Casting for Recovery
(Written by Eddie Bilezikian)

One of the most fascinating offshoots of the fly-fishing  sport is an organization, called Casting For Recovery, dedicated to helping women
recover from breast surgery through the medium of fly casting.  Because casting is a low impact physical activity it is particularly well suited
for a wide range of convalescing patients.

This organization is active in 15 states. Last year CFR held 27 retreats for 400 women. The sessions consist of small groups of women meeting for an extended weekend for the purpose of learning the basics of fly fishing. The instructors, who are mostly females, are experienced fly casters; some of them are certified fishing guides. All workers are volunteers; no one collects a fee.

In a typical weekend 15 or so women will stay in the same hotel or lodge beside a lake or river, have their meals together and receive group
instructions as well as individual fly fishing lessons.  By the end of the sessions the women have formed new friendships, learned a new art and in most cases organized themselves into support groups.  The Cacapon River whose name translates into "healing waters" would be an apt metaphor for this worthwhile group.

For additional information interested parties may contact the director:
Seline H. Skoug at PBM 257, Great Plains Ave, Needham. MA 02492. Tel. 781-453-3910. cfrprogram@aol.com 

Fish in the Cacapon River
(Written by Don Robinson)

Many different species of fish live in the Cacapon River. When I was still in high school, I used to do a lot of fishing in Thorn Creek and the South Branch near Franklin and I thought I had many of the Cacapon’s fish identified. I even read a book and I thought it said there were thirteen species living in the ‘healing waters’. While chatting on the phone with Gerald Lewis, the Fisheries Biologist for Hampshire County, I counted twenty-seven species of fish, not counting any hybrids. The article I started writing about all of the Cacapon’s fish almost got stuffed into the recycle bin because it would be too long, but I think perhaps I can divide it up into different installments.

Bass

Probably the families of fish that are most popular with anglers are bass and trout. Bass are really in the same family, Centrarchidae, as sunfish. Bass in general are more like a ‘sprinter’ while trout are more like a marathon runner. Trout are likely absent from the Cacapon, because the warm water of summertime doesn’t contain enough dissolved oxygen for them to survive. In warm water, a trout will suffocate from the lack of oxygen.  In the wintertime, if you ever notice a greenish cast to the river, it gets that coloring from the fact that colder water contains more dissolved oxygen.

So this issue will contain information about bass. Three bass species live in the Cacapon, but only one is native to the river, the other two are ‘introduced’, but most people now consider them native.

Most fishermen consider the bass to be intelligent. If you watch when a bass strikes its prey, you will note that it opens its large mouth, creating a hydraulic draft into the mouth and out through the gills, thus pulling the prey into its jaws. I recall hearing an old fisherman's story that they will strike a crayfish once and only return to swallow it if the shell was soft from being recently shed. I used to examine the contents of the stomach, and the crayfish found there were quite hard-shelled.

I don’t know if bass are naturally curious, but I remember one summer seeing a smallmouth bass when I was accoutered in snorkel and mask. I was able to maintain eye contact for about 20 minutes or so, as he just kept circling me (and I him) and we looked at each other. He was a big one, about 18 inches or so.

I have seen a few ‘dumb basses’ or at least evidence of them along the Cacapon. They are the ones that throw beer cans, bait buckets, and glass objects in the river and along the shores! Real fishermen, of course, respect the river and the other people that use it.

I was informed recently by a biology teacher that you can tell the gender of a fish with a piece of straw and a very personal act that would make me very uncomfortable. The straw goes farther into a female than a male, and I will leave the actual test description to your imagination. I know I wouldn’t try it on a live fish, especially if I respect its dignity. I wasn’t real clear on how you compare the depth of penetration. Perhaps someone is now laughing while thinking I will be checking fish in this personal way all summer, but it isn’t going to happen.

The photographs on this page came from the website of the Native Fish Conservancy at http://www.nativefish.org.

Smallmouth Bass (Micropterus dolomieu)

You might hear this fish called bronze-back, brownie, or brown bass. It is one of the most popular game fish on the planet, as it is a strong swimmer and puts up a hard battle when hooked. In fact, they have amazing speed for short bursts, making them good hunters of other fish.

When you see these in the water, the adults have black tails while the rest of the fish looks brownish or bronze. Sometimes they hunt in solitary, but will often hunt in schools. I observed three of them once following a carp around waiting to see what the carp stirred up as it dug at the bottom. The young have a tail and pectoral fins that are triply striped in yellow, black and white, then later just black and white and finally only the dark tail remains of their youthful coloration. If you look at one of these from the side underwater, (or of course, if you catch one) there are dark mottled vertical bars down from the back toward the belly. Smallmouth bass have red eyes. As with all Cacapon bass, the front of the two dorsal fins has spines, so handle with care. The name ‘smallmouth’ comes from the fact that its mouth, though large, does not protrude behind the vertical position of the eye.

They spawn in the spring when water temperature reaches 60⁰ F. The nest can often be spotted as it is a pile of small stones in light to moderate current, usually with a place nearby for the fish to run to and hide if startled. For about a week, the male guards the nest and hatchlings, which feed on minute crustaceans in the water, and later eat larger ones and other fish as well. Sunfish are predators of the small fry, and where a large sunfish population exists, often the bass spawning is less successful. According to my late neighbor Tom Stephens of Berkeley Springs, the state of West Virginia once forbade catching bass during the mating season to improve the success of reproduction.

The fish generally lives 10-12 years if undisturbed, and is sexually mature in three.

Largemouth Bass (Micropterus salmoides)

This very popular sport fish is sometimes called Willow bass or Black bass in our area. Other common names include Bigmouth bass, Bucketmouth bass, Green bass, Hog, Lineside, Lake bass, Openmouth bass, Oswego bass, and Welshman.

The Largemouth can be distinguished at sight in the water from the Smallmouth, as there is a mottled black horizontal line running from its gills to the tail. When you take the Largemouth out of water, you can see it has a golden colored eye, and you can notice that it has two separate dorsal fins instead of one merged fin. Also, it gets its name because the mouth protrudes beyond the line of the eye. It has a brown or greenish back, and a dark tail fin.

Like the Smallmouth, the Largemouth is sexually mature when age three and spawns when the water temperature reaches 63⁰-68⁰ F. Its nest is a concave area fanned out by the male with his tail on a rocky or gravelly bottom, around two feet in diameter. He lures or bullies a female to it and she lays eggs which he then fertilizes as he swims over the nest. The male guards it from all intruders until the eggs hatch.  After hatching, the fish stay together in a school, feeding on tiny crustaceans, protected by the male for about a month. Then the inch long small ones go their separate ways. They generally live about 13 years.

The adults like the hide among aquatic plants, where they can easily prey on other fish. They also like crayfish and other crustaceans as well as insects and insect larva. They feed by sight, but can sense minnows by their lateral line, a sense organ most fish have that ‘feel’ vibrations in the water. Neither the Smallmouth nor Largemouth is native to the Cacapon River. Both can survive water temperatures into the 90s and thrive when the water is in the 80s.

Rock Bass (Ambloplites rupestri)

Common names for this bass also include Goggle-eye bass, Red-eye bass, and Speckled bass.

This fish is shaped more like a sunny than a Smallmouth or Largemouth bass. It is speckled black, brown, and silvery and has a large red eye and a silvery belly.

To find this fish, note that it likes clear water and rocky areas with a fair amount of current. I see them often from my canoe in areas where the water is swift. Its dark coloring and unmistakable roundness make it easy to recognize in the water. It feeds on crustaceans, other fish, insects and insect larva. Its large red eyes are structured in such a way that it can easily see crayfish, a preferred food, on the bottom as it swims by.

Spawning occurs in water that is in the high 60s or low 70s. The male sweeps out a circular nest in coarse sand or gravel. When a female is enticed to the nest, she deposits a portion of her 10000 eggs which stick to the gravel.  The male fertilizes them and guards the nest. A spring flood might wash away the hatchlings to a likely death, but if they survive predation and flooding, they may be up to an inch and a half long by the end of the first summer. Like the other bass of the Cacapon, this fish is sexually mature at three years. A large one would only be about 10 inches long, but would put up a good fight when hooked. It will hit almost any kind of lure.

The Rock Bass and other members of the sunfish family serve as a host to immature freshwater mussels, and is the only bass native to the Cacapon River.

The next installment will be about the other sunfish of the Cacapon.

Lawns and God

(from an email forwarded by Andy Andryshak-source unknown)

GOD: St. Francis, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there in the USA? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistle and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect, no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honeybees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But all I see are these green rectangles.

ST. FRANCIS: It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers weeds and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.

GOD: Grass? But it's so boring. It's not colorful. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees, only grubs and sod worms. It's temperamental with temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.

GOD: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it, sometimes twice a week.

GOD: They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?

ST. FRANCIS: Not exactly Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.

GOD: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?

ST. FRANCIS: No, sir -- just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.

GOD: Now, let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will grow. And when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?

ST. FRANCIS: Yes, sir.

GOD: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.

ST. FRANCIS: You aren't going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.

GOD: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stoke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves form compost to enhance the soil. It's a natural circle of life.

ST. FRANCIS: You'd better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.

GOD: No. What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter and to keep the soil moist and loose?

ST. FRANCIS: After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.

GOD: And where do they get this mulch?

ST. FRANCIS: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.

GOD: Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. St. Catherine, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?

ST. CATHERINE: Dumb and Dumber, Lord. It's a real stupid movie about ...

GOD: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.

Thank a bee???!!

Yes, indeed, we need to thank all the bees—bumblebees, honeybees, digger bees, sweat bees, alfalfa and blueberry bees, the leafcutters, masons, carpenters, and many more. And also thank the other flying insects—the wasps, yellow jackets, moths, beetles, flies.

I'm not speaking here of those insects we obviously enjoy—the butterflies and ladybugs.I'm talking about the unlovables: those curious annoying flying creatures that  buzz around our heads, land in our ice cream and  give frightful stings–--pests to which we instantly react: zap them, swat them, smash them—get rid of  them!

But wait, don't annihilate them! Think again! They are our most valuable perpetrators of life on this planet. We owe them grateful thanks for all the magnificent gifts they provide—apples, peaches, and pears; cucumbers, squashes and carrots. We thank them for raspberries, cranberries, blueberries; and bless them for flowers—roses in our garden, foxgloves and hyacinths; the bluebells and trout lilies along the river; columbines along the edges of my meadow. Thanks too, for our spices—mustard, oregano, sage and thyme.

Could anyone even begin to count the trillions times trillions of diverse gifts they offer us?  Not only the splendid fruits we harvest in orchards, fields, woodlands, forests, gardens, and other ecological systems, but also the extraordinary gift of successful perpetuation of animals whose survival depends on pollinated plants—and us humans, whose livelihood depends on the  plants and animals that nourish us.

For more than 100 million years, bees have been evolving along with flowering plants to stay in step with one another's changing dynamics. Through the ages, they have grown to depend on each other. Bees need flowers to provide their food of nectar and pollen, and flowers need bees to transport the male pollen cells from the stamen of one flower to the female stigma and ovary of another. Bees are lured by sweet-scented nectar—a watery, energy-rich compound that contains sugars, amino acids, lipids, and other nutritious compounds necessary for life. Pollen, the yellow dusty grains of the flower's sperm cells, is an extremely rich source of protein. A mixture of nectar and pollen is called, simply,  bee bread.

All summer long the bees buzz, happily drinking nectar and unknowingly transporting pollen from one blossom to another, where in time a seed is generated to produce a new generation, in my meadow, of a Deptford pink or day lily or pyrocantha. In my neighbors' yard, other bees are helping beget another appletree, a raspberry bush, a squash vine.

On balmy sunny afternoons, as I swing in the porch hammock, overlooking my wildflowers, I inhale deeply the odors of phlox, clover, and honeysuckle, listen to the dreamy droning of insects, and watch them land on the golden petals of  black-eyed Susans and white radiance of daisies. Earlier in the season, I watch the insects hover  over buttercups and impatiens, and later on, the sunflowers, chicory, purple asters. They create their own small universes of bright colors and lively hums.

Guided by pigmented patterns of petals, the pollinators borrow their way past rows of petals into the blossom's heart, poking their tongues deep to suck up drops of nectar. On their way in and out, they bump against stalks of stamens laden with pollen, which drop on their bodies, legs. I watch one bee covered so heavily with yellow pollen it looks like a dust mop. Bumblebees in particular are especially equipped for collecting pollen, with their fuzzy bodies and pockets in their hind legs stuffed with pollen. The bee I watch is so laden down it can hardly fly, but it manages to zigzag up over the hedge into the blue sky.

Blossoms grow in fantastic shapes, and insects have adapted to them—tubular, cuplike, star-shaped, trumpet-like, some hanging down, others, like Queen Anne's lace, open flat to the sky. Some flowers, like petunias, have lines or dots of colors that direct the bees to the flower's center, like landing zones for a helicopter. Bees are especially attracted to blue and yellow colors, and are guided by ultraviolet patterns unseen by human eyes.

Over the past millions of years, some plants and bees have evolved elaborate curious arrangements to help each other survive. Some flowers, like snapdragons, produce a lower lip petal as a landing platform, shaped in such a way that only a bee of the right size and weight—not too heavy, not too light--- can land on it and lower it like a drawbridge, bringing down a pollen-laden anther from above to tap its back and cover it with pollen. All other bees are excluded.

Mountain laurel has its own intricate system of pollination. Look closely at a pink and white blossom cup. Each of the five male stamens are arched back into the petals where they are held tightly in place. When an insect lands on the blossom and shakes it, its miniature seismic vibrations on the fragile cup release the stamens, flicking up like catapults and spewing pollen. Tap a blossom and watch the stamens spring up.

Some plants and insect have evolved specialized relationships to such a degree that neither one cannot live without the other. It's not love—it's survival. The tiny yucca moth, for instance, is the only insect that can pollinate the white waxy bloom of the Southwest yucca, The moth cuts into the white waxy blossom, lays its eggs on the ovary, and pokes in a fertilizing ball of pollen. The infant moths feed on the growing seeds of the yucca, eating enough to live and leaving enough for the plant to continue its ancient lineage.

Flying insects are not the only pollinators. Birds—especially hummingbirds with their long beaks and tongues–--provide this service of transporting pollen. As do bats, flying foxes, and opossums. Wind is an omnipresent pollinator, blowing zillions of pollen grains far across fields of wheat, rye, and across vast forests to perpetuate oaks and maple.

Today our insect pollinators are in trouble. As more roads, buildings, malls, are built over farmland, fields, wetlands, and grasslands, the insect homes and habitats are destroyed. Also many of the natural plants on which they feed are rapidly disappearing. Pesticides are depleting the numbers of insects—and tiny parasitic mites are infesting the hardworking honeybees, so essential to our commercial fruit trees.

The downside of flying insects like bees, wasps and hornets is that they do sting! When we stir them up, they react with the only weapon they know how to use: their stinger! Ouch!

Don't blame them for being what they are, for doing what they do. They surely don't enjoy stinging us—they get no nourishment, no vitamins, no money. They become righteously mad when we disturb them or their nests. We need every bee,  wasp, yellow jacket to keep our plants, and us,
alive.

So think twice before you swat.

Meanwhile, enjoy that juicy peach and slice of blueberry pie!

Hydrilla Update
(By Ron Wilson)

First the bad news. We have reported in earlier editions of our newsletter that over the past few years there has been an increasing problem with hydrilla in our river.  So far we have seen this hydrilla water pest in the area downstream from Largent as well as near Morgan Woods. This is a non-native, invasive aquatic plant that can clog a waterway with a mass of plants that grows from the river's bottom to the surface and from shore to shore.  Several years ago, in some parts of the Potomac near Washington, D.C., it was impossible to get boats in or out of marinas.  It makes swimming impossible and canoeing difficult at best.   I have made numerous phone calls this spring trying to learn  more about hydrilla eradication.  While there are several chemical herbicides that may be available, virtually everyone I have talked to in probably a half dozen agencies have recommended against the use of chemicals in moving water.  There may be some non-chemical approaches at eradication, but I still trying to learn about the possible need for permits, etc.

Now the good news.  The river has been relatively high  and cloudy/muddy much of the spring and early summer, so it was impossible to tell if the hydrilla was growing.  On June 28,  before our board meeting,  I ventured out into the river at my cabin, where there were thick mats of hydrilla last year, and I could find no indication of any hydrilla.  I also went upstream a quarter mile or so to a neighbors cabin who has had several years of very serious growth and found the bottom clear.   At this time I can only speculate that the continued high, faster and cloudy/muddy water had prevented the growth of the hydrilla.  Who knows what will happen when the river drops to its summer level and clears up?   I will continue to try to contact "experts" on hydrilla, research non-chemical approaches at eradication and monitor the river for any new growth. An Army Corps of Engineers expert on hydrilla is sending a recent report he jsut prepared on this problem.  Hydrilla tubers can remain dormant in the river bottom for up to 10 years, so we shouldn't be too optimistic yet. We will try to get a detailed picture of hydrilla on the website soon. If you find any hydrilla in your area, please call me and leave a message at my cabin, 304-947-5076 or at home, 301-585-8965.