Nature Note #148: The Feeling of a Pleasant Summer Evening
Imagine a quiet river ambling by on a warm summers eve. The sun is starting its downward shuffle towards the horizon and a warm glow fills the skies above. I have to be honest, I was worried about finding a quiet spot to go fishing in the city or even just outside.
Cities, in my opinion, are atrocities (no pun intended). Entirely too many people shunted into many small spaces with the expectation that they will get along with one another. It's an introverts nightmare and personally, I have made it my mission to get outside the city of Syracuse as much as possible. The city itself isn't all that bad. I'm still not used to being in such close proximity with my fellow species, Homo sapiens and don't know if time will change that, but until then, I will continue to escape to the countryside come the weekend.
I'm lucky to have so many interests in the outdoors and have been blessed with an internal drive to experience nature up close. Whether it was Beaver Lake a few weeks ago, Great Meadows several months ago, or exploring the wetlands of Florida three years ago with good friends, I'm feel so happy when I'm outdoors.
Yesterday evening, I experienced the full gamut of outdoor life in a quiet section of DeWitt along the Cedar Bay landing at the Old Erie Canal. For those not familiar with Central New York, the Erie Canal was an engineering marvel of its age, both in scope and length. Originally 363 miles long, stretching from Lake Erie to Albany, the canal was hand dug and picked by hundreds upon hundreds of men, mainly Scots Irish workers who doggedly carved away at soil, limestone, and clay until they reached their goal. It took 8 years, 8 months, and 22 days to complete the project, but when it was, it allowed New York state to have the largest seaport and canal network in the eastern United States. Today, the canal serves as a recreational and commercial route. East of Syracuse, there is a museum dedicated to telling the story of the Erie Canal and I hopefully will visit it sometime in the future. On Saturday evening, I settled at Cedar Bay to look for some panfishing action under the glowing sky.
It was here that I decided to try fly fishing for the first time in over a year. I was horribly out of practice. The fly smacked the water like heavy raindrops, probably scaring any sensible fish away in the snotty weeds that choked the canal. I was there to try two forms of fly fishing. One was the delicate Japanese form called Tenkara, while the other was the more conventional fly rod and reel that most people are familiar with.
Tenkara differs from Western fly fishing in that the rod is a single, whippy stick with a small string attachment that allows you to hitch on a monofiliment leader. Attached to that leader, is another thinner leader upon which is tied a kebari which is a traditional fishing fly of Tenkara. The basic form used to cast a Tenkara rod with fly is somewhere between gently stroking the surrounding air above and cane poling. Tenkara aficionados have been quick to point out though that their method of fishing differs from cane poling or "dabbing" in that by casting the line back and forth above your head, you are directing it into a more promising eddy, pocket, or in my case pond weed-free patch of water where your quarry wouldn't be bothered by it. Needless to say, Tenkara fishing along the canal was a dire prospect.
The first problem was casting. Not only was I out of practice, not only was the line coiled tightly to protect it from tangling inside the plastic bag where it had lived for 12 months, but the backdrop itself was a vegetative hell. Trees lined the eroding banks and while no Poison Ivy (Toxicodendron radicans) lapped at my ankles this time, the steep bank coupled with the low hanging branches made it incredibly difficult to try to back cast without snagging a tree. Roll casting was out of the question as the coiled monofiliment looped around in a lazy spiral that tugged on everything from the pond scum, tree branches, and even my sandal straps.
I eventually gave up and walked back downstream to the start of the trail I'd followed from the parking lot. Ahead of me, a small clearing and shelter for passing hikers appeared from behind the trees. There was a fire pit as well, but it had been turned into a trash heap by someone with liter soda bottles and wrappers they no longer wanted in their possession. Other than that small desecration, the scene was idyllic. The glowing sky with warm wispy clouds lazily trailing along ahead met the horizon, which was obscured by the trees surrounding the banks of the canal. Several birds were making their presence known as well. American Goldfinches (Spinus tristis) sang their jangling carols in the trees above, while Cedar Waxwings (Bombycilla cedrorum) swooped and dove at the midges dancing over the waters surface. Several times while casting, I was afraid I might foul hook a songbird that mistook my fly for an actual one, but the birds seemed to know better.
After getting frustrated with casting the Tenkara rod, I collapsed the pole and assembled my light fly rod for some nymphing. While I would kick myself later for not having my poppers, the nymphing allowed me to hook two small Bluegills (Lepomis macrochirus) from the weed choked canal. Even so, their 4 inch bodies indicated that there was some stunting going on. When there are too many sunfish in a small body of water, the food resources are stretched, preventing the fish from getting larger and therefore stunting their growth. Even in a canal as long as this one, these fish didn't look like they would grow any bigger.
Despite those little successes, my overall technique still clearly needed some work. While the basic pattern was there and after a while, my casting form looked "normal", it was still difficult. Again, the surrounding vegetation played a big role. A large Willow bush behind me threatened, in the motionless yet ominous way that plants seem to have with fishermen, to snare my fly with each passing back cast. The snotty pond weeds did the same with the foreward casts. Despite these troubles, I looked around at this perfect view. It did feel perfect. There were no mosquitoes, no dogs, not too much wind, and what people there were, were over the canal on the path beyond. It was an introverts paradise. Almost. There was one thing that I would want to share with the people I know and love.
Over the past few weeks, I've been on the lookout for Staghorn Sumac (Rhus typhina). Last summer, I got my first taste of sumac lemonade and since then, I've been wanting to experience it ever since. One lucky thing about living in a city is that near the industrial areas, there is a lot of waste ground, and on that waste ground are "waste" plants. Plants that are considered weeds and opportunists, but are more often than not, ignored by the general public. Unless you are in the know, I'm willing to bet most of you reading this (all three of you) have never even considered those plants you see on the dirt piles in construction sites or along the side of the highway.
Good patches are hard to come by despite being very common in and around the city. One reason is that while there are certainly a lot of them about, access to them can be tricky. They tend to grow in clumps by the side of the road, but have their fruit just out of reach. Other times, they cluster along the sides of the through ways of 690 or Route 5, taunting me from the grassy edges, denying me of their berry clusters. Access to those patches had driven me mad, until yesterday.
As I packed up my supplies, I looked up and into the sumac patch. Plenty for the taking, but my rule was to only take 12 per patch. After doing so, I would have to find a new patch, hence the struggle to find good sites. I was taught early in my foraging days a vital collecting parameter known as "the rule of a hundred". The basic idea is that if you can roughly count that there is about a hundred plants with an edible bounty attached, you could take a little from it, hence my self imposed rule about the clusters.
If you want to make the lemonade like I did, when collecting sumac clusters, use Staghorn Sumac only. It is easy to identify by its fuzzy stems, racemes (a leaf that is divided into several leaflets along the main vein), and 4-6 inch stalk of red, fuzzy berries poking upwards. The reason I stick to Staghorn is due to its unique look and that it bares no resemblance to the poisonous variety which has white berries in small clusters that droop down and can give you a nasty rash.
Having located a patch of Staghorn Sumac, cut or slice the whole cluster from the tree. Remember to leave some for the animals that eat the berries. Collect the berry clusters and bring them home in a bag. Afterwards, wash them as you would vegetables from the store, and place them in a bowl covered with COLD WATER. Essentially, you are making a cold tea infusion. Let the bowl sit for 10 minutes.
When the 10 minutes is up, gently mash or squeeze the clusters in order to get them to release their inner flavor. Let the bowl sit for 30 minutes and cover with more COLD WATER if needed. Afterwards gently drain the mixture into a pitcher or jug while straining the sumac. Discard the clusters and viola, Sumac lemonade for all to enjoy! The flavor suggests a sweet citrus that can be enhanced with a bit of sugar if desired. It's a delightful treat to make oneself on a pleasant summers day.
Even so, I still can't wait for Alison to get here so then I'll have someone to share it with. Until then, I will get out of the city as much as I can and forage for new sumac and fishing patches alike.
Cities, in my opinion, are atrocities (no pun intended). Entirely too many people shunted into many small spaces with the expectation that they will get along with one another. It's an introverts nightmare and personally, I have made it my mission to get outside the city of Syracuse as much as possible. The city itself isn't all that bad. I'm still not used to being in such close proximity with my fellow species, Homo sapiens and don't know if time will change that, but until then, I will continue to escape to the countryside come the weekend.
I'm lucky to have so many interests in the outdoors and have been blessed with an internal drive to experience nature up close. Whether it was Beaver Lake a few weeks ago, Great Meadows several months ago, or exploring the wetlands of Florida three years ago with good friends, I'm feel so happy when I'm outdoors.
Yesterday evening, I experienced the full gamut of outdoor life in a quiet section of DeWitt along the Cedar Bay landing at the Old Erie Canal. For those not familiar with Central New York, the Erie Canal was an engineering marvel of its age, both in scope and length. Originally 363 miles long, stretching from Lake Erie to Albany, the canal was hand dug and picked by hundreds upon hundreds of men, mainly Scots Irish workers who doggedly carved away at soil, limestone, and clay until they reached their goal. It took 8 years, 8 months, and 22 days to complete the project, but when it was, it allowed New York state to have the largest seaport and canal network in the eastern United States. Today, the canal serves as a recreational and commercial route. East of Syracuse, there is a museum dedicated to telling the story of the Erie Canal and I hopefully will visit it sometime in the future. On Saturday evening, I settled at Cedar Bay to look for some panfishing action under the glowing sky.
It was here that I decided to try fly fishing for the first time in over a year. I was horribly out of practice. The fly smacked the water like heavy raindrops, probably scaring any sensible fish away in the snotty weeds that choked the canal. I was there to try two forms of fly fishing. One was the delicate Japanese form called Tenkara, while the other was the more conventional fly rod and reel that most people are familiar with.
Tenkara differs from Western fly fishing in that the rod is a single, whippy stick with a small string attachment that allows you to hitch on a monofiliment leader. Attached to that leader, is another thinner leader upon which is tied a kebari which is a traditional fishing fly of Tenkara. The basic form used to cast a Tenkara rod with fly is somewhere between gently stroking the surrounding air above and cane poling. Tenkara aficionados have been quick to point out though that their method of fishing differs from cane poling or "dabbing" in that by casting the line back and forth above your head, you are directing it into a more promising eddy, pocket, or in my case pond weed-free patch of water where your quarry wouldn't be bothered by it. Needless to say, Tenkara fishing along the canal was a dire prospect.
The first problem was casting. Not only was I out of practice, not only was the line coiled tightly to protect it from tangling inside the plastic bag where it had lived for 12 months, but the backdrop itself was a vegetative hell. Trees lined the eroding banks and while no Poison Ivy (Toxicodendron radicans) lapped at my ankles this time, the steep bank coupled with the low hanging branches made it incredibly difficult to try to back cast without snagging a tree. Roll casting was out of the question as the coiled monofiliment looped around in a lazy spiral that tugged on everything from the pond scum, tree branches, and even my sandal straps.
I eventually gave up and walked back downstream to the start of the trail I'd followed from the parking lot. Ahead of me, a small clearing and shelter for passing hikers appeared from behind the trees. There was a fire pit as well, but it had been turned into a trash heap by someone with liter soda bottles and wrappers they no longer wanted in their possession. Other than that small desecration, the scene was idyllic. The glowing sky with warm wispy clouds lazily trailing along ahead met the horizon, which was obscured by the trees surrounding the banks of the canal. Several birds were making their presence known as well. American Goldfinches (Spinus tristis) sang their jangling carols in the trees above, while Cedar Waxwings (Bombycilla cedrorum) swooped and dove at the midges dancing over the waters surface. Several times while casting, I was afraid I might foul hook a songbird that mistook my fly for an actual one, but the birds seemed to know better.
After getting frustrated with casting the Tenkara rod, I collapsed the pole and assembled my light fly rod for some nymphing. While I would kick myself later for not having my poppers, the nymphing allowed me to hook two small Bluegills (Lepomis macrochirus) from the weed choked canal. Even so, their 4 inch bodies indicated that there was some stunting going on. When there are too many sunfish in a small body of water, the food resources are stretched, preventing the fish from getting larger and therefore stunting their growth. Even in a canal as long as this one, these fish didn't look like they would grow any bigger.
Despite those little successes, my overall technique still clearly needed some work. While the basic pattern was there and after a while, my casting form looked "normal", it was still difficult. Again, the surrounding vegetation played a big role. A large Willow bush behind me threatened, in the motionless yet ominous way that plants seem to have with fishermen, to snare my fly with each passing back cast. The snotty pond weeds did the same with the foreward casts. Despite these troubles, I looked around at this perfect view. It did feel perfect. There were no mosquitoes, no dogs, not too much wind, and what people there were, were over the canal on the path beyond. It was an introverts paradise. Almost. There was one thing that I would want to share with the people I know and love.
Over the past few weeks, I've been on the lookout for Staghorn Sumac (Rhus typhina). Last summer, I got my first taste of sumac lemonade and since then, I've been wanting to experience it ever since. One lucky thing about living in a city is that near the industrial areas, there is a lot of waste ground, and on that waste ground are "waste" plants. Plants that are considered weeds and opportunists, but are more often than not, ignored by the general public. Unless you are in the know, I'm willing to bet most of you reading this (all three of you) have never even considered those plants you see on the dirt piles in construction sites or along the side of the highway.
Good patches are hard to come by despite being very common in and around the city. One reason is that while there are certainly a lot of them about, access to them can be tricky. They tend to grow in clumps by the side of the road, but have their fruit just out of reach. Other times, they cluster along the sides of the through ways of 690 or Route 5, taunting me from the grassy edges, denying me of their berry clusters. Access to those patches had driven me mad, until yesterday.
As I packed up my supplies, I looked up and into the sumac patch. Plenty for the taking, but my rule was to only take 12 per patch. After doing so, I would have to find a new patch, hence the struggle to find good sites. I was taught early in my foraging days a vital collecting parameter known as "the rule of a hundred". The basic idea is that if you can roughly count that there is about a hundred plants with an edible bounty attached, you could take a little from it, hence my self imposed rule about the clusters.
If you want to make the lemonade like I did, when collecting sumac clusters, use Staghorn Sumac only. It is easy to identify by its fuzzy stems, racemes (a leaf that is divided into several leaflets along the main vein), and 4-6 inch stalk of red, fuzzy berries poking upwards. The reason I stick to Staghorn is due to its unique look and that it bares no resemblance to the poisonous variety which has white berries in small clusters that droop down and can give you a nasty rash.
Having located a patch of Staghorn Sumac, cut or slice the whole cluster from the tree. Remember to leave some for the animals that eat the berries. Collect the berry clusters and bring them home in a bag. Afterwards, wash them as you would vegetables from the store, and place them in a bowl covered with COLD WATER. Essentially, you are making a cold tea infusion. Let the bowl sit for 10 minutes.
When the 10 minutes is up, gently mash or squeeze the clusters in order to get them to release their inner flavor. Let the bowl sit for 30 minutes and cover with more COLD WATER if needed. Afterwards gently drain the mixture into a pitcher or jug while straining the sumac. Discard the clusters and viola, Sumac lemonade for all to enjoy! The flavor suggests a sweet citrus that can be enhanced with a bit of sugar if desired. It's a delightful treat to make oneself on a pleasant summers day.
Even so, I still can't wait for Alison to get here so then I'll have someone to share it with. Until then, I will get out of the city as much as I can and forage for new sumac and fishing patches alike.
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