The Barefoot Kitchen Witch

Opening Day Salmon Cakes

They're named "Opening Day Salmon Cakes" because they were made with the last of the salmon that Bill and Joe caught on Opening Day of Trout Season in RI. 

We had most of the 21" salmon left, and I carefully picked all the flesh off the bones (and picked the smaller bones out of the flesh) and broke it into smallish pieces.

All told, there were about two cups of fish to work with.

We also had leftover wild rice from the previous night, so I mixed that in with the fish.  There was about a cup and a half of the rice.

I also used a shallot, the juice of one lemon, and some Ritz crackers (about 8-10) that Julia helpfully smashed up for me with a meat tenderizer.  I worked all of that together and then melted about 5 T butter and mixed that in to help moisten the crackers and add a little more flavor.  Then I tasted it, added some ground black pepper, and finally, added in two eggs to help bind it all together.  I let the mixture sit for about five minutes to let the crackers finish absorbing the liquids, and then I rolled the mixture into balls roughly the size of small lemons (only round). 

**If you find that the mixture is too goopy and can't be rolled, add a little more cracker crumbs or bread crumbs.  If the mixture is too dry and crumbly, add some more liquid - lemon juice, melted butter, another egg, water - it's up to you.

I rolled the balls in flour and set them aside while I heated about a half inch of vegetable oil in a large pan.  When the oil was hot enough (flick some water into the oil - if the oil sizzles immediately, it's ready) I put some of the balls in the pan, leaving plenty of space around them, and pressed them down a bit to form patties (or cakes).  After a few minutes, once the undersides were nicely golden brown, I carefully turned the fish cakes over to finish cooking on the other side. 

Once they were cooked through, I transferred them to a plate with several layers of paper towel to drain, and kept the plate in the warming drawer of my oven until all the fish cakes had been cooked.

I have to say these were really tasty.  The smoky flavor from the grilled salmon and the bite of the minced shallot worked nicely together.  The kids ate them dunked in ketchup, or with a dollop of guacamole on top.  I also made a little spicy sauce for Bill and I, which consisted of some mayo, lime juice, sriracha, minced basil in olive oil (from my freezer, from last year's garden), salt, and pepper. 

 

The heat from the sriracha, sweetness from the basil, the smokiness of the fish, chewy texture of the rice, and the creamy, mild flavor of the guacamole... 

...it was divine.

Opening Day of Trout Season - The Return

This is the face of a triumphant fisherman. 

The face of a man who has had good Opening Days and bad Opening Days, and who now has had an Amazing Opening Day and who has photos to prove it. 

He looks ready to tell you ALL about it, doesn't he?  Every tiny detail. 

And that's fair enough, because it really was an amazing catch.

They brought home 7 fish:  5 trout (4 rainbow and a brookie) and 2 landlocked salmon.  One salmon was 27 inches long and weighed 5.53 lbs.  The other was 21 inches long and weighed probably 3+ lbs, but we didn't weigh that one separately.

You can see a ton of pictures here - there are just too many to post here and it would have taken forever for me to decide which few to use. 

The guys brought the fish to our house, and after letting the kids hold them and taking the requisite Triumphant Fishermen Shots of them holding all the fish on stringers, like so:

(That's Bill up above.)  (And this is Joe, below.)

   

and hosing them (the fish, not the kids) down in the back yard and taking impressive pictures like this:

and showing the catch to our friends across the street...

it was finally time to bring the catch inside, weigh them, clean them, and cook them.

This is the 27 inch trout on the scale.  Joe caught him. 

And you can see Alex's arm - he was holding his camera, taking pictures of the event, too.

Like I mentioned earlier, this fish weighed 5.53 lbs. 

All together, they brought home somewhere between 14-15 lbs of fish. 

We didn't get an exact weight, as we didn't weigh each fish individually. 

We just kept adding the fish to the bowl, and after we put the last one in, the scale shut off - it doesn't go past 14 lbs.

Bill said they actually caught more, but they let the others go.

You can take home 10 fish per person, but unless you've got a lot of mouths to feed, it's kind of wasteful to do that.

We ate fish for 3 days.  Which is fine, because we all like fish, and we cooked it in different ways.  And Joe took some home, and we gave some to our friends across the street.  So there was WAY more than enough fish.  It would have been greedy and wasteful to keep more.

But anyway.

I'll spare you all the gory photos of Bill and Joe gutting the fish.  For some reason, I took many pictures of the process.  It's probably a reflex.

The kids watched a bit (including one of the boys from across the street), but it got old for them and they went off to do other things.

The larger of the two salmon was actually a female - and she had eggs.  We kept them and later on I sauteed them in a bit of butter and served them over rice.

Here they are, before I cooked them:   

I also took pictures of the fish after they'd been cleaned and placed in a big bowl.

I just like the textures and patterns and all that.

Bill cooked the fish two ways. 

First, while he was cleaning them, he filleted two of the trout and cut the fillets into smaller pieces.

Then he laid them out on a foil-lined baking sheet, brushed them with a bit of soy sauce, put them under the broiler, and cooked them for a few minutes.

(While Bill was cooking, Joe, who'd had less than 2 hours' sleep the night before, was trying to rest in the back yard, and my children were torturing him.)

Inside, Bill made some sushi rice...

And combined them into bite-sized portions on a pretty bamboo platter I bought recently for just this sort of meal.

And then topped them with a delicious, syrupy, teriyaki-ish Japanese barbecue sauce that I have to dig out the recipe for so I can share it with you because it is SO yummy.  It's like when you have the barbecued eel at a sushi bar.  That dark brown glaze.

And the other 5 fish (3 trout, 2 salmon) were rubbed with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and cooked on the grill.

And I sauteed the salmon roe in a bit of butter.

And then - we ate.

 

And, of course, Julia ate the eyes.

And she didn't just eat them - she CALLED them before she was served.  "Can I have my fish eyes?"
or something like that. 

(Sorry, Beth!)

Warning:  Graphic photos of my daughter digging out fish eyes and eating them are on the next page, if you're really interested.

   

Opening Day of Trout Season 2008 - The Catch

That's 5 trout (4 rainbow and 1 brook), and two atlantic salmon.  Joe caught the longest one - it was 27" long and weighed 5.53 lbs.  Bill caught the other salmon - it's 21" - and he had another one on, about the same size, but it dove under the boat and got off the hook.

I'll write more tomorrow - and show more pictures.  It's been a busy weekend!

Opening Day of Trout Season 2008 - Report from the Field (or Pond)

Bill just called.

So far they've got two salmon (one is 21" and about 3 lbs, the other is 27" and about 6 lbs) and 5 trout on the stringers.  (The 27" salmon gets his own stringer.) 

They were on shore when they called, waiting out the thunderstorms that have been coming east from Connecticut.  It's pouring rain here, in Warwick, now.  They're closer to the CT border and Bill said it was starting to clear up, so they were going to stay a while longer.

But still - what a great morning so far!

Opening Day of Trout Season 2008 - The Leaving

The truck was loaded up yesterday - canoe secured on top, tackle box, boat motor, oar, life jackets, anchor (a heavy disk tied to some kind of strong rope), a trash bag in which to stow the catch when carrying it from canoe to truck, and, of course, the freshwater poles.

I went to bed right around the time the Yankees bumped the score up again...Timlin had thrown a few pitches and then they brought in Okajima, and Bill followed soon after.  I had to set the alarm for the Opening Day of Trout Season Ungodly Hour of Awakening.  Ten past four.  (So I could hit the alarm twice and not be OVERsleeping.  Or, more importantly, not allowing Bill to oversleep.  Yes, I am custodian of the alarm clock, and of the wake-up calls.  Or nudges.  Or shoves.  Or mumbles.

Naturally Julia, being unsympathetic to anyone's lack of sleep but her own, woke up twice during the night.  First time, she had woken up and couldn't find her elephant (THE most important stuffed animal) so I turned the night light in the bathroom so I could see without waking anyone else up, found the elephant, and then she wanted to sleep in my bed.  And I said no, THIS was her bed, her big-girl bed, and THIS is where she sleeps.  Of course that went over well, and she sank to the floor and wailed, and so - mindful of Bill's need for a decent night's sleep prior to Opening Day of Trout Season - I hissed "Wanna watch a cooking show?" and she lifted her tearful face from her little purple bedside rug and said - at top volume "I can watch a cooking show?"  I shushed her and picked her up and carried her downstairs and turned on the food channel (Alton Brown doing a show about vinegar) and she fell asleep almost instantly, but I watched the rest of his show anyway, dozed off, woke up during one of this week's "Chefography" profiles (Bobby Flay) and watched the rest of that before bringing her heavy, deeply asleep little body (and elephant) back up to her bed.  That started oh, maybe after 12:30 last night?  Wait, I can check, hang on......................okay, so that Alton Brown episode aired at 11:00 and at 2:00 last night/this morning.....okay, it had to have been the 11:00 one - that's right, and then an episode of Unwrapped or something came on - I slept through that - and then the Bobby Flay episode at midnight.  Good.  Apparently I could not continue with my story until I had that straightened out.  Anyway, after the Bobby Flay story, which I enjoyed - I am a big fan - I carried Julia back to bed and then put myself back to bed, too.  She was up again around three - I woke to the sound of her heels slamming against the floor as she marched from her room to mine.  She will be an  imposing boss somewhere some day.  Anyway, she just climbed up into our bed, shifted around a bit to get comfortable, dozed there briefly and then whispered "I wanna go back in MY bed now."  (YAY!!!!) So I tucked her back in and went back to my bed for the brief horizontal time remaining to me.

While I was awake, I listened to the rain pouring down heavily.  So glad I wasn't one of the followers of Trout.  Yes, you might think it's nutty of me to even get up to fix Bill breakfast and see him off on these yearly pilgrimages, but I've done it for so long that I fear it would jinx things for him if I stopped.  (The Fish Gods smile on tradition.)  So I continue. 

Actually, we were both pretty well rested this morning.  Bill got up ten minutes earlier than planned, even.

He mad the coffee.  I made the Opening Day of Trout Season Traditional Morning Breakfast for Bill Sandwich.  Simply - a toasted english muffin, an over-easy egg, a slice of ham, and a slice of cheese, salt and pepper. 

 

Yes, that english muffin IS toasted.  Bill doesn't like his english muffins toasted too much.

I also made one for Joe, his nephew, and this year's Opening Day of Trout Season fishing buddy.  It seems to alternate between Joe and Bill's friend John.

Anyway.  I took that picture of the egg sandwich in the dining room.  Bill was fixing the coffee, and he saw the flash go off and asked "Are you chronicling my morning?"  Who, me?

I took a couple other pictures - not of him; he doesn't like having his picture taken and his fake smile resembles a sneer, and who needs that at this hour of the day?

In the picture above we have...his lucky fishing hat.  Keys.  Meal worms for the classic "worm and a dauber" setup.  And that plastic container is to hook on his belt or pocket or waistband and in it he can put a few lures and hooks and whatever while he's fishing in a river - nice and convenient and no need to lug a tackle box.  Oh, and that little purple plastic heart thing is Julia's.  It was the weight for her Barbie fishing pole (a pole that is no more, because someone in my house has occasional frustration-management issues and somehow instead of having new line put on, the reel and pole were broken.  But that person also had to suffer the invisible pain of bits of fiberglass stuck in his hands, from when he broke the pole, so maybe he'll think twice before SNAPPING HIS DAUGHTER'S FISHING POLE IN TWO JUST BECAUSE THE CHEAP REEL IS PISSING HIM OFF.)  Anyway.  She has a new rod and reel - NOT of the Barbie variety - and is all set.

And finally...off he goes into the damp, dark, still morning.  Several layers on - jeans, a shirt, a sweatshirt, a coat, and over everything, his rain gear.  Boots.  Gloves.  It wasn't raining when he left - actually, it was pretty nice outside. 

I waved as he drove away.  Because that's part of the tradition.  And, like I said, the Fish Gods heartily approve of tradition.

And it wouldn't do to anger the Fish Gods. 

Opening Day (of Trout Season) Recap

It was a successful day, though not as successful as they had hoped.  Only four trout caught - two each, though, so at least they were even.

Still - no matter that it was only four - it was still FOUR! and made for a good lunch.  Bill got the Weber going and soaked some wood chips.  He just drizzled the fish with olive oil and sprinkled salt and pepper on them.  With a side of jasmine rice....delicious.

If you go here, you can take a look at some of the images from that day, once Bill and John returned home.

Both my kids love seafood, and Julia was not particularly happy when Bill put a whole smoked trout on Alex's plate and just picked some of the tail meat (which has the fewest bones) off and put it on her plate. 

"I want one like Alex!" Julia pouted.  So I peeled the head, spine, and tail off the meat on my plate and gave it to her.  And that was enough. 

She paid no attention to the flesh Bill had already put on her plate.  It was more fun to explore the remains.

(Beth, if you're reading this, you might want to stop now...I don't think you'll be pleased with what's coming next.)

If you notice in the photos taken after the fish were cooked, you can see that the eyes...well...they cook into little white balls and pop out and sit atop the rest of the eye area.  Sorry - but they do. 

And...Julia ate the eyes.  At least two of them.  And then she took the remaining bit of goop from the eye socket and smushed it around between her fingers and asked if she could eat that too.

And there you have it.  My daughter ate fish eyes.  Happily.  And with gusto.  Of course, in plenty of other cultures the fish eyes are delicacies.  So...she is just...culturally advanced.

Alex just went for the flesh, and he was very good at picking it apart to get out the tiny little bones that run through most of the flesh along the rib cage.  He ate about half of his fish and mostly all of the rice. 

No eyes for him, though.

Opening Day Dawning

It's not five thirty yet as I begin to write this.

We - Bill and I - got up at 4:30. 

It is OPENING DAY OF TROUT SEASON IN RHODE ISLAND and so Bill and his best friend, John, are off to catch their limit.  They left the house at five.  As they were going out the door, I heard Julia on the monitor..."mommy....mommy...mommy."

And I was not the least bit surprised.

She was also up at twenty past twelve...eleven past two...sixteen past three...and again around four, I think, though sometimes I believe I sleepwalk through some of her waking times.

I don't believe this is ever going to end. 

But anyway.  The boys men left and I waited a few moments to see if Julia would just go back to sleep.  She got quiet, so I poured some coffee and switched on my laptop.  Within minutes, she was awake for real.

I got up, got her something to drink, and let her lie with me (and the imaginary Daddy that I pretended was there sleeping) a couple minutes.  And all the while, I pretended that it was the middle of the night.  Which, since it's still dark out, wasn't too difficult. 

I put her back in her crib, covered her up with her three blankets (the blue care bear one from Auntie Diane...the yellow one...and the nice, soft, purple one), gave her a kiss, switched on her music box thing, and tiptoed out of the room.

"Be careful going in your bed, Mommy!" she stage-whispered to me as I shut the door.

"I will!" I stage-whispered back.  And crept down the stairs, staying to the edges, where there is less creaking.  The sound of her music box would cover up any of the minimal, unavoidable creaking that happens no matter where you step.

And I got my coffee.  Got my laptop.  And now am sitting here in the darkness, in the living room, on the loveseat by the front window.  And I hear her even breathing on the monitor, so I am hopeful that I will have a few more minutes after I finish this post.

Right after the music ended, I heard her whisper to Alex..."Alex!" "What." (I am amazed he even woke up for that - he sleeps through just about everything except her angry screaming.) "Be careful on your bed, okay?"

The sky is getting lighter.  Earlier, before John arrived, I moved my car out into the street so it would be out of the way of the truck when the guys left later.  Bill would have moved it for me, but I wanted to go out.  I love that early morning quiet. 

I went out barefoot - it's quieter than wearing boots - like that even matters - and the paved driveway felt cold but not unbearable.  The sky was cloudless and filled with stars.  I could see Ursa Major and Ursa Minor just above our neighbor's house.

DAMN THE GUY DOWN THE STREET AND HIS CAR ALARM!!!!!!!!!!  (that wasn't while I was outside, that is NOW, and now Julia is awake and sounding eager to begin her day.  DRAT!!!)

Anyway - cloudless, stars, peaceful, blah blah blah.  Well, it was really nice.  A lone cardinal calling out to anyone who might be listening....

...........

Well.  I'm two for two this morning.  Julia had to go potty.  I went into her dark room, picked her up out of the crib and heard a crinkly papery sound.  And as she said "that's my pull-up" I realized she was, indeed, completely undressed.

"I don't want my pull-up," she told me in the bathroom.  "Just my elephant and my bum."

"Just go potty." I said.

Her elephant is a floppy, pink creature that she will no doubt need in college in order to get to sleep.  It is her Linus blanket.  Her Maggie binky.  Her...well, her elephant.

Her bum needs no explanation. 

And amazingly, when she was finished, she went back to her crib without a fuss.  The music box is still running, so who knows what will happen when it finishes.  But for now, I have typing time.

It's getting lighter outside, of course. 

It's almost six.  Look out, trout.  Their tranquility will be ending shortly.

As will mine.

Trout

Yesterday, for those of you not up on these things, was, as I have stated before, my husband's High Holy Day.  In other words, Opening Day of Trout Season in Rhode Island.  I've written about it before - if you care to learn all about the rites and rituals involved, this old post should fill you in.

Bill went with his friend John this year.  They caught 11 trout all together.  The limit is 6 per person.  Bill caught 10 of them, John caught one.  Same canoe, same kinds of bait, fishing in the same spot.  And they were just drifting, using power bait (which stinks like anything but it smells quite appetizing to hungry trout) and waiting to feel a bite.  So it's not like John did anything wrong...except that he dissed the Fish Gods.

You laugh, but I have seen proof of it before, and I have no doubt that this is what happened to him this year.  The fact that before he insulted the Fish Gods he had caught a trout and after his blaspheming he caught no more is indisputable.  So what other conclusion can be drawn?  Bill, on the other hand, was prepped and ready to go the night before, as he always is...and he was even going while terribly sick with bronchitis, or something like it, sacrificing his health in his devotion to the Fish Gods.  He is truly devout. 

He and John had made their plans earlier in the week.  John was to arrive at our house at 4:30.  Since this is John, and time runs on a different clock in his world, Bill figured he'd get to our house at 4:45.  It was later.  But before that, I'd say at approximately 4:27, Bill started the annual Fuming About John and How Late He Always Is and If John Is Not Here By Ten Past Five I'm Leaving thing.  He does this every year - or actually every time he and John make plans to go fishing - or plans to brew an all grain batch of beer, too - that involve John arriving at a precise time of day.

Well, John arrived a few minutes before five, so after hazing him a bit, Bill handed John a mug of coffee and they were on their way. 

The disrespect part came while out on the water.  John had caught a trout, and somehow they ended up talking again about how John was on the verge of being late and upsetting the Fish Gods, and John said something along the lines of "F*** the Fish Gods!" and "I spit on the Fish Gods!"  I don't know how accurate that is, but the sentiment is there anyway.  Well, it's lucky for John that the number of The Fishing Faithful far outnumbered him and his sinful words.  Otherwise the thunder would have rumbled, lightening would have struck John, and all the trout stocked in the pond would have dragged him into the water and feasted upon his charred flesh. 

So instead of wrecking the fishing for everyone else yesterday, the Fishing Gods just cursed John and caused the power bait on his line to smell like DANGER DANGER DANGER to the trout, and so they did not go near it but instead were tempted by the power bait of Bill, which smelled like...oh...like grilled trout smells to me.  VERY VERY YUMMY.

And that's what we had for dinner.  (Bill and John had it for lunch too, but I wasn't home.)  Grilled trout.  With some wood chips in the grill to create some smoke.  The flavor was fabulous.  Had that with some spaghetti that I tossed with spinach that I'd sauteed in olive oil and a little puree of roasted garlic...some salt and pepper and tarragon, and some grated aged Asiago cheese.  The only downside of the evening was after I'd swallowed my last bite of trout.  I missed a bone.  Trout have lots of very very thin bones that you either have to pick out ahead of time or resign yourself to picking out while you eat.  I missed one.  I felt it in my throat, on the right side, not very far down but too far to do anything about without triggering a very violent gagging reflex.  So I tried eating more spaghetti, in big mouthfuls, to try to grab the bone from wherever it was lodged and drag it down the rest of the way.  Then I drank big gulps of Reisling, which didn't help either but I'm sure contributed to the little headache I had when Julia woke me up at 4:15.  Finally, somehow, the sharp little pricking sensation went away, so I didn't have to worry about somehow choking to death or bleeding to death in the middle of the night.  Not that I really think that would have happened but I like a good worry before I drop off to sleep, don't you?

So that was yesterday.  But I left out one part.  My BIG PLAN, for myself, for that morning, was to spend the time between Bill leaving and the kids waking up as time FOR ME.  Time to sit and read the "Tastings" column in Friday's Wall Street Journal because I didn't get a chance to on Friday...drink some coffee at a leisurely pace...maybe write in this oft-neglected blog...or whatever.  But just some quiet time for me.  And the kids have been waking up around 6:00 lately, so I figured I'd have an hour, and that would be a nice start to my day.  (Oh, and yes, I was up at 4:00 with Bill because MY role, in the rites and rituals of Opening Day, in case you didn't read the old post I linked to in that first paragraph up there, is to make the traditional Fried Egg and Cheese and Ham on An English Muffin sandwich for Bill - and for John if he is on time and therefore Deserving of It.)

Well, like they say, the best laid plans...Julia was AWAKE at about 4:30.  She was very happy to hang out with her beloved Da Da! for a while.  And then Alex woke up at 5:04 - minutes after Bill left.  So no free time for me yesterday morning.  Ah well.  I got my hair cut and my eyebrows waxed yesterday afternoon, and my sister watched my kids for me, so that counts as quality time for myself.  I certainly look a tiny bit better than I did before.  Every little bit helps.

So that's about it for the moment.  Bill's rehearsing with a colleague for a faculty recital on Thursday...Julia is taking a nap...Alex is in the living room playing with Legos and talking to himself.  I hope to be able to post again today...we'll see!

Opening Day

I think I pointed out in my last post that this coming Saturday is Opening Day of Trout Season here in the state of Rhode Island. It is my husband's Holy Day. (This is the day which the Lord, God hath made...we shall be glad and make sure we have purchased our fishing licenses for the year - with the trout stamp - well before 6:00 am on the morning of Opening Day)

Anyway, this is the post from last year. Alex is older, so I'm not sure if I'll have the opportunity to write this year as I did then.

So, here goes...

(from my old blog)

For those of you who weren't born into and didn't marry into the same religion as my husband, today is the most holy day of the year.

Today is the second Saturday in April...Opening Day of Trout Season in Rhode Island.

Last night my husband carefully and reverently loaded my car (his is having ignition problems) with the various articles necessary for today's activities: two fresh-water poles with 6-pound-test line, tackle box, smaller trout-specific tackle box, net, new spinner bait lures he bought last night, new cushions for the canoe while it is held aloft on top of my car on the journey to Mecca - I mean Carbunkle Pond...., rain gear for himself and his nephew, Joe (Joe's using my rain gear), straps to hold the canoe on the car, a blanket to put on top of the car but beneath the cushions and the canoe, a garbage bag for the day's catch, a stringer, the canoe motor and battery (Carbunkle is pretty big, and it's not a whole lot of fun paddling when there are 50,000 other pilgrims out there looking to catch the same 6 trout you're after)...a paddle, just in case...life jackets (required by law), current fishing licenses with trout stamps, gloves, and meal worms.

I think that's everything. I didn't convert when we got married, so I only have a small part in the Opening Day activities.

This morning we were all up by 4:30 am, except Alex, who is too young to participate...he will be baptized when he is old enough to fully grasp the seriousness of this day - it is not fishing for fun, like the pagans (Mommy) do. This morning's venture is a mission from the god of fishing. It is to be treated with the utmost respect and reverence. If it is cold and raining (like it is today), too bad. There will be no going home until the limit has been caught, until the clouds part and the angels sing, until nirvana is reached, until...well, something like that. But there's definitely no going home without fish.

While my husband and Joe put the last few things into the car, and put the canoe on top, I started the coffee and made them the traditional Opening Day breakfast. Fried egg on an english muffin. With melted cheese. And this year - slices of pepperoni that had been warmed in the pan while the eggs were cooking. This is my contribution to the day. I know, I know, some of you (Mom, Meredith) think I am nuts to bother getting up and feeding them if I'm not going anywhere myself...and it's probably true. But I do it anyway.

Maybe it's for luck ("Luck? We don't need luck, foolish woman! We have powerbait! We have spinners! We have meal worms! We don't need luck!")...or maybe it's because I like to fish too. Just not on opening day. I lack the faith and devotion that oozes from my husband's pores. I will want to go home and be warm.

So anyway, they should be arriving at Carbunkle Pond any moment now. (It is 5:48 at this moment.) It is a cold, wet morning. We had a lot of rain last night, and I think it's supposed to rain this morning on and off as well. But that's okay. Rain is not a bad thing when you're fishing for trout. Much better to have rain, or at least a dark, overcast sky, than bright sun. Bright sun will cast shadows on the water, and nothing makes a suspicious trout decide to stay right where he is than the shadowy shape of a canoe and two tall men with poles and a net directly above. So this morning's weather is a good thing. It will extend the prime fishing time by at least another hour, maybe two.

Opening day commences at 6:00 am. Sharp. Not a second before. And if you start a second after, you might as well reel in your worm and dauber, pack up your gear, and go home. There will not be a single square inch of water available after all the Opening Day veterans have cast.

Here's why. Imagine John Lennon and George Harrison come back to life for one weekend. And they get together with Paul and Ringo somewhere for a reunion concert. Tickets will go on sale at 6:00 am on the morning of the Monday preceding that weekend. In one place only. Imagine all the people (couldn't help that) traveling for miles and miles to camp out in front of the ticket window for at least a month, just to make sure they get a seat somewhere within a 5 mile radius of the concert. Anyone who ambles out on Monday morning at 6:00:01 with any hope of getting a ticket is obviously running a few CD's short of a boxed set. (Okay, forgive me for that, but I tried.)

So it's the same principle here. Many people camp out the night before Opening Day. For some, it's a family tradition. They bring their children, their tents, their marshmallows, Hershey bars and graham crackers, and have a fun night of cooking outside their tent, over an open pile of damp logs and cold, wet coals. Then they curl up in their sleeping bags, safely out of the elements inside their snug tents, and pray that the mud slides hold off until morning.

Before dawn, these campers, and the other, smarter people who have "roughed it" enough in their lives to appreciate the convenience of a warm, dry bed and a warm, dry car, all gather at the water's edge (or out on the water, in their canoes and other vessels) to bait hooks, test line, plan strategy, determine wind direction, sniff the air ("there be trout in them thar waters...") and wish they'd brought a second set of gloves because it's really, really cold right now.

Everyone waits. The wind dies, the birds hush, and the fishing faithful pray. And then - it is 6:00 am - and in one beautiful, sweeping motion, reminiscent of Radio City Rockettes kicking, or a Busby Berkley (sp?) musical extravaganza, poles already angled back, ready for that first, exhilirating cast, arc forward with a SNAP! Lines fly out across the water, bait and lures of every kind break the water's surface, and Opening Day, the most wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful day of the year, has begun.

And then the next minute you hear a lot of unholy words being muttered because most everyone on shore has had their line tangle with about 5 or 6 other lines. It's hard not to tangle when you are standing shoulder to shoulder to rib cage to hip bone to elbow with 50,000 other people, after all.

My husband chooses to avoid this delay in his quest by going out onto the water. And it's nice to sit out in a canoe, early in the morning, smelling the damp, earthy scent of mud and sludge that has been stirred up by a million other boats and sinkers and feet...it's nice to listen to the birds singing their morning songs (they are permitted to begin again after 6:02 am)...it's nice to be far, far away from phones and news broadcasts and the daily grind.

Of course, it may be nice, but it don't catch you no fish. So you don't just sit there. You survey the water. You choose your spot. You take a cast . Let the worm float, let it hover there, calling to the starving trout who, only weeks before, were splashing happily in their home ponds at the trout hatcheries. The trout who, just weeks ago, had 3 square meals a day and didn't even have to look for it. Sure, they had to share with all the other trout in their age and size group, but there was plenty of food, and it just came right to you. Then they were gathered up and trucked away to these new ponds. At first they were kind of cool - much bigger, less crowding...more nooks and crannies to explore, and all that...but...no free food any more. Now they have to work for it. And having been hatched and raised in domesticity, they are complete novices. Sure, instinct will take over, but it's just not the same. Not half as much fun as hearing the dinner bell ring and racing all your buddies to the edge of the hatchery pond and fighting for breakfast pellets.

So Opening Day is actually kind of a cruel joke for the trout. After a couple weeks of trying to figure out if bug larva tastes as good as a pellet, (tastes a bit better, actually - not as crunchy, but there's a small pop when you bite it and the filling is smoothe and creamy.), suddenly, one morning, tons and tons of FREE FOOD falls into the pond. Hooray! The punishment is over! And the fish race each other again, laughing with giddy relief, toward the banquet.

And then sharp things pierce their cheeks and they are dragged to the surface of the water. Something dips into the water and next they are trapped in a tangle of what seems like a thousand ropes. The net lifts them out of the water and into the boat, where the hooks are removed from their tender mouths. And then they are either thrown back to go through this again (not likely), or they are put on a stringer. The humane fishermen will bleed them right away, so they die quickly. Ripping the gills out is a quick and effective means to this end. The less humane will put the fish in a bucket and let them flop around until they die. People have seen my husband rip the gills out and think that is cruel (or cool, depending on the age and gender of the observer). But he is not a cruel man. He does it so the fish will die fast and suffering is minimal.

And yes, this is necessary. These fish will not survive the year in these ponds anyway. The majority of the ponds are relatively shallow, and the water will get much too warm in the summer. Most of the ponds that are stocked are generally stocked twice a year - early spring and then again in the fall. Most of the trout have been caught before summer or winter hit.

So anyway, back to fishing.

Some years are good, others, not so good. Last year was a great year. Bill went with his friend and beer-brewing partner, John. Rather than sleep over, as Joe did this year, John slept in his own bed and promised to be at our house by 5:00 in the morning. Ha. He was late. And that is a BIG no-no on opening day. Actually, it is a bad idea any time you are going fishing first thing in the morning with my husband. But there's a reason. Very often the best fishing is done before the sun comes up. The fish can't see sun-backed images hovering menacingly above them. They think the things plopping on the top of the water are really little bugs or larvae. So the less sun, the better the fishing is. Unless you've been cursed by the fish gods, but that's different. You're doomed no matter what. Anyway, my point is, you want to catch fish, you get to our house on time. ESPECIALLY on Opening Day. Tardiness is a mortal sin.

And John was late. The car was ready, the canoe was strapped on top, coffee was made, and Bill had had his breakfast. The clock ticked. "If he's not here in five minutes I'm leaving." Okay. Okay. Maybe he'll be here. Pace, pace, pace, pace, back and forth, coffee in hand, one eye on the clock, the other squinting in fury. Finally, we hear a car pull in. John has arrived. He is late, but he will live. Bill has prepared coffee for John ("F*** him, he can drink it the way I make it!"). I offer to fix John breakfast. Bill takes the cold english muffin from my hand, thrusts it at John. "Here. You can eat that." And off they go.

Despite the ugliness of the start to their day, they caught 10 trout between them. The limit is 6 per person. They stopped at 10 because there was really no need for 12 fish. My husband is not greedy. He just wants to catch his limit. That's all.

There have been not-so-good years, and even an ugly year (my first experience as an Opening Day widow) when my husband, my brother-in-law, my father, and my cousin all went together, 2 canoes between them, and were gone a long, long time. They arrived home around 3:30 in the afternoon, if I remember right. With 2 fish. That's it. Not 2 fish each. Just 2 fish. My cousin, Steve, caught at least one of them. Either my dad caught the other one, or Steve caught both and my dad had one on but lost it...something like that. Anyway. Steve doesn't even really like to fish. He went along because he's a nice guy and a team player and this way there were 4 of them so they could use the 2 canoes in various combinations. Bill, the mighty fisherman, who has been doing this since he was an embryo, caught nothing. Little girls were reeling in monster trout on their Snoopy poles and he caught nothing. Not even a bite. It was not pretty. No. It was an ugly, ugly day. We don't talk about it.

So who knows what today will bring. Bill has vowed, as he does every year, not to come home without fish. Without at least one fish. And I hope he is successful. Partly because I like trout. Partly because I want him to be happy. Partly because I don't want him to be miserable for the rest of the day/evening/weekend.

And partly because I want to take a picture of him and Alex and Joe with a stringer of fish. Alex has a really cute tiny little fishing vest, and that combined with a green plaid shirt and jeans and a goofy hat will be just adorable. So what if he didn't catch any of the fish. Some day he will.

And now, I am going to fix myself some breakfast and warm up my coffee again. Alex is awake. Time to start our day.