Worms
“How’s the fishing?” I’m asking the usual question as I register and pay at the gate entering the Maine North Woods. I’m hoping for encouragement or a tip on a pond or two that’s been fishing well. Ron is looking at a map posted on the wall, getting his bearings for the trip to the stream where we intend to camp.
The gate keeper hesitates for a moment, then leans over the counter and in a stage whisper says, “It’s so good you have to hide behind a tree to put a worm on your hook.”
The hushed tone and information has attracted Ron’s attention. “Really?”
The gate keeper looks at Ron and nods a solemn affirmation.
We leave and head down the dusty road tingling in anticipation. To pass time on the 18 miles in we consider what we know and, more to the point, what we don’t know about earthworms. They can survive under water for a while. Since they don’t naturally take to the water, you have to throw them in against their will, usually skewered on a sharp piece of barbed steel. And why do fish find this offering such a delicacy? Why would a fish even know what a worm is as it floats by? This isn’t matching any hatches. We also know they come out on the lawn after a rain and robins are their natural predators. Not brook trout. You can cut a worm up and it will regenerate the missing part. That’s about it, all we know, except that it’s not so much the taste, but the consistency of a worm that’s disagreeable. Knowledge personally gained while while earning a quarter years ago.
We must have moved on to other subjects because 18 miles of woods road takes a little time.
We arrive at the stream and all three camp sites are open, so we park in the best. It’s mid week. We walk through the brush to the edge of the stream and in the pool above the falls fish are rising. We hurry back to the Bronco for our gear. Setting up the camp can wait. We’re into our waders and rigged up as quickly as possible. Trying to maintain a little composure we don’t go charging into the water thrashing flies madly about, but stop half hidden, stream-side and consider the stretch of water. Who will go where? We locate the logical lies, where we can make a back cast, and what we can reach without spooking every fish in the pool.
I start down the bank first, but I slide off a greasy rock on my way down and go sprawling into the water. So much for stealth. The fish ignore Ron’s laughter. They’re still rising as I regain my footing and make for the head of the pool.
An hour and a half later we’ve tried every fly in the box. Changed lines, changed leaders, and tactics a hundred times. The fish are mocking us. Fat ones leaping out of the water so close that water splashes off our fancy polarized sun glasses.
The sun is getting low. Disheartened, we head for the shore. Ron falls in as he’s getting out of the stream. He comes up with a splutter and a curse and chases his hat and fly boxes down stream only falling once more before he gathers up his gear. The fish are splashing and laughing behind us. The brook is murmuring a chorus of, “worms, worms, worms.”
We’ve got to set the tents up before dark. We’ve got to start a fire. Ron’s wet clothes are spread on an alder drying. Mine are on another bush. Ron is in his long johns, as he whittles a point on his hot dog stick. He says, “I wish we had a can of worms.”
I remind him that they’re not that good to eat - but, it’s really more the consistency than the taste. We don’t have any trout to fry, but hot dogs and baked beans aren’t that bad. A little alcohol will warm us and we’ll slay them tomorrow.
We did catch a few fish in the next couple of days and when I got home I googled the night crawler, Lumbricus Terristris. I’m sharing this because I thought you might like to know. Lumbricus is only one of 2,700 species of earthworms. They are not native to North America. Like us they originally came from Europe in the soil of potted plants. (Well maybe your ancestors didn’t come as potted plants). The ring, the clitellum, on a sexually mature earthworm holds both male and female reproductive organs. The ring is located about a third of the body’s length from their head. They run around on your lawn after it rains not to avoid drowning but to have the freedom of movement to mate. To do this they rub they’re rings together and exchange sperm. The fertilized egg is encased in mucous that slides over the worms head and forms an cocoon smaller than a grain of rice. The worm’s gestation period varies according to the weather. With the proper nutrients (lots of dead organic matter) an acre can support a population of a million worms. Their average lifespan is a couple of years. Even though they have no ears or eyes they are light sensitive and can feel the vibration of a robin’s footstep; they breath through their skin; can eat a third of their body weight in a day and their waste is rich in nitrogen. The slime that cements together the walls of their tunnels is also rich in nitrogen. They don’t like rototillers or robins. Darwin spent thirty nine years studying them and thought they were the most important animal in history.
But do you know what? No one knows why fish like them so well, that you occasionally have to hide behind a tree to put one on your hook.
Fishing Columns
I wrote a fishing column for the Pen Bay Pilot, a local on-line newspaper. Most of the following columns appeared there. They are probably not reproduced here in the order they were written, but starting with "Worms" seems logical. They are chronicles of my adventures fishing with Ron Garfinkel.