Fishers: Human and Otherwise

On April 2, 2024, I visited the Chickamauga Dam where a congregation of fishermen and women had gathered to baptize a few baitfish and the latest fishing lures. The lures of my youth were nowhere to be seen. The Rapala has become a historic artifact at best. The Jitterbug must be as forgotten as its namesake dance.

The lowly worm retains some popularity, as does its artificial counterpart, the Mister Twister ®, but those baits are more suited to fishing a creek from under a bridge. Below the dam lay a land of bait fish and lures foreign to my eyes.

When I first spotted the fishers, I said “Good Golly Miss Molly,” there are more fishers than fish. Improbable as it may seem, I use the expression “Good Golly Miss Molly,” regularly, though I know of no one else who does so.

After discovering that my pen was out of ink, I left my notebook and binoculars on the bench I had selected and returned to my car to get a fresh pen. A hungry crow flew down to investigate the notebook’s flapping pages.

When I returned, one fisherman was engaged in a tug-of-war with a large fish. The rod bent, but he worked the line with skill, keeping the rod tip high and maneuvering the fish closer to the dock. He then worked the fish along the dock and close to the land where his companion netted the fish.

I asked them what kind of fish it was, and that prompted a conversation in Spanish. The companion was translating for the fisherman. She said, “He doesn’t know.” Back on the dock, she photographed the fisherman with his prize which then went into a bucket, with the tail protruding.

A couple was fishing with a cast net and pulling in large numbers of fish. They released the small fish that made up most of their catch. Some were injured, much to the delight of the gulls and cormorants.

A Great Blue Heron, capable of outperforming the human fishers watched the proceedings. I like to think he did so with quiet humor. I attribute the same response to the circling Ospreys, that recently returned from South America. 

Done with watching the fishers, I returned to the grassy area where I had photographed a Northern Mockingbird atop a nestbox. iNaturalist told me it was a tree swallow, perhaps relying on its location on the box. I overrode the suggestion and listed it as a Northern Mockingbird. One of the iNaturalist experts has since confirmed my sighting. So much for artificial intelligence.

Although that sighting was not a Tree Swallow, they have returned. I saw three of them circling another nest box. Our local bluebird aficionados don’t begrudge the Tree Swallows the nest space, for they know that the swallows need homes too. They advise putting up a second box if the tree swallows move in. The swallows won’t succeed in discouraging the bluebirds from nesting nearby.

The day was a celebration of birds completed when the mockingbird returned to sing on the branch above me. Though it proved unnecessary this time, the bird above me made me glad I wore a hat.

Investigating the grassy area above the river near Chickamauga Dam, I began photographing the wildflowers. The area is a mowed lawn but a few diminutive species shine through the grass with a few larger ones near the curb. These included the following:

Field Madder
Common Groundsel
Crow Poison
Cinquefoils – likely Mock Strawberry
Henbit Deadnettle
Common Dandelion
Bird’s-eye Speedwell
Cranesbill
The Cranesbill was not blooming but was likely a Cut-leaved Cranesbill.
A birch with peeling bark was adorned with catkins. No wonder my allergies are acting up.

Dogwoods and Redbuds in bloom lined the road between the Chickamauga Dam and Amnicola Marsh. When I reached the “marsh,” I speculated that it should be renamed Amnicola Pond. Though many citizens worked hard to preserve the marsh, its character has dramatically changed.

Recent rains have conspired with an active beaver colony to make the pond overflow its banks. At the wood’s edge away from the pond, I saw Amur Honeysuckle, while Thyme-leaved Speedwell, Philadelphia Fleabane, and Common Dandelion shared the lawn with the mown grass.

Two Robins occupied the grass between the walkway and the pond. They seemed lethargic, perhaps due to the recent wind and rain. The usual ducks and shorebirds were altogether absent.

The native willows and buttonbush were lovely and green, but neither was in flower. The buttonbush was not yet adorned with round inflorescences with floral spikes protruding to give them the appearance of medieval weapons.

Moving on to Curtain Pole Road, I passed no more dogwoods or redbuds. The wetland was dominated by the stumps of drowned trees. A lone Great Egret worked the shore in search of a fishy dinner, while a lone Canada Goose swam nearby. A white spot atop the beaver lodge became a Canada Goose when I investigated with binoculars. She was nesting in a well-defended territory.

Despite my allergies, I am thrilled to see spring progress. Each day presents more opportunities to seek out natural wonders.