Telling a story for to this group recently awoke some memories, it seems.  My father wanted me to learn the skills he had learned growing up in the Great North Woods of Maine in the teens and nineteen twenties. The fact that I grew up down state didn't matter much. We just drove to the Presidential range of the White Mountains along the Maine border. There were still plenty of places that were pretty wild there, even in my time. It was just an hour and a half drive each way, the way most people drove. Of course, Dad usually got there in about an hour and in that hour, we would likely go air born a dozen times.

Crazy? Naw, he never got into an accident or even came close. He was just a good driver and the roads were very narrow, curvy, and hilly.  Coming back, we could actually go faster because of headlights. No lights aglow over the hilltop and all was clear. Well, most of the time. Heh, heh. One time we came over a hill and you remember back then how they cut a big swath down one side of the road for all the telephone lines? Often there would be 10 crosstrees with 10 lines on each pole and this had to be kept clear. And Maine has terrible ice storms so the trees were kept way back accordingly, maybe 30 feet.

Well, this cutback was a perfect place for blueberries and this one day in Summer when the blueberries were at peak, we were driving upcountry to do a little brook trout fishing in waters that were still cold. That meant the mountain foothills since the mountains themselves probably had no running water left to speak of.

Dad was one heck of a good driver and probably if things had been different for him, he'd have liked to be a Grand Prix driver. He knew so many driving tricks. One was that of letting off the throttle just before going air born at the top of a crest. This would cause the nose of the old '49 Ford flathead to dive, thus keeping the tires on the road that much longer. God, did I love to ride with my dad. I used to yell, "Faster Dad! Faster!" What did I know? I felt completely safe with him. He would never let harm come to me. But he didn't want to raise no
candy ass, either.

He ran an automotive garage and had lots of racing equipment on that Ford. It was great as long as it wasn't raining. Remember those vacuum wipers? We also had one on the jeep that had a little paddle for powering it by hand if the vacuum should fail but none for the Ford.   Going up hills or passing, if there was any drizzle or rain, you couldn't see. Sometimes we'd pump the throttle to make the wipers cycle once--kind of a flat-head Ford intermittent wiper system LOL!

This one day trying to get to a favorite trout pool before dusk when they'd be hitting hard, we were really flying. Well, this was in the 1950's though. And this was Maine, so we were probably doing about 50 on
roads we should be driving 30 on. We came over the top of a little hillock and there was a frost heave at the top so we went air born for a few feet. When the tires hit the pavement, we'd sort of drifted towards the ditch since the road quickly veered off to the left. Dad, pulled the wheel but the tires squealed a bit and to any critters on the roadside, we probably seemed to fly out of nowhere and head right at them. 

This day there was a big black bear, perhaps 300 lbs give or take.  That's good sized in the East. He was gorging on blueberries when we flew into his world, he just about dropped a load. He was up and running fast as hell. He must have thought we were after him because the road then swung to the right and the right side was where the cutback was for the phone lines. As he ran away, we kept crowding him, closer and closer. He kept looking back and his eyes were wide with fright and was perhaps 3 or 4 feet from me in the passenger seat.

I looked over at the speedometer and we'd slowed to about 35 MPH and that bear was running right beside us. This makes the idea of outrunning a black bear kinda futile if he wants to catch you. Then Dad blew his horn. I couldn't believe my eyes. That bear took off twice as fast as he was running before and made us look like we were standing still. I have no idea the bear's speed but I'd guess at least 50 MPH. Wow!

Hey, perhaps it's a good thing we seldom see bear here. If they lost their fear, they could be pretty damn scary. My brother once told me that he'd read about a Barnham and Bailey circus act they were trying to develop with a Maine black bear and an African lion. It seems the lion got crabby one day and snarled and snapped at the bear, so the bear cuffed it with a single swipe of its paw. The lions skull was crushed and it had to be euthanized.  Ouch!  Yep, they're quick, and powerful. I sure don't envy anyone getting mauled by a Grizley if they are even more fearsome.

Well, to finish up the trout story, we got to the stream, took our rods down through a field, cut across some alders, and emerged at this pristine section of brook. The thick growth of alders discouraged fishermen and
kept it from being fished heavily. We fished and filled our limit--well, Dad filled his limit--that was 16 fish back then. I had perhaps 6 or 7 so he gave me a couple of his and went back and we both caught a couple more. 

We fished for food, not really for sport so there was no such thing as catch and release. I'll tell you, there was soon some fine eating at our house. It was my job to clean the fish and get them ready for the pan.  I cleaned them, removing heads and such but of course left the skin on, washed them, dried them, dipped them in milk, rolled them in flour, then dipped them again in egg wash and then rolled them in cracker crumbs.  Then I stacked them on a board where my Mom pan sautéed them in butter in a pan on the stove top. We would have always had mashed potatoes with them and some vegetable. Likely, I would have helped that too. We all grabbed some chore and all did something. I hated cleanup so I always helped cook.

Today, I cook my fish a little different. Maine produces farm raised salmon and I like to get those fillets real cheap--often $4/lb. I cut them and roll thin edges under to double them. I put a spoonful of minced garlic in an au gratin dish and then lay the fillet over that.  On salmon, I'll usually have removed the skin to make it taste a bit milder. I put the skin side down into the garlic. I salt and pepper the fish and stick thick slices of onion and mushrooms along side. I pour a little white wine in the bottom of the dishes and then make a Ritz cracker crumb and butter stuffing to spoon over the top. I don't cover all the fish--maybe half. I squeeze a little lemon for those who like it--I do--and stick the rind along side as well. Then I bake until done--maybe 20 minutes or a bit more at 350. It's what I serve to people who say, "I don't like fish." They usually change their mind and you
know, it's easy to make.

That's then and now. One thing hasn't changed. I love fish.

Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Take care,
Mengro, the Road Scholar