view counter

All (All)

Comedy, tragedy and undercurrents of love … just like every family

“You have to soar to fill your soul, but your family is what keeps you grounded,” writes first-time director Dave Carter in the playbill for The Cripple of Inishmaan. That’s the point of Colonial Players’ season opener, a well-crafted comic piece that dips into the reality of sadness and cruelty without turning maudlin.
    Martin McDonagh’s play debuted in 1996 in London and off Broadway in 1998. The wisp of a plot focuses on an American coming to Inishmore, near the island of Inishmaan, to make a film about the locals, who are abuzz.
    Bright performances abound in this dark comedy.
    Teenaged orphan Billy Claven (Jack Leitess), known as Cripple Billy, decides that his fate — and his escape from the cruelties of the island — lies in Hollywood, so he shoves off to join the movies. His two aunts (Mary MacLeod and Carol Cohen) worry about their charge, who spends much too much time reading books and staring at cows. Friend Bartley McCormick (Drew Sharpe) tries his best to understand, and Bartley’s egg-flinging, rough-edged sister Helen (Natasha Joyce) tries to be as cruel as possible.
    Babbybobby Bennett (Scott Nichols), the rough-hewn widower facing his own demons, manages the transit off the island. Tying things all together is the theatrical town gossip Johnnypateenmike (Edd Miller), whose thirst for attention is fed by his ability to barter news for goods. Lisa KB Rath as Johnny’s elderly sot of a mother and Danny Brooks as Doctor McSharry also shine in smaller supporting roles.
    The star of this production is not one particular character over another, but rather the vast undercurrents of love that ebb and flow through each and among them all together. Thence rises the heartfelt laughter, saving what could have been too dark a comedy. Cripple Billy’s friends and neighbors are his family, and Cripple Billy takes as good as he gets when it comes to understanding and coping with his disability. The directness with which his condition is treated gives us some very lovely, often laugh-out-loud, comic moments. From the aunts’ hand-wringing angst over Billy’s lack of prospects and Helen’s addiction to cursing and kissing, to Bartley’s denseness and Johnnypateenmike’s hilariously childlike need to be first to tell, this cast makes McDonagh’s characters come to life brightly, hilariously and sincerely.  
    It’s not a perfect show, to be sure. In several scenes the pacing needs to be picked up (opening night was two hours and 40 minutes, a bit long for a two-act non-musical). Several scenes are awkwardly staged so that too much of the audience in the round is blocked from the action. In a few spots, the actors’ volume must be turned up.
    On a more positive note, director Carter and his actors take care to ensure the Irish accents are of the less-is-more variety, consistent enough that we know we’re in the Aran Islands, but not so overdone that we lose what’s being said.
    What’s being said is beautiful, funny and often heart-wrenching. The Cripple of Inishmaan rides an undercurrent of love that draws us in, gives us good, hearty laughs and soars into our hearts.


Playing thru Oct. 1: Th-Sa8pm, Su 2pm, plus Sept. 18 7:30pm, Colonial Players Theatre, East St., Annapolis; $20 w/discounts; rsvp: 410-268-7373.

Stage manager: Ernie Morton. Costume designer: Christina McAlpine. Set designer: Terry Averill. Lighting designer: Shirley Panek. Sound designer: Michelle Bruno. Dialect coach: Nancy Krebs.

Credit our summer rain

Composting is a science nature has been using since the earth was created. It has only been in the last five decades that we have begun to understand what it does and how. I remain constantly amazed that such a simple process can be so complex. Understanding the pro­cess is the key to producing a quality compost that will benefit the soil in your garden in numerous ways.
    If you make your compost in open bins, you have no doubt made your best compost ever. The compost bins that I filled with last fall’s leaves and on-going vegetable waste from the garden and the kitchen is ready to use. Vegetable kitchen waste added to the compost the last week in July decomposed in less than two weeks.
    Credit the abundance of rain in June and July.
    I make it a practice to wet down my compost bins weekly during the spring and summer, but the downpours did a better job of keeping the composting piles wet than we can.
    In mid-June, I shoveled the composting waste from a large bin into a medium bin, filling it to the brim. By the first week in August, the medium bin had already shrunk to half the volume.
    This rapid rate of decomposition is a prime example of the importance in keeping decomposing organic waste moist. While the composting piles were shrinking rapidly, I measured temperatures of 140 degrees and above. This is an ideal temperature for composting, generating a final product that is nearly free of weed seeds and disease-causing organisms. As the composting materials began to cool in late July, the beneficial organisms that are accumulated on the surface enter the pile.
    When temperatures in the compost are close to the temperature of ambient air, the compost is not capable of providing nutrients because they are being absorbed by organisms active in composting. Most of the nutrients from the compost are not released until those organisms start dying out.


Beware the Harlequin Beetle

    With temperatures in the 90s, weather conditions have been perfect for the harlequin beetle to reproduce and attack plants in the vegetable garden. Cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts and even horseradish plants have been its prime source of food. This hungry, colorful insect can vary in size from the head of a straight pin to slightly larger than a pencil eraser. It actively feeds all day and lays its eggs in the fold of leaves. Any insect that can devour the leaves of a healthy planting of horseradish in a matter of weeks demands immediate attention. Garden books recommend controlling them by hand-picking, but 39-plus days of 90-degree temperature must have shifted their reproductive capability into high gear, because large colonies of pin-sized hatchlings seem to appear daily.


Ask The Bay Gardener your questions at DR.FRGouin@gmail.com. Please include your name and address.

Hauling in jimmies cradling sooks

The big crabs were coming fast, furious and two at a time. My buddy, Mike Fiore, was in the bow holding a crab net crammed full of doublers. He was finding so many of the big males cradling females and clinging to the concrete bridge columns just below the water’s surface that he hadn’t time to shake one set out of the net before we were onto the next.
    “This is unbelievable,” he whooped in excitement. “I’ve never seen so many doublers.”
    Nor had I, and the fact that we hadn’t intended to go crabbing that morning made it more all the better.
    We didn’t have a basket on board to store the crabs, so Mike was simply dropping them onto the deck. There was soon scarcely room to move about in the skiff, with crabs two deep and scuttling in search of a return to the water.
    We had that net only because we intended to catch some big white perch. A crab net is the ideal landing device to ensure that a big heavy black back won’t be lost while over the side of the boat.
    The perch outing was a bust. Despite an early arrival, by mid-morning we had virtually nothing to show. The fish were not there, though we worked the likeliest areas with our best spinner baits.
    We exhausted Plan A and went into Plan B areas with no improvement. With a couple of peeler crabs and some bloodworms for a deeper-water Plan C, we headed for a not-too-distant bridge.
    As I eased my skiff up to a piling so that Mike could drop his top-and-bottom rig on the down-current side where we hoped some jumbo perch would be laying up (they weren’t), he blurted out, “Man there’s a couple of really big doublers hanging onto this column.”
    The baited top-and-bottom rig he had prepared never got wet as he laid down his outfit and wielded our perch landing device (the crab net) to bring the big jimmy and its date on board. Shaking them onto the deck, he leaned out and netted a second, then a third.
    “Dang, look, they’re all over the place,” he observed.
    The crabs kept coming.
    A successful angler can adapt to changing conditions. The conditions that day had changed drastically. We went from angling for white perch to harvesting blue crabs.
    I maneuvered our light craft close around each bridge support in turn, and Mike scooped up the doublers. After about an hour of working just a portion of the pilings, we had an astonishing number of crabs crawling the deck.
    Creating a couple of makeshift measuring devices marked at 5½ inches to ensure we didn’t keep any undersized crabs, we culled through the lot. Pitching the females plus all of the males even close to undersized, we still ended up with nearly a bushel of nice jimmies.
    Temporarily holding the keepers in our fish box while culling, we were then faced with another problem. A cooler is a poor place to store crabs as there is no air circulation. We had no other container and were almost an hour from home, so we dumped the keepers back onto the deck and began the run to the boat ramp.
    During the trip back, as I moved my flip-flop clad foot to discourage a big jimmy that was seeking shelter in my shadow, the motion was enough to trigger a typical crab response. It latched onto my big toe.
    With tears of pain and laughter running down my cheek, I held my foot still and the boat up on plane until the beast got bored and released my aching digit. The delicious crab feast we held that night was more than enough payback.

Preserve their legacies and honor their memories

This time of year, you’d rather think of anything but September 11, 2001.
    Back-to-school rhythms combine with lowering humidity to renew our energy. The sky — typically true-blue this time of year — seems our only limit. I’m full of plans for working smarter than ever before. The outdoors welcomes us again, as first-time Bay Weekly contributor Laura Dunaj reminds us in this week’s feature introducing beginners to backpacking, backed up by Chesapeake Curiosity columnist Christina Gardner’s inquiry into the Appalachian Trail.
    But September 11, 2001, happened, and its long shadow falls on us, especially at this time of year.
    Outrage at the terrorist audacity never goes away. Mourning never ends for all the lives lost on that day.
    Neither, I think, should ever end celebration of the unique vitality of each of those lost lives. What can you do to combat that unconquerable terrorist, death? Living well and regarding each life are the only ways I know. So I’m going to leave talk about fun and fulfillment to other weeks. Next week, for example, when our Fall Fun Guide brings you 50 Ways to Leave Your Summer.
    This week, I’m going to name people of Chesapeake Country so recently targeted by death that they’re being no longer among us is still unbelievable. This list is of course incomplete, as it is my list. There are many others — husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, neighbors — whose legends live in your telling. In obituaries and your recollections, many who I barely knew have touched me these September days. I hope you’ll add the names and fame of people who’ve touched you. Send it to me if you like, for publication in Your Say.
    I’m remembering:
    Mary Brinton, of Millersville, mother of two generations of artists, including Jean Brinton-Jaecks, who has taught so many of us in Chesapeake Country; artist in her own right, creating flocks of painted birds with carver husband Earl.
    Randall ‘Randy’ Brown, of Severna Park, whose abhorrence for waste led to a career in recycling, culminating at Clean Islands International and the Virgin Environmental Resource Station, a living field biology classroom whose students range from university, research and environmental groups to Virgin Islands school children.
    Joseph Allen ‘Sambo’ Swann, of Owings, mastermind of family-owned and run Swann Farms, whose farm-fresh fruit and vegetables made eating local a delicious reality for Southern Maryland and beyond, all the way to Baltimore and D.C. His strawberries begin the good-eating season; his peaches are now in season.
    Robert Timberg, of Annapolis, journalist, author and Marine, overcame disabling and disfiguring burns suffered in Vietnam to rise to the top of his profession as The Baltimore Sun’s White House correspondent, telling thousands of other people’s stories, including stories of fellow U.S. Naval Academy graduates John McCain, James Webb, Oliver North, Bud McFarlane and John Poindexter in his book, The Nightingale’s Song — finally telling his own story in two autobiographies, State of Grace and Blue-Eyed Boy.
    And my Illinois friend, writer Tom Teague, whose life began and ended on September 11 ___ years apart.

~~~~~

    To preserve the legacies and honor the memories of Sambo Swann and Phyllis Horsman, of Horsman Farms in St. Leonard, a Calvert County Farm Bureau Young Farmers scholarship is being created. You can be in on the ground floor by buying tickets for the first fundraising event, Dining in the Fields, an all-local outdoor dinner and gals Thursday, October 6, at The Cage, an historic Calvert County farm on the Patuxent River. Buy tickets at www.calvertfarmbureau.com/dining-in-the-field.

Sandra Olivetti Martin
Editor and publisher; editor@bayweekly.com

Phenomenal performances sell a story stretched thin

Homecoming after the Great War is wrenching for Tom Sherbourne (Michael Fassbender: X-Men: Apocalypse). Seeking solitude, he signs on as keeper of the lighthouse on uninhabited Janus Island.
    On a tri-monthly visit to the mainland, he catches the eye of Isabel (Alicia Vikander: Jason Bourne). Their epistolary romance soon blossoms into marriage. On Janus, they are incandescently happy until Isabel becomes pregnant. Two miscarriages and two little wooden crosses leave her on the brink of a breakdown and Tom struggling to save the marriage.
    Salvation appears in a rowboat: a baby in the arms of a dead man. Tom wants to call the authorities, but Isabel convinces him to bury the dead man and pretend the baby is their child.
    Tom relents, and happiness returns to the island.
    But on the mainland, Tom learns that their daughter is the child of a woman who believes the baby and her husband were lost at sea.
    What is an honest man to do?
    Boasting great performances and gorgeous cinematography, The Light Between Oceans is a throwback to the Magnificent Obsession melodramas of Douglas Sirk in the 1950s. Scenery is lush, performances are heartfelt and the plot improbable. Director Derek Cianfrance (The Place Beyond the Pines) adapted the film from a bestselling novel, and cinematic time constraints may explain leaps in logic.
    Characters make life-altering decisions then recant minutes later; Coincidence strains credulity. This can be frustrating if you hope to understand the plot as it’s unfolding.
    Only Fassbender and Vikander save it from becoming dreck. Both give heart-wrenching performances within the limits of a form high on dramatic events but short on the emotional impact of these events on the characters.
    While the leads try their best, it’s hard to build characters in a film unspooling an increasingly ridiculous plot.

Fair Drama • PG-13 • 133 mins.

Tell that to the people you meet this week

Everybody’s got a story.    
    Many of those stories are never told.
    Children grow up with no idea of their mothers’ and fathers’ hopes and dreams, struggles and frustrations, hard roads and high times, determination and doubt. This very week, two friends have told me, with regret: “I never knew …”
    It’s not only husbands and wives whose partners work at NSA who couldn’t tell you what they do. Most of us have no clear idea of what keeps our husbands, sisters, best friends busy. Oh she’s in computers, they might say.
    We think we know. We’re just too busy to ask. It never occurred to us to wonder. Many of our stories remain unknown and untold until our obituaries — if anybody bothers to write us one.
    I can’t bear letting all those stories go.
    If you’ve met me, I’ve probably peppered you with questions.
    “Are you interviewing me?” a reserved friend asked over lunch the other day.
    “No, I’m interested in your story,” I told her.
    “But you’re likely to become a Bay Weekly story,” warned the third in our group.
    Telling the stories of Chesapeake Country — yours, your family’s, your neighbors — has been our job at Bay Weekly these 23 years. You’ve read, I hope with pleasure, chapters of those stories in issue after issue since April 22, 1993. A few among thousands come immediately to mind: the Balloon Man of Annapolis (www.bayweekly.com/node/34431) … Calvert County skateboarders Wayne Cox and Joey Jett (www.bayweekly.com/node/34205) … The Vera behind Vera’s White Sands in Lusby (www.bayweekly.com/old-site/year06/issuexiv25/leadxiv25_1.html) … our own Bill Burton, the great outdoorsman and outdoors writer who retired from the Baltimore Evening Sun to our pages (many, including the last: www.bayweekly.com/old-site/year09/issue_33/features.html).
    The stories in this week’s issue are a little out of the ordinary, focusing on the stories of our advertisers.
    Before making this decision, our editorial board — Alex Knoll, Bill Lambrecht and I — have been alert to the many ways our colleagues in journalism fight for survival in our fast-changing world. Common nowadays: credited sponsors, sponsored content, columns representing special interests, whole sections of bought stories in news format.
    The synthesis of our reflection is the Bay Weekly Local Business Guide you’re reading.
    In it, we attempt to tell the stories of our sponsors, the people whose advertising brings you Bay Weekly issue after issue — plus advertisers who thought this particular edition would make a good test of our readership.
    We’ve wanted to know what makes them tick: Why they got in business, why they keep it up, what their rewards are. In other words, we’ve asked them much the same questions reporters ask strangers or those enjoying their 15 minutes of fame.
    Pulling it all together took the whole Bay Weekly team, from ad reps Lisa Knoll, Audrey Broomfield, Donna Day and Karen Lambert; production staff Alex Knoll and Betsy Kehne; myself and staff writer Kathy Knotts, contributing writer Victoria Clarkson and intern Kelsey Cochran, now back at Gettysburg College.
    So it’s not just me but all of us who hope you enjoy learning the stories behind the businesses. If reading them takes you through their doors, be sure to say,
“I read about you in Bay Weekly.”

Sandra Olivetti Martin
Editor and publisher; editor@bayweekly.com

Holiday dates back more than 130 years

The first Monday in September marks Labor Day.
    “Labor Day is a creation of the labor movement and is dedicated to the social and economic achievements of American workers,” according to the U.S. Department of Labor. “It constitutes a yearly national tribute to the contributions workers have made to the strength, prosperity and well-being of our country.”
    Credit for the day of celebration is divided between Matthew Maguire, a machinist and member of the Central Labor Union in New York, and Peter McGuire, a carpenter and co-founder of the American Federation of Labor.
    The first Labor Day celebration was held by the Central Labor Union in New York on Tuesday, September 5, 1882. Ten thousand workers took unpaid time off to march from Market Hall to Union Square in the first Labor Day parade.
    Labor Day celebrations spread throughout the country, with municipalities, then states and finally the nation recognizing a holiday for working people. President Grover Cleveland signed the law designating the first Monday in September as Labor Day in 1894. His timing was practical, in response to a railroad strike that crippled rail travel. In response, the government deployed troops to Chicago to control the striking workers. Riots broke out and dozens were killed. Labor Day was recognized in hopes of repairing the relationship between government and workers.
    Through the 20th century, the power of labor unions rose. The American labor movement has become synonymous with values that Americans hold dear: a fair wage for a day’s work, safe working conditions for all, a labor force that is valued and protected from exploitation — and the weekend.
    In the 1980s, 30 percent of Americans were union members. Today, only about 11 percent of workers are represented by unions.


Has a sight stymied you? Does an oddity bewilder? Your curiosity may be featured in an upcoming column. Send your questions to chesapeakecuriosities@gmail.com.

 

Two brothers fight the law and the banks in this gorgeous Western

Toby (Chris Pine: Star Trek Beyond) and Tanner Howard (Ben Foster: Warcraft) are days away from losing their family home. They’re the latest in a long line of landowners in Texas who’ve taken unfair mortgages from banks that leave them on the brink of homelessness. Signs for debt relief and bank buyouts populate their small town, which is slowly decaying because of the economic collapse.
    Toby has spent his life trying to preserve the family land. It’s his legacy and one he’d like to pass down to his children. Tanner is a jailbird who likes bar fights and women. The land has never meant anything to Tanner, but he’s loyal to his brother and wants to help Toby create a legacy.
    To keep their land, Toby comes up with an idea: rob branches of the bank that’s foreclosing on the Howard homestead, taking only enough money to pay the mortgage and back taxes. Toby figures it will take five banks, and if they do it right, no one will die. Tanner figures it’s his chance to play outlaw again and immediately leaps into the role of desperado, unnecessarily beating bank employees and waving guns. They’re the modern-day James brothers, raising hell on the plains of Texas.
    The heists attract the attention of Texas Ranger Marcus Hamilton (Jeff Bridges: The Little Prince), who’s on the brink of retirement. He decides that the Texas Midlands bank robbers will be his last big case, a chance to go out in a blaze of glory.
    Will Hamilton track down the men before they finish their crime wave?
    Filled with great acting, a tight script and gorgeous cinematography, Hell or High Water is a fantastic twist on the classic Western genre. Director David Mackenzie (Starred Up) makes West Texas one of the stars of the film, utilizing the flat expanses of land to isolate Tanner and Toby, making them seem both adrift and trapped by their surroundings. Dilapidated towns and deserted streets set the scenes and make it clear that economic downturns have sucked the life from these communities, sparing Mackenzie from long boring rants about the evils of banks.
    Mackenzie also works hard to make every speaking part in the movie memorable. Notable southern character actors like Dale Dickey and Margaret Bowman show up for scene-stealing cameos that help populate the film with intriguing characters. The culture of Texas, the pride and hubris that comes with Lone Star citizenship, is key to understanding the choices characters make. Being from Texas is not just a geographical fact but a state of mind. The people in these towns are armed and annoyed, which means that local citizens have no compunctions about starting a shootout during a bank robbery.
    Pine, Foster and Bridges all carry their roles. Bridges’ southern drawl and bravado masks deep feelings of dread and inadequacy; he faces retirement the way a man faces a firing squad. As the bank robber brothers, Pine and Foster manage to forge a believable bond with a real tenderness. These are men who love each other deeply but are more comfortable expressing that devotion through a shared beer or a bout of roughhousing. Foster especially steals his scenes as the Howard Family screw-up. Brash, violent and terrifyingly charming, Tanner is a liability from the start, and one that seems to know his story won’t have a happy ending.
    A love letter to Texas and a lamentation of the dying culture of the sprawling western lowlands, Hell or High Water is one of the best films of the year. Topical and timeless, this tale of two outlaw brothers sounds like a story that could be told over a campfire. But a legend featuring a villainous bank plays well even if you’re not at home on the range. If you’re a fan of western lore or just great storytelling, Hell or High Water is the movie to see this summer.

Great Western • R • 102 mins.

Dog vomit mold and artillery fungus are likely candidates

The abundance of rain this summer has created ideal conditions for the growth of artillery fungus and dog vomit mold. Gardeners who apply a fresh layer of mulch each spring are prime candidates for both problems. I have already seen one case of dog vomit mold, and I anticipate calls complaining that the color of their houses suddenly appears darker.
    Dog vomit is a slime mold that grows readily on organic matter such as hardwood bark mulch. Its name describes its appearance. It pops up in dark, shaded areas that can remain moist for several days. It will first appear as a bubbly dirty-white-to-pinkish blob five to eight inches long and two to three inches wide. Within a day or two, it will turn brown making it appear as if a dog dropped a load from the other end. Depending on how soon you discover it, it may have an odor.
    There are no chemicals you can use to rid the area of this slime mold and no chemicals you can use to prevent it. If you discover it in your landscape the only solution is to sweep it away with a rake and hope that it will not return. There is strong evidence that it is a more common problem where hardwood bark mulch is used and a lesser problem where pine bark mulch is applied. I have also seen it on colored mulches made from discarded pallets.
    Artillery fungus is the result of a saprophytic fungus releasing millions of black spores that are carried by a wind or a slight breeze. We have the proper conditions for artillery fungus to appear. Many years ago, extension agents on the Eastern Shore were overwhelmed with phone calls from people whose houses overnight changed in color from white to brown-black. In every instance, the homeowners had applied a fresh layer of mulch under and around their garden and foundation plantings. There appeared to be no differences among the types of mulches used.
    Those homeowners who took immediate action and power-washed the exterior of their homes were spared the expense of having to paint them. Those who allowed the fungus spores to dry on the siding had to scrape and sand before it could be painted.
    Both of these problems are unpredictable. But our recent weather — frequent heavy rains, high temperatures and high humidity — remind me of those years when both dog vomit mold and artillery fungus were problems. Beware.
    I have never experienced either of these on my property. I avoid them by not applying bark or wood mulches. I am a strong advocate for using compost as mulch. Bark contributes nothing of nutritional value to the soil, while compost provides nutrients. Plus the composting process kills disease-causing organisms and only beneficial organisms remain.


Heat Shock in the Garden

Q    Why are my green pole bean blossoms falling off? No beans in sight.

–Buddy Rapczynski, Lusby

A    It has been too hot. Cool the plants by misting them with water twice during the heat of the day.


Ask The Bay Gardener your questions at DR.FRGouin@gmail.com. Please include your name and address.

A hard fighter and incom­parable on the table

The previous two fish were a 10- and an 11-incher, but when I cinched this perch it was clearly a more formidable adversary. Boring for deep water in an extended, measured run, the perch then paused and just plain refused to budge. I lifted my rod and tried to pull him toward the surface but found it almost impossible to gain line.
    Having lost a number of big perch trying to out-muscle them, I patiently kept a deep bend in my stick. Eventually the fish began to move, steadily and away. I was at a loss for what to do next.
    The primary goal that morning had been to get some nice white perch for dinner. The secondary goal was to be off the water by 11am, when the August sun would begin to really throw its heat around.
    While I’ll launch my skiff in the wee hours before dawn when the water is at its coolest, I have never been a morning person. Luckily I didn’t have to rise early for these fish. The white perch is one species in the Bay that is almost immune to warm temperatures.
    The whitey is also as sporty as they come, a hard fighter, easy to lose and incomparable on the table, especially when fried. The only possible shortcoming is the perch’s modest size, but that can be remedied by matching the tackle to the fish.

Tackle Tips
    My favorite rods for tangling with these spunky fish, especially in shallow water where they can really show off their stuff, are a pair of light, Loomis five-footers with full-length cork grips and Shimano Sahara 1000 reels spooled with four- to six-pound mono.
    I throw a variety of lures, and each can be superior depending on the circumstances. Spinner baits are, overall, the most productive class of lures. A 1/6-ounce Super Rooster Tail in Clown Coach Dog or Chartreuse Dalmatian are superior for water up to four feet deep and have been the most popular perch lures in the mid-Bay for the last half-dozen years or so.
    A more recent addition, the Capt. Bert’s Perch Pounder in orange and black (Jamie’s Halloween) is fast overtaking the Roosters in terms of fish catching. These baits also work well in deeper water up to six feet and feature a single, fixed, super-sharp Gamagatsu hook that resists bottom fouling and makes de-hooking the fish a great deal easier.  Deeper water lures include the Kastmasters and the P-Line Laser Minnows.
    White perch of all sizes can usually be found in the shallows around rock jetties, piers and docks, fallen shoreline trees, any kind of rip-rapped edges and any deeper underwater structures such as bridge supports, rock piles, oyster reefs or sunken boats. The more remote, hard-to-find or difficult-to-access structures have the best chance of holding larger fish.

Back to the Fish at Hand
    It took some long and anxious minutes before my monster finally began to tire. Early in the battle I was suspicious that the rascal was a rockfish in disguise but its steady, determined runs and thumping head shakes convinced me that it was an old, thick shouldered, black back.
    Netting the beast as it finally emerged from the depths, I was still astonished by its size. Measured from the fork in its tail to the tip of the nose, it registered a solid 13¾ inches, my personal best in 35 years of fishing the Chesapeake. As contrast, it would take a rockfish of more than 36 inches on light tackle to equal the thrill of landing this outsized perch, indeed a trophy.
    Six perch that day easily provided dinner for me and my wife. I filleted the fish (the big one turned out to be a male), then cut each into finger-eating-sized portions. Rolled in panko crumbs, fried to a golden-brown in peanut oil and served with fresh, Eastern Shore sweet corn and sliced tomatoes, it was a meal to remember.