Carpe Diem
l was climbing out of West Virginia's North River after a swim. This sparkling river runs through our back yard making this very convenient. l caught a whiff of rotting fish. Being from a costal area, l don't find this fragrance unpleasant, rather, l find it reassuring, evoking images of docks, sand, bait shacks and rowboats. Though the images may differ, the same applies to the fragrances of silage and cow manure.
Searching for the source of the smell, my eyes caught sight of the unusually large scales scattered on the bank. Noticing the tail and fins of of a species of fish l had never before seen in the North River, the scene became the source of what may well be my worst pun ever; ''Carpe Diem,'' l intoned over the scene. This large, partially eaten carp had enjoyed a long life and had certainly ''seized the day'' for many a year.
Suspecting this to be a racoon's handiwork, l looked carefully for the small and usually well-defined tracks that are always left behind by racoons, foxes and 'possums. l found none of these. lnstead, the muddy bank had been smeared by something larger which would indicate a bear. l left the mess on the bank for the night shift 'possoms to clean up.
The North River is home to sunfish, bass, native trout, ''Fall fish'' and rainbow trout theorized to have washed over the dam from Warden Lake, which is regularly stocked. There are, of course others, including a wide variety of amphibians and reptiles. Still, l had never seen a carp in the North River before.
Maybe this was a feral goldfish or perhaps the local variety of carp are nocturnal--like eels. Yes, there are eels in the North River as evidenced by the dead three-foot specimen that l found in the shallows one morning. Our creeks and rivers are a whole different world at night.
l still don't know the official name of the brook that marked the eastern boundary of our 170 acre New Jersey farm. Though prosperous development upstream would eventually cause this brook to have a more swamp-like character, in 1959 it still ran fast, cold and clear.
My father was an avid television watcher but, l guess, "The Honeymooners, '' Life of Riley'' and ''Ozzie and Harriet'' were heading into fall re-runs. ln an uncharacteristic move, he left is Barkalounger, found a powerful flashlight and instructed me to follow him. We walked through the yard, him shining the flashlight ahead of us in the moonless night. We climbed over the rail fence into the pasture and down the hill to the brook. ln the daytime, this brook was a happening place in '59 with pickerel, bass, suckers and shiners swimming its length. Tadpoles and darters occupied the clear little pools beside the main channel.
At a deep spot near a bend in the brook, perhaps four feet deep, he shone the bright beam directly into the water. The joint was jumpin'! Fish of a size, color and shape that l had never seen before were going about their nocturnal fish business. More striking in their appearance were the eels--lots and lots of eels!
Back then, night fishermen and women pulled up eels, carp, catfish and who knows what else. l can remember their campfires along the old Delaware and Raritan Canal towpath and the MIllstone River. These mostly African-American anglers came out for the weekend from nearby cities like Princeton, Trenton and New Brunswick. They fished using cane poles without reels and thus were not required to have a fishing license. Fresh, wild-caught fish was a staple of thsir summer diet. Their disappearance after generations seemed to coincide with the area becoming a state park and the advent of the food stamp program.
l spent part of one Woodstock era summer camping along the towpath. l just didn't feel like working beyond day labor such as baling hay and odd auto repair jobs. l subsisted largely on cane-pole caught fish cooked over a campfire. Occasionally, a few of my buddies from nearby Griggstown would stop by. They usually brought along some beer, their fishing poles and on occasion, explosives. Yes, that opening scene in a Crocodile Dundee sequel isn't all that far-fetched. Dundee may even be pictured fishing with dynamite in New Jersey waters.
The underwater detonation of these explosives, the specific nature of which l will not disclose, seemed only to stun larger fish while the smaller fish, who didn't absorb as much of the concussive wave, were unaffected. There was never any evidence of fish being killed at the immediate blast site. My guess is that they swam away from the device in order to escape the sizzling underwater fuse. Maybe they were just getting used to us.
Our stretch of the North River has helped feed young families who were experiencing lean times. The parents would send the children to do the fishing since children are not required to have a fishing license. My childhood also saw fish fill a dietary gap during our own lean times. Our fish were usually ocean-caught. Such were my thoughts while standing naked in the North River as flies buzzed around a half-eaten fish.
Carpe Diem--Seize the Day.