Micro Fishing - Thinking Small in 2021

People fish for all sorts of reasons.  To put tasty meals on the table.  To catch something impressive enough to mount on the wall.  Or simply to enjoy the majesty of pristine lakes and rivers.  And then some of us want to catch minnows in culverts.

Micro fishing is a fairly new thing around here.  It involves using tiny tackle to catch small fish that usually would otherwise never be taken.  It appeals to those of us trying to catch the widest range; the greatest number of species.  In this it is a bit like "Birding".  I guess being part of the initial launch of Chubfest in 2017 and previously tagging along on various DNR fish surveys - where minnows were shocked and counted - makes me an Elder Statesman in the local Micro Fishing world.

But now it's time to gear up for a serious effort in the year ahead.  And speaking of gear....

This is obviously catch and release fishing, so it is important to take good photos.  Otherwise you'll be hard pressed to even identify some of the little critters.

The coin is a nice touch, it helps with the scale of things.  But for better pictures many microfishermen carry a small plastic container.  Tiny fish and a bit of water go in, take your pics, return it to the puddle.  I built one out of, naturally, surplus robot supplies.

Then you need tackle.  I had a birthday recently and was given a repurposed ice fishing rod with some really fine line.  Also, some tackle.  Here's what would be considered a large hook for micro fishing:

Assorted coins seem to be the traditional backdrops for all things Micro Fishy!

If this seems a bit over the top in my pursuit of Strange Fish, well, have you been doing more rational things in the endless Covid Lock Down?

 

Hillbilly Huntin' - Thinking of 2021

Winter and there's not much going on.  The traditional retreat for guys with too much time is the basement workshop, but once you've sized and sorted the sockets and drill bits you realize that things are dire regards staying busy.  Time for a few silly projects that won't be needed for a very long time.

Back during deer hunting season I had success not hunting from a tree stand or on a complex drive, but sitting in a cheap folding chair and waiting for the deer to saunter up.  It was after the fact pointed out to me that a brown and white chair looks enough like the butt of a white tail deer that perhaps something unfortunate might happen.  Of course I'm in blaze orange when sitting in it but the point was well made and I decided to remedy this issue.

Here's the starting point.  That's an orange seat cushion btw.

A sensible person would do this the easy way.  Get a can of orange spray paint.  But the smooth plastic parts might not hold paint well, and deer have very sensitive noses.  A person both courageous and sensible would ask their wife to sew a fabric cover.  But I decided to carry the Hillbilly theme into the next phase of the project and just do it with junk on hand.

Chair in the workshop.  It had a carrying handle added after the picture was taken.

Back in the day, before Axman Surplus got looted, they used to have a stack of Free Stuff near the entrance.  Hmmm, maybe some lawless types saw the sign and got confused?  In any event I got this big roll of fabric ribbon for free.  It bears the name of a Minnesota tech company.  I'd like to think this was ribbon for their grand opening.

It was actually quite easy to interweave the ribbon into the mesh of the chair.  Three courses for the back and two for the seat would seem to be sufficient.

Here I am relaxing and thinking of deer hunting.  I might or might not have a beer in hand.

The arms are covered with a layer of ribbon held on with spray adhesive.  It seems to hold very well.  The main sections of ribbon are held on by rivets.  It helps to have robot stuff around.

And here's the final result.  I put the carrying handle back on and it's ready for deployment.  Total Hillbilly, a lawn chair I was asked to throw away and everything else was free!

I doubt anyone will mistake this for a deer.  If they take a shot at it thinking it was a Siberian Tiger escaped from some zoo, well there's only so much you can do to stupid proof the world.

----------------------

Parsec Labs is still around.  I don't understand what they do.

Axman Surplus has reopened, but I've not had the heart to go back to the Twin Cities and visit my old haunts.  I fear much has changed and not for the better.

Wear and Weary

Winter drags on.  Diversions are few in number and seem forced.  Of course spring will come eventually and we'll all be just as excited as usual.  Likely more so given the long, tiresome stretch of near house arrest imposed on us by Covid.   

But for now I feel like the central character of a fascinating bit of doggerel written by the great Samuel Johnson.

"Hermit Hoar in solemn cell

Wearing out life's evening gray...."

One of the greatest students of the English language is not about to use words frivolously, so reading this I wondered about the word "wear" and how it relates to the theme of being "weary".  Doctor Johnson is rather the etymological trickster.  Keep an eye on him.

Wear, the action of wearing clothes, comes from the times when Old German and Old Norse stomped around and feasted together.  Werian meant "to clothe, put on, cover up".  It had a bit of rhyming help from another word,  warjan, that the Goths brought to the etymologic feast.  It meant "to ward off, prevent".  If you live in ice covered Northern Europe you can see how clothing would tend to do that.  If you have a bit of modern German at your disposal Wehrmacht meaning "defending/armed forces" and Gewehr, meaning "gun", presumably descend from warjan.

With enough time the clothes you are wearing will "wear out", be reduced by the passage of time.  This is a modern coinage, with wearing down from the 1840's and wearing off from the 1960's.  I have not traced the specific form "wearing out", but Johnson writing in the late 1700's might have created it.

If this line of discussion makes you weary, well that's also Old German.  It comes from werig meaning "tired, exhaused, miserable, sad".  Another off shoot of this ancient word is wuorag, from  High German.  It meant "intoxicated".  Sam Johnson, that sly old fox, probably knew this.  And in fact the poem I started out with ends rather more hopefully with a young seeker of wisdom approaching the wise old man and asking for the Meaning of Life!

Hermit Hoar

by Samuel Johnson

Hermit hoar, in solemn cell,

Wearing out life's evening gray,

Smite thy bosom, Sage, and tell,

What is bliss? And which the way?

Thus I spoke; and speaking sigh'd;

Scarce repress'd the starting tear;

When the hoary sage reply'd:

"Come, my lad, and drink some beer."

 

 

Magic in the 21st Century

It was Arthur C. Clarke who back in 1962 said: "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic".

Subsequent events have shown him to be prophetic.  Our gadgets have attained and surpassed some of his Sci Fi story creations as we simultaneously know less and less about what is "under the hood".  Probably this has always been thus, but the pace of change has for sure accelerated.

I recently made an impulse purchase.  Having enjoyed deer hunting enough to want to make it an ongoing venture I see a high priority for regular target practice.  And, spoilers, deer rifles are pretty darned loud.  Oh sure I could just slap on some of the shop hearing protection but in my discussion on matters hunting related several sage advisors recommended I get specific shooting related hearing protection.

These gadgets come in ear bud and headset styles.  Since I already have hearing aids the latter is clearly preferable.  As a big plus these things have selective amplification/dampening functions.  So basically when you are at the shooting range you want to be able to hear instructions.  No problem. And in the woods you want to be able to hear a careless deer stepping on a twig.  Also, no problem, these things have omnidirectional amplification.  And most importantly they respond to sudden loud noises like, oh I dunno gunshots, with a shut off of the amplification entirely...with a .002 second response time.  As deer hunting caliber guns have short but intense noise on the order of 150 db it is important to muffle this so as to preserve function.

This all sounded promising.  So I ordered a pair from an outfit called Walker's.  I was down in the basement workshop area when I unwrapped them and put in two teeny AAA batteries.  I put them on.....and heard a very odd sound.  What was that weird clink?

Well, it turns out that it was the sound of my wife setting down a coffee cup at the other end of the house and up one level!  Now this is certainly a better than expected performance because I had my hearing aids in as well, but still I was mightily impressed.  I suspect I'll not have the hearing aids on when I hunt, but still I considered this strong evidence that magic still exists in the 21st century.

Oh, and you won't believe what I just heard over at the neighbor's house!

Tree Shaped Tombstones - Clark's Mills Wisconsin

Clarks Mills is a little unincorporated village near Manitowoc Wisconsin.  The prominence of the Catholic church and school say something about its history, and this is also reflected in its tidy little cemetery.  It has a number of Tree Shaped Tombstones in varieties more common in Catholic burial grounds.

One clue is the frequency of small crosses in the design.  This one is unusual in that it is of the "two trunks" variant which usually goes with a married couple.  But there is only one name on it.

Also unusual, what I assume is the year of death is on one of the cut off branches.

This tombstone has message plaques on three sides.  I forgot to photograph one of them.  I think this might be the resting place of two nuns, but some of the German is a bit colloquial for my imperfect abilities.  The word "Siska" appears twice and perhaps means Sister?  ( Schwester in conventional Deutsch).  I suppose Siska could be a family name but that's pretty odd for German.

Here's an easier specimen, if only because it is less wordy.  They were serious about the base for this one.

There is something about the crude faces of Jesus on these tombstones that always makes me think of much, much older artwork.  It's the sort of image you'd see in early medieval cathedrals.

A quiet little cemetery near a sleepy little town.  Although doing a bit of research I did run across some exotic excitement in the form of an alligator scare in 1966!  And even more remarkable, it turned out to be true.

Tree Shaped Tombstones - Another from Manitowoc

Specifically from Evergreen Cemetery.  A nice one but sort of pales in comparison to the magnificent "Doughboys" featured a few months back!

Her obituary is laudatory and begins with:

GONE TO REST. Death Angel Calls Mrs. Maria Hartwig, a Popular, Pioneer Resident

There is an odd delicacy in reports of her death.  In one version it was said to have occurred "due to complications after an operation".  In another there are vague references to "internal troubles".  She had been a widow for some years but was well liked by all.  Her tombstone is the tallest, fanciest, three segment version and probably was not cheap.

 

 

Lowell Elementary School. North Minneapolis in the 1960's.

As promised here are my memories of attending Elementary school in a time and place that can scarcely be recognized from our current vantage point.  More of an essay than a bit of quick, witty commentary, feel free to flit on past.  Perhaps the great inscrutable search engine of Google will bring a few ageing refugees of that era home for a bit of nostalgia.

I was a young person (to be accurate I never claim to have "grown up")  in what was considered the bad part of town.  The north side of Minneapolis was always a working class neighborhood, one which was being hollowed out by flight to suburbia when we moved there in the late 1950's.  

Lowell Elementary was established when the neighborhood was still young and energetic.  Dating from the 1880's, the school I attended was the third Lowell, built in 1893, as a red brick cube that was later added onto.  It was on an irregular bit of land, one end being a sharp triangle that had a little ball field.  That's where I learned what minimal baseball skills I had as a young cub.  The field was not dirt, but blacktop.  You got proficient at fielding bouncers.  But I never did get good at baserunning,  Lowell had bases painted on in yellow and you only tried sliding once.

This is what Lowell looked like before a 1912 addition.  The big sloped roof was gone by the time I attended, I suspect it was lost to fire or lightning.  The later roof was flat and if you gave a playground ball a really mighty kick you could launch it up there for the janitor to retrieve.

Courtesy Hennepin County Library

Here's a series of vignettes of Lowell Elementary as remembered so many decades later.

Kindergarten, day one.   Our house was three blocks away.  One day my mom and I walked, I assume hand in hand, over to the school.  We went into a busy room filled with kids.  The floors were wood polished by generations of little feet.  My mom was talking with the teacher in the front of the room.  I was directed to the back.  There was a low table covered with various natural history curios.  Shells, rocks (those might have been a bad idea) and a dried up little alligator of the sort people once brought back from Florida vacations.  I thought that was very cool and held it up to show mom.  But when I turned around....she was gone!  Welcome to Academia, four year old self.

First Grade.  I remember a "drill" of some sort where we all had to go down into the basement of the school.  There was a gymnasium there.  Really just a long room with of course another wooden floor.  Was this a tornado drill?  Maybe.  But this was the year of the Cuban missile crisis so it may have had a darker motivation.  I have more memories of the gym than you'd think.  Climbing big hemp ropes.  Square dancing.  Dodgeball, which was then called "Bombardment". 

Second Grade.  Another bright, high ceiling room with a polished wooden floor.  Somewhat puzzling to my six year old self one day our teacher was replaced by a person with a different name who looked just like the original one.  I was a bright little tyke but did not immediately figure out that when women got married they got a different name.  Probably the more varied options available to people in the modern era would have been even more confusing.

I also remember the principle coming into our classroom, standing under the American flag that was over the door,  and telling us that President Kennedy had been shot.  I think school was dismissed early that day.

Third Grade.  Called down to the principals office.  This only happened twice in my academic career.  The other time was for throwing snowballs on the playground.  This time it was to tell my brother and I that our house had burned down.  You'd think we would have heard the fire engines....

Here's the flat roofed Lowell from my era.

Fourth Grade.  Maybe Fifth.  I was in the library.  It was a little cubby off to one side on the second floor.  I heard running footsteps out in the hallway.  Later I learned that a kid - as my memory may not be perfect we'll just call him K.W. - had slashed the principal's tires then chased him down the hallway with a knife.  Unsurprisingly this dangerous person - who actually lived on our block - later went to prison for life after murdering someone.  We had some creepy encounters with him growing up.  I remember him as being several years older, so had he come back from Junior High or High school to settle an old score?  

My memories of Lowell are all very busy.  In fact it was seriously overcrowded.  Here's a graph of actual versus recommended capacity.

It was supposed to have an optimum capacity of 390 students and a maximum of 470.  I guess I was there just after the baby boom peaked, but it still had over 600 students.  We made do.  30 per classroom.  A remarkable 50 per kindergarten, although I suspect that meant each teacher had AM and PM sections of 25.  And remember, that was for the rated, or maximum number, not the actual population!  The actual teacher/student ratio was 32.2:1, not counting the kindergarten tots.

I've read a report on the school, that's where the graph and stats came from.  The conclusion was that it was substandard and that bringing it up to snuff would be very difficult.  It was closed in the early 1970's.  

I was in college when it was slated for demolition.  I think it had already been stripped of everything worth salvaging when I visited one summer evening.  It was easy to walk in although I don't recall quite how I entered.  Everything seemed so small.  No wonder those rubber balls stung so much in Bombardment, even young arms could get some oomph behind them at point blank range.

Of course the neighborhood has continued to change.  I've not been back in many years and assumed it had fallen apart completely.  But thanks to the wonders of Google Earth I can fly around it in an incorporeal state.  The site of Lowell Elementary now has single family houses built on it.  The house on the corner where I babysat the pesky Murray kids looks the same.  The one across the street where a girl I was vaguely interested in during Junior High has changed some but the porch where she sometimes sat remains.  And our house?  I'll be honest, I did not recognize it.  The distinctive fence is gone, the enclosed front porch is now open.  It's painted a weird yellow.  And it is smaller, so much smaller than I remember.

I guess it's true, you really can't Go Home again.  Except as a Google phantom laden with faint memories.

A few other remembrances of that era from previous Detritus posts....

Free Pumpkins!

Chicken Fat!

In Uniform

Monkey Island