2000fish's Blog – Steve Wozniak's hunt for fish species

DATELINE: OCTOBER 28, 2023 – WINCHESTER, VIRGINIA

One of the great challenges to this blog is finding ways to make very small species somehow sound exciting. If any of you have ideas on how I can do this, please let me know, but in the meantime, we’re going to have to suffer through three fish that would not outweigh my pinkie finger, even after a manicure. (A manicure on my pinkie finger, obviously. It would be stupid for a fish to get a manicure, because it would never dry.)

Things started innocently enough. In mid-September, we planned a “Deja Brew” tour, this time to Pittsburgh to watch Pirates and Steelers games. The Pirates were first, on Saturday night.

The Roberto Clemente statue outside the stadium, honoring one of the greatest men who ever played the game. I remember seeing his 3000th (and final) hit on TV, against the Mets. Willie Mays was one of the first to congratulate him. I also remember the networks breaking in to programming to announce his plane had gone down at the end of that same year – 1972.

The gang at the game.

A great view of downtown.

The Pirates were playing the Yankees, and there were a lot of New Yorkers in attendance. I enjoyed pointing this out to them.

The Steelers game was a Monday night affair, so were free Sunday. Steve and I got talking, which rarely leads to good. The Bills were playing in Buffalo on Sunday, and Buffalo is only three hours away from Pittsburgh, and … yeah, it didn’t sound that stupid at the time, but looking back at it, that’s a lot of driving.          

But in the middle of this drive, courtesy of Cody Cromer, there was a spot that was supposed to have a slam dunk Allegheny Pearl Dace. I am always wary of “slam dunks,” as many of mine come flying off the rim and end up in the stands, but it was worth a try. Because Marta values the time of others, including homeless strangers, more than mine, she gave me a 20 minute time limit to catch the fish. I view this as unfair, but Carol unreasonably supported her and so I was left with a very tight window.

I thought it was actually very kind of me to break up a three hour car ride with a bit of excitement.

Yes, I caught the fish. If you look carefully, you can see Carol giving me an evil look from the back seat.

The Buffalo game was awesome. The fans are very intense – they do not sit down the entire game. Luckily, the Bills destroyed the Raiders, so the town was safe for the evening and we got excellent wings and ice cream.

Interestingly, Buffalo wings are actually made out of chicken.

Back in Pittsburgh, we did a bit of tourism Monday.

In Oakland’s sports museum, they have the same statue, but the ball is touching the ground.

Marta also managed to bash Tom Brady, which is unfair, because he is awesome. Steve Ramsey does not share my opinion.

Heading up the incline.

A view of the football stadium, I don’t care what they call it, it will always be Three Rivers to me.

Later that night, we got to be a part of the raucous Steelers crowd that saw Pittsburgh defeat Cleveland.

The stadium put on quite a show – and so did the Steeler’s defensive line.

The group celebrates the win.

I’m not exactly pro-Cleveland in sports, so I was pleased, but the Steelers fans were an intense bunch. They booed the Cleveland sideline staff. They booed anyone wearing orange. They booed the ambulance crew that took Nick Chubb off the field, and they even booed Chubb’s ACL. 

Oh yes I did.

This blog could have ended right here, but later that evening, I did something that has gotten me in a lot of trouble over the years. I opened my mouth. As we were all sitting around the hotel lobby making fun of DeShaun Watson, Steve Ramsey made a startling observation. He mentioned, quite correctly, that he and I had attended around 16 Indiana University football games, and that Indiana was a perfect 0-16 in those contests. He went as far as to suggest that I might even be bad luck. Considering that the bulk of the IU games we’ve seen were against Michigan, I tried to explain that this was just math, and when he pointed out that we had also seen them play Ohio State, Purdue, and Cincinnati, I was forced to suggest that they might just be bad. Foolishly, I asked when the next “creampuff” game would be for Indiana, even though Terre Haute High might give them a run for their money. Steve thought next week’s game against Akron would fit the bill nicely – Indiana was a 17 point favorite. I was on the spot, and without even considering that this would mean I would be home for two days before I had to fly back to the Midwest, I was in. At least we could wear the same jersey, agree on when to cheer, and see an IU victory. That was a given.

You certainly see where this is going. 

Of course, I was not going to Indiana without trying to sneak in a little fishing with Ron and Jarrett. Ron was available to try for the elusive goldeye, which remained elusive.

But you have to love his t-shirt. I only have one of those species.

Not a goldeye.

We did this on the way to the IU game, which was an evening contest, but we were so confident that they would be comfortably ahead by halftime that we made 9pm dinner reservations at a nearby BBQ. 

Steve and Steve before the game, brimming with confidence.

Again, you see where this is going. The game did not develop into an immediate blowout. Akron kept hanging in there. But we were certain the Hoosiers would run away with it. They didn’t. We missed dinner. And sometime around 11pm, in the waning seconds of regulation, Akron missed a field goal that would have won the game for them. Steve made it clear that I personally had brought bad luck to Bloomington and that if Indiana did not win that it would be best if I never attended another game at Memorial stadium. 

It was after midnight when the Hoosiers finally stopped a two-point try by Akron, using my time-honored DB trick of leaving a guy wide open and having him drop the ball. We had defeated the Zips. That’s right, Indiana took four overtimes to beat someone called the Zips, but we had our victory and a very late dinner at White Castle. (Where the onion chips, a food meant to be shared, are the best thing ever.)

More relieved than triumphant, we were among the faithful who stuck it out until an ending that was less bitter than a loss.

The final score. We didn’t exactly cover the spread.

As relentless sports fans, we were up the next day to catch an Indianapolis Indians game, tickets courtesy of my friend Pam.

That’s her. I’ve known her since 1989.

She is incredibly well-connected. That’s her chatting with Bruce Schumacher, who owns the ballclub.

Pam’s cat, Baby, keeps an eye on us from inside her apartment later that day. He does not trust strangers. He doesn’t even trust the Roomba.

A few weeks later, I was back in Indianapolis, as part of a complex east coast swing that would also involve a business trip and a family visit.

Another frequent-flyer travel tip – there are a number of options to avoid crowded bathrooms.

In Indiana, we had a Pacers preseason game, another IU football game, and a Colts/Browns contest on the agenda. I got some decent aerial shots of Indianapolis on the flight in.

Downtown from the south. You can see the Bank One tower, Lucas Oil Field, and, if you look carefully, Tyler Goodson dropping a football.

The Indianapolis Speedway. I inadvertently drove a lap on it once. Note that the infield is big enough to hold a nine hole golf course.

On the court after a Pacers preseason win.

We celebrated with dinner at St. Elmo’s Steakhouse, a local institution that has been around for more than a century.

My favorite steakhouse anywhere.

Coincidentally, it is also Ron Swanson’s favorite steakhouse. For those of you who haven’t seen “Parks and Recreation,” you are missing a magnificent piece of American culture.

We then headed back down to Bloomington for the inevitable. Indiana losing to Rutgers was painful, but the Hoosiers kept it close until well into the first quarter.

We still had Akron to be proud about.

But it still sickens me to discuss the Colts result. They had the game won – twice – and both times, officials came up with phantom calls that allowed Cleveland to skulk away with an unearned victory.

You have to wonder what the woman directly behind me was looking at.

The second call was bad enough where even ESPN noticed. In order for pass interference to stick, the ball has to be catchable, and this ball went four rows deep in the stands.

The approximate location the ball landed. I had a better chance of catching it than the Cleveland receiver, and I don’t have the best hands.

Of course, there was also going to be fishing. Ron, the Bloomington-based darter expert, drove up to Northern Indiana with me, where we met Gerry Hansell to pursue a few exotic micros, including the elusive pirate perch. It was an evening of chilly, iffy weather, and we started the program by having a look for least darters, a species Ron considered the lowest odds of that evening’s targets. So of course Gerry and I both got one.

This is a full-on adult least darter – one of the smallest fish I’ve caught on a hook and line.

The rest of the evening was an abject failure. The stuff we were looking for is apparently seasonal, and we were in the wrong season. Ron and I headed home around 11; it’s always great to talk shop with him for a couple of hours and benefit from the insane amount of local knowledge he and Jarrett have. I was back at Ramsey’s house around 1am, when he is just eating his dinner and getting ready for Frasier reruns. I’ve got to call that a successful evening.

The gang. I’m not sure what we were looking at.

A few days later, after a business stop in Philadelphia, I found myself in Northern Virginia, visiting my sister and her family.

Laura’s husband, Dan.

The kids are dispersed – one working in Richmond and the other in grad school at Brown, so getting everyone together was going to be impossible. Luckily, my occasional nephew Charlie was able to come up for a dinner. Among all of my sister’s children, he is one of my favorites.

We also got to tour Alexandria for an evening – with history going back before the American Revolution, it’s a favorite for me.

The Revolutionary War’s unknown soldier, Alexandria, Virginia.

The family on a walking tour of local Halloween decorations. 

Laura with some friends from grad school.

The American Revolution stuff always fascinates me. We spent three years of our childhoods living in West Trenton, NJ, right by Washington’s Crossing. I was always impressed that our troops rowed across a frozen river to kill the enemy on Christmas day.

The next night, Charlie came up for dinner, although he blew us off later in the evening to go to a Halloween party. What sane 24 year-old would pass up watching “Parks and Recreation” with his parents and uncle for a party featuring beer and women?

He only spell he knows is “Instanto diarrheum,” – it works on my sister.

My sister also made cube steak for one of the dinners – this is a beloved old family recipe and brings back a lot of memories.

But of course, there was going to be some fishing. I had solid information from east coast species whiz Tim Aldridge that Potomac sculpins could be easily found less than an hour from my sister’s house. And so we set out for what I promised would be local fall color sightseeing with a brief fishing interlude. This is how I present most fishing trips when non-fishing companions are providing transportation. I am generally never telling the truth, but in this case, I got lucky and the stream was jammed with hungry sculpins.

Some perfect autumn scenery, although fishermen can sometimes get tired of the floating leaves. 

Sculpins, even small ones, will generally bite as long as you present them with a reasonable-size bait. The flecks used for darters are often ignored. I got the fish and was out of the creek by the time Laura and Dan got back from getting a cup of coffee. So we actually did have time to view some of the fall foliage and visiting a few quaint little towns. 

The Potomac sculpin, species 2237.

For those of you who count along at home, and you know who you are, there are a few missing here, accounted for by the recent splits in cutthroat trout, which got me two armchair lifers. One of these, the Rocky Mountain cutthroat, was added with the Moores during the blog era. The other, the Westslope cutthroat, was a 2004 catch in Idaho with buddy Mike Rapoport – photos of that are in that same blog for your convenience.

It had been an idyllic fall – family, great friends, great food, sports, and a few fish. A day later, I was heading home to celebrate Halloween with Marta, looking forward to our traditional pizza and viewing of Ghostbusters and Vincent Price’s classic Theatre of Blood. I even had an early November Florida trip coming up. But reality often intrudes at unexpected times, and life back in California was about to take a very sad turn.

Steve