The Church of Perch

Yesterday we met up and had lunch with a perch enthusiast. The season for this freshwater fish is waning, as the shacks are now coming off the lakes. With this warm winter, I doubt there are patches of ice strong enough to hold a structure.

Perch, before. Perch, before.

My father used to take me fishing when I was young. Our usual spot was off the side of the road at the old Georgia Pacific plant in Brattleboro near the Cersosimo lumberyard. The bank was rocky and the water still. We’d sit for hours as the sun glimmered off the ripples, blinding me and the boulders we sat upon soaked in the heat. Continue reading