How Can We Call These Men Leaders?

Above that odd log, deep in the background, a couple of anglers fish. They caught nothing.

I spent a couple of hours last night preparing for Tilcon, but I abruptly stopped when Matt called upstairs to tell me he had a fever of 101. (No, not nostalgia for entry-level university courses.) He had just finished getting Lightroom up for me; all that's left to do with the computer is work out a few remaining loose ends; the camera works fine; apparently there never was a problem with it, so I'm embarrassed before Nikon USA for sending it in for warranty repair--I told Matt to sleep and see what the temperature is in the morning. 

It was 101, so we cancelled on Tilcon. Anyhow, I got gear in some order for any coming outings.

Morristown Memorial Hospital screened Matt over the phone. Very little chance it's the virus. New Jersey Department of Health told us it's OK I go to work. The prospect of two weeks off did not feel right. I like a check at the end of the year for all of my sick days, unused. And I do not like to deal with the state for unemployment insurance. You don't get your full paycheck's worth, anyhow.

We're far from the end of the pandemic. More than 675,000 Americans died from the Spanish flu in 1918. Approximately one third of the world's population was wiped out.


With temperatures in the 60's, I expected Bedminster Pond to be on fire. I did catch some bass. Little ones about six inches long. Three of them, like last time, though I fished a full two hours. Lost a crappie bigger than the bass. Used in-line spinners again. Fished the sunny side. Water's warmer there. The best moment was getting a camera shot I especially like. I felt for a moment as if I might return to normal, confident reality.

But of course, just as I get my life back in order, mass death descends upon my countrymen.

What does fishing matter in the face of impending disaster? KC at the supermarket insists life goes on. It does, and it's important to maintain normal activities like fishing. But to turn a blind eye to what's happening to our country is not patriotic. Fishing is a way to gather thoughts.

I will survive. I can't promise you more than that, but I'm confident I will, and my wife and son. But if America has any value at all, other people besides myself and my family matter, too. Some I don't like. For example, I didn't like the demeanor of national leaders on TV today. OK, OK. They were being somber. But frankly, something all too clean about them, while they misled us about facts on the ground, appalled me. Nothing about their behavior fully convinced me they care. And this is the country they supposedly lead.

Facts on the ground. Pence said you can go to your doctor and request a test. But that is what I mean by misleading. What's the point, but to learn you can't get a test? My wife spoke to the New Jersey Department of Health. There is no availability here.

How can we call these men leaders, when they will not speak to us?

Providence

Code Orange

"One fine Sunday, my mother woke up, turned on the news, and learned Pearl Harbor was bombed. Within weeks, the Roosevelt Administration had converted all production for the war effort. She could not buy a washing machine," my wife said. "This administration cannot even get a @ucking test out so people can tell if it's coronavirus or the flu!"

Trump showed his face on TV today, and 30 minutes later, the market had plunged 1000 points.

Two Trips Planned

Tilcon with my son Friday. Tilcon with Oliver Round on the 24th.

Friday depends on the two of us getting Lightroom up and various problems I have with this new computer sorted out, including printer connection. Plan on doing all this by night. I told Matt he gets my old computer--he sells mother boards and such--and gets a new jigging rod for Florida as his reward.

Looking forward to these outings. Salmon are the main concern. But so far, I feel as if life is too complicated to get there. You don't give in to such feelings, if you want to move ahead. You get the gear in order, go, and find it's the best thing you could have done. Even today's short stint at Bedminster Pond reminded me that the best thing to do for anxiety and depression can never be contained in a pill, but will always be getting outdoors.

Bass Astir

I had time to get out and fish Bedminster Pond for about an hour. I had gone to my study while my wife tried to connect my Optimum email to Microsoft Office 2019 Outlook. (It took her three hours, but she did it. Optimum sold out to Altice Mobile, and we now find the service awful. Optimum service used to be golden. My wife got my email up. I have very low IQ for that sort of thing.)

I figured it was a good idea to be gone so she could work in peace. I took Sadie along, no hesitation, but Trish did say, "If you don't take her, I'm not doing this." Earlier, we took a hike at Round Valley, and she wanted to go all the way to the ramp and back. I was halfway miserable after these nearly two months of chaos since Florida, since apparently my Nikon D850 needs to go back for warranty service again, as if they did nothing after I sent it back to them two weeks ago. (I might be wrong. It might be that I'm so mentally freaked out over everything, I couldn't judge the reality, when perhaps nothing was wrong with it.)

All said, though, Round Valley this afternoon resonates well with me as I write now, because on the whole, it was a good time. Especially remember the sound of a pileated woodpecker hammering a hollowed tree. That was amazing.

I took my D7100 to Bedminster Pond--it seems to have the same problem as my D850, which is absurd. I'm wondering also if my eyes have got really bad. Mostly, I must be a little nuts from all the anxiety of these months. I also said stuff at work I definitely should not have said, but at the time,  it seemed right. Problem is, it wasn't right. Hope things go OK there tomorrow.

So I went fishing again. And it kind of felt as if reality is still somehow there. I had gone to my wrecked study, which I'm beginning to put back in place, sat down, strung up my favorite St. Croix, tied on a ball bearing swivel (I found only one, somehow only one, in a bag in my plug box, where snap swivels are supposed to be, at least that much checked out), and then I snapped on a knock-off CP Swing I made when I was 17 years old.

At the pond, I realized it was really a good opportunity to fish a Rebel Minnow on the surface. Calm. Warmed. Some fish swirling. But I fished that spinner slowly, and caught three little largemouths from about four to six inches long. I missed one hit from a bass that might have been nine inches.

Got a photo of my first bass. But before I left the pond, I realized I had shot it in RAW, figuring it would have been wise to select RAW+JPG so I could load the image files and simply upload the JPG here on the blog.  I'm a long way yet from getting Lightroom up.

Not in mental shape right now to get things like the right file selection on my camera right. Just the same, it was nice fishing.

18-Inch Largemouth