky,” he said. “A lot of people think, oh, I can get this building so cheap, but they don’t know what they’re getting into, and next thing you know they’re broke and the job just collapses. But if we do it right, these places will be here long after we’re gone.” Nelson, who works out of Vestal, certainly hopes that the new condos will stand the test of time alongside the water works building. “The property goes much farther than the historic building, so what were we going to do, have a giant parking lot?” he laughed. “We wanted to do something with it, have some fun.” And so he did, playing with the lakeside’s challenging but attractive topography. Each sixteen-foot-wide
FINGER LAKES
condo sits with its back just yards away from a shale wall, the top half of the building poking up above street level like the tip of an iceberg. A wooden footbridge from Salt Point Road leads up to the front door into the midsection of each home. Two floors down, level with the lake, a glass door opens to a tiny patio bounded by the bottom of the rock face—according to Nelson, the perfect shady place to cool down on a hot summer day. The opposite, eastern wall of the condo, is made almost entirely of glass and stainless steel, showing off views of the lake from every one of the three split levels. A rooftop patio, a main level deck, a Juliet balcony in the master bedroom, and direct access from the ground floor to the lakefront further blur the lines between inside and outside. The condos are available in two different sizes, 1,867 and 2,102 square feet, and three interior design schemes with such sunny names as Santa Barbara, Del Rey, and Charleston. “As far as features go, no corner was cut,” said project manager Michael Hill, proudly pointing out Delta plumbing and Kichler lighting fixtures, hardwood floors, custom cabinetry, a glass light shaft between two floors, and a passthrough bar to the rooftop deck. Starting at around $375,000, the condos will officially launch onto the market in May, though two units have already been sold. “Our target demographic is people who are looking for an active lifestyle on the lake,” Hill said. “We’re providing something that to this point the Finger Lakes region has been unable to deliver. With homeowner’s association dues covering maintenance, your biggest burden is to figure out how to enjoy 600 feet of lakefront.” Some local teenagers fishing off the side of the development’s large dock on a recent sunny day had the right idea. In addition, each condo will have its own boat slip, separated from the buildings by a single-track railroad, on which
short freight trains crawl by a couple of times a week. But the Water Works Center is only the beginning. As part of Project Seneca, it represents the vanguard of an ambitious partnership between the county, the villages of Watkins Glen and Montour Falls, and private investors such as Nelson. Set to spend $200 million in order to generate $1 billion worth of investment around the lakefront and canal, they hope to further heighten the attractiveness of an area that already draws some two million visitors a year with its well-known state park, racetrack, and wineries. The Water Works project is a clear visual expression of what true potential the Seneca lakefront offers for development,” said Rebekah LaMoreaux, CEO of the Watkins Glen Chamber of Commerce. “We enjoy partnering with Bruce and his team, as he is a true visionary.” Nelson, for his part, is happy to work with the community. “That’s part of what we do with historic preservation,” he said. “The buildings are part of the local fabric.” He has issued a standing invitation to the public to come see what is new at the Water Works Center (www. waterworkscondos.com) every second Friday of the month from 6 to 8 p.m., and this month that open house will be on April 11. And judging from Rebekah LaMoreaux’s reaction to the views from the rooftops, his visitors might be inspired by the same enthusiasm that first got Nelson involved in the project: “Wow!” she said. “It’s stunning, breathtaking, beyond my imagination!” First-time contributing writer Olivia M. Hall is a freelance writer and anthropologist based in Ithaca, NY. Her stories and photography have appeared in such publications as the Vegetarian Times and Edible Finger Lakes.
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FOOD
Fish Made Easy Oven, grill, or—gasp—microwave, there’s nothing hard about cooking a delicate fish By Cornelius O'Donnell
D
on’t get me wrong, I quite enjoy heading out to a favorite fish fry place on a Friday to ponder the eternal question: should it be batter-fried, breaded (maybe Italianseasoned crumbs), or broiled? At least with the crumb coating there is the chance that the fish will emerge moist and flavorful. Anointed with a squeeze of fresh lemon it’s mighty good. And I really don’t want to deep fry at home. The temperature of the oil has to be just right and then maintained. It’s tricky, and restaurant chefs (should) know how to do that. Besides, my vent
system just can’t eliminate fish aroma. When I order the broiled fish, however, I have to emphasize to the waitperson that I prefer it slightly undercooked: it will finish cooking on the plate on its way to our table. Sometimes this works, sometimes not. So I’d rather have an occasional breaded and fried fish at a restaurant and save the simplest presentation for my kitchen, grill, or—yes—microwave oven at home. Thanks to years of experience I’d like to pass along the most useful tip I ever learned from the years of my
association with James Beard, he who was christened “The Passionate Pasha of Food” by Life magazine way back when. (And, you know, he looked every inch a pasha, being quite tall, quite wide, and cue-ball bald—all in all a very imposing guy with a vast knowledge of things culinary.) Fillets First Have you ever wanted to make a fish stock for a seafood stew or a warming soup? You find a recipe and it probably includes fish bones, trimmings, and even fish heads. Now See Fish Made Easy on page 40 39
Fish Made Easy continued from page 39
try to find these things even in the top local markets. Zero and zilch. That’s because most of the fish in our stores comes in and is sold already filleted. So let me concentrate this little essay on fillets and fish steaks, also available and ready to carry home and cook. (I have friends who live in outlying areas a bit of a drive away from the store. When they shop for fish it is with an insulated bag with ice packs, to insure the fish stays as chilled as possible.) What’s Available? The variety of fish in markets varies with the part of the country and the season. With fast shipping you might find the catch from—who knows where? A seller will identify the source. You might find these usual suspects in the case: salmon, flounder, sole, haddock, perch (perhaps?), trout, red snapper, sea bass, striped bass, blue fish, tilapia, monk fish, pollock, and mackerel are varieties I most often see, and each have their devotees. If you are new to buying and cooking fish, keep a simple log and enter your (and your family’s) impressions of each type and how long it was cooked. When you read a little further along about the easy method of cooking fillets, you might find yourself enjoying fish more often. And you know about the benefits of that. Buying When buying fish I rely on the seller to help me choose the pick of the lot that day. And make sure the fish in the seafood case is atop a bed of chopped ice. How much to buy? Beard recommends between a third- to a half-pound fillet per serving. Heck, I might cook a little bit more and have the leftovers the next day served atop some mixed greens and anointed with a doctored-up mayo, the doctoring being some added chopped dill or tarragon and some capers and maybe little cubes of peeled red or yellow bell peppers. Go for it. One Simple, Reliable Cooking Rule I love that phrase, “I heard the facts and the scales fell away from my eyes!” How appropriate when we talk fish cookery. I remember Beard telling the cooking class that he had picked up a method of cooking espoused by none other than the Canadian Fisheries Board. Here it is, in boldface, and I quote from The New James Beard Cookbook—a volume that belongs on every good cook’s shelf: “According to the size of the fish and whether it is flat, like flounder, or round, like cod, the thickness will vary from 1/3 up to 1 ½ inches or even more. No matter…there See Fish Made Easy on page 42 40
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Fish Made Easy continued from page 40
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is one simple, reliable rule for broiling, sautéing, or poaching fillets or, for that matter, steaks or whole fish: “Measure the depth of the fillet at the thickest point (from underside to top side) and cook 10 minutes per inch or fraction thereof. "If the fish measures one-and-aquarter inches, cooking time will be just over twelve minutes (OK, make it thirteen!!). Beard then goes on: “If the fillets are thicker in the center than at the ends, cut down a little on the cooking time or the ends will be overdone.” I get around this with my own method that I also strongly advise when cooking fish in the microwave (a splendid method by the way). Simply tuck the thinner end under the fish so you have a more or less even “package.” And, by the way, allow five minutes per inch and use 100 percent power for thin fillets and 50 percent power for thicker when microwaving and use only thawed fish. The microwave keeps the fish nicely moist, so loosely cover with paper towel (thin fillets) or wax paper (thicker). Do not salt fish before microwaving and remove the fish the instant it turns opaque; any area not quite “done” in the center of a large piece will finish cooking as the fish stands. Another thought: try cooking the fish (or start cooking it) with the smooth side down and the skinnedside up. Also, turning thin fillets is precarious—just cook on one side and use a wide spatula to retrieve the fish when done. Sides The most popular sides for fish on restaurant menus seem to be mac and cheese and coleslaw. At home, don’t let the nutrition police catch you tossing fish sticks in the oven, grabbing a who-knows-how-old container of store-bought coleslaw, and making do with a boxed macaroni
and mystery-cheese concoction. There are wonderful recipes for the pasta all over the place (try Beard), worth just that little bit of effort. As for the coleslaw—and while on the subject of James Beard—here’s one of his recipes that I have used for years and years. He learned it from the Chinese chef at his mother’s residential hotel in Portland, Oregon. I found it in his autobiographical book Delights and Prejudices. It is a delight, and perfectly accents that glorious fish you made. Billy’s Coleslaw This serves 4 to 6 and I also love to use it to top cold-cut sandwiches. ½ cup olive oil 2 tablespoons flour ½ teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons dry mustard Dash Tabasco 6 tablespoons sugar (I use 3 to 4) ½ cup red wine vinegar (I sometimes use champagne vinegar) 1 cup heavy cream mixed with 2 egg yolks and ½ teaspoon ground white (or black) pepper 1 medium cabbage Heat the oil in a heavy skillet or sauté pan; add the flour, and blend well. Add the salt, mustard, Tabasco, sugar, and vinegar. Stir until thickened. Remove from heat and let this slightly cool for about 1-2 minutes. Vigorously and gradually stir about ¼ cup of the hot oil mixture into the egg-cream mixture, and then pour this combo into the oil mixture. Shred the cabbage very thin and combine with the hot dressing. Cool and chill several hours. If the dressing is too thick, mix with a little more heavy cream or with a touch of mayonnaise. Chef, teacher, and author Cornelius O'Donnell lives in Elmira, New York.
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W h e n t h e mayflies hatch, feeding the trout, Finkbiner will be looking for the brown trout that inflate him with so much pride. He hopes to see an expanded area where anglers can enjoy the bounty of the river. He feels all the more buoyed, all the more emboldened by conviction knowing that Brock is in his corner. Finkbiner says, “When you leave, when you pass away you have to leave something behind for future generations and Bill is instrumental in its growth. Bill is a pretty decent human. He wants things better for the next generation.” Brock wishes he could approach every day at the brewery the way he approaches a trout stream. He finds a surprising amount of overlap between the two. Fly-fishing teaches him, informs him. Fly-fishing teaches him to let go, to remain in the moment. Patience, if he makes a mistake he loses the fish. It teaches humility. “You can’t take yourself too seriously,” Brock says. “The higher you are on the horse, the harder the fall will be.” Come May when Brock will be out on Pine Creek with his friends, maybe having cast his wristwatch aside, letting the water wash away the worry. He’ll be wading in a thriving ecosystem, a tangled web of bugs and brown trout. Below the water’s surface they swim “polished and muscular and torsional.” It may find the fly, but like Brock says, “It’s called fishing, not catching.” There he’ll stand with the rising sun at his back, basking in nature, casting a fly into the west. Mountain Home contributor Brendan O’Meara, of Saratoga, NY, is the author of Six Weeks in Saratoga: How ThreeYear-Old Filly Rachel Alexandra Beat the Boys and Became Horse of the Year. 48
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legacy in the hands of his sons. “Today we do a better job committing to our history,” Brock says. “It’s impressive to be a one hundred forty-year-old brewery owned by one family.”
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SERVICE DIRECTORY Stronger Waters continued from page 16
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B A C K O F T H E M O U N TA I N
It’s Spring...I Told You So Photo by Sarah Wagaman Fishing season has such significance to me, as that was one of my father’s most favorite past times. Each April he eagerly anticipated the first day as he dug worms and tweaked his fishing pole. Every single day during fishing season he would dash home from work, change into his fishing boots, and away he went! The fruits of his efforts meant a sink full of trout for mother to fry or freeze. My memories of fishing season are that of my father. This photo I snapped on Pine Creek of a local angler reminds me of simple pleasures untainted by busyness, technology, and/or the never-ending “to do” list—simple pleasure and the art of enjoyment. - S.W.
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