So long 2005

i won't really miss you
this was a fairly tough year
i'm not going to kiss you
maybe i'll buy you a beer

although there were some nice times
it seemed you were mad
i'm not sure at what
perhaps you were just sad

risks and opportunities: at the plate and ready to swing.

It’s a well accepted fact that fate has a knack for throwing curveballs at you when you least expect it. You could be chugging along more or less peacefully along a comfortable and well- beaten path when all of a sudden, an alternative path appears in front of you. Pros and cons are weighed, arguments are made and contradicted, advice is sought, given, thought through, considered or ignored, in the end a decision must be made: swing at the curveball or let it go and take a possible strike.

On Friday afternoon, I was pitched a particularly heavy-loaded curveball. I was having a nasty week at work, battling combined deadlines, an overbearing boss, an unsatisfying and (in my opinion) unjust year-end evaluation, to survive and make it to a Friday night that looked increasingly like an oasis in the middle of the desert. That’s when I got a phone call from my old boss at Nestle. There was casual chit-chat at first, and since the call was surprising in and of itself, I expected him to ask me some professional question regarding an issue I may have worked on during my stay in Switzerland. I certainly wasn’t ready for his pitch as he asked me, in typical laid back Swiss fashion, if I’d be interested to take a position at Nestle’s South American Regional treasury Center in Panama. Had he called to ask me whether or not I wanted an official Nestle Christmas card, I don’t think he would have gone about it any differently. At this point, I’m sitting in my semi-open space office and I’m too surprised and stunned to formulate a decisive response. We agree I can think the idea through over the weekend and get back to him on Monday morning if it appeals to me, before we start tackling the more concrete issues of job description, compensations, living conditions and other practical matters.

And so for the past 2 days, I’ve been wrestling with the idea almost incessantly, swaying back and forth more or less decisively, with varying degrees of determination, doubt and apprehension. For you see, it’s one thing to casually contemplate the idea of moving half way across the world to an exotic location for a few weeks or months, it’s another to consider medium-term relocation on a different continent only 9 months after moving to a familiar setting in an attempt to settle down and take root. I may be over thinking things but the prospect of pulling a 180 and going back on the road for anywhere from 3 to 15 years is quite daunting. It’s a decision heavy with consequences, a choice in lifestyle for years to come: stability and life-building versus adventure, constant change, and stories to tell.

Mind you, it is a privilege and what looks like a golden opportunity so by no means is it tragic or sad and I am certainly welcome and grateful for it. Such opportunities don’t come knocking too often in life. Turn it down and who knows when the next one will show up? And when you consider that Nestle is going out of its way to try and lure me back, knowing that I’m not satisfied with my current professional situation, it makes the whole deal very flattering and attractive. They could very well settle for a local from Panama to fill the position: it would be cheaper for them than to splash out on what will certainly be an expensive expatriate package. In fact, it is my understanding that their budget does not include hiring an expatriate for this position, but in order to make sure they do not lose a “quality element” (to use their words), they’re willing to bend the rules and push through with the offer. All the more flattering and honorable.

It doesn’t make the decision any easier however. I’ve been tossing the idea around my head pretty much non stop for the past 48 hours. I’ve talked to various people, friends with precise career paths and a history of traveling, other close friends whose advice I trust and value, and family of course. Talking with my parents has probably been the most fruitful and helpful so far: they’ve allowed me to wave aside the superficial issues and to look at the big picture as objectively as possible, which essentially means focusing on the professional aspect first and foremost. It doesn’t mean they do not care for the personal aspect of the decision, but they know very well that that decision is mine and mine only to take. No one but me can weigh the pros and cons on a personal level, and trying to weigh in on that decision would be unfair and selfish of them. Their support will be unwavering no matter what decision I take, and for that I’m incredibly grateful and admiring. However, they do want to make sure I take the best possible professional decision and in this matter they can assist and help me think things out. Because after all, there’s no point in torturing myself if the professional opportunity that is given to me isn’t an interesting and promising one both in the short term and in the longer term.

No doubt I will learn much at first, but once the novelty factor wears off, will the job keep me interested and challenged for the full 3 years I will be there? What will it lead to in the longer term? Would I unofficially be committing myself to subsequent 3-year tenures in other exotic countries, relocating successively as I climb the corporate ladder of an esteemed multinational company? Does it make sense professionally or is it a dead end? While I doubt they would have extended such an opportunity to me if the latter case was true, it’s something I still need to confirm with them. Only then should I really be considering the personal aspects of exiling myself, starting anew in a foreign country, and possibly starting a long streak of similar relocations.

But that’s easier said than done: after all, I’m potentially facing the prospect of having to gather my shit and move to the Tropics in only 6 weeks time! 9 months ago I managed to weasel my way back to Paris in an attempt to settle down, root myself to a place with friends and family around, to start building something concrete in my life. In essence, I’m about to roll the die on the type of lifestyle I will have for the next 10-15 years: rooted or on the move. You could look at it from various angles: adventure vs. comfort, change vs. familiarity. Which one appeals to me more, and at which point in my life?

Additionally, what happens if I turn down this opportunity? Life would resume for me as before: I would be surrounded by friends and family, having a developed social life, enjoying all that Paris has to offer, meeting pretty women, going out, eating out, enjoying 8 weeks of vacation a year, flying to Jazzfest, High Sierra, skiing, scuba diving, etc… But I would also undoubtedly find myself job hunting in a couple months. I’m disillusioned with my current job and the work environment is piss poor. I’m unmotivated and the outlook is bleak at best. I’d need to figure out what it is I want to do professionally before rejoining the interview merry go round, taking a chance on a new job, doing something different, possibly taking (yet another) pay cut if it’s something drastically different for which I have no prior experience. Will I be kicking myself in 6 months time for turning down such a chance?

Professionally, taking this posting in Panama is an easy ticket out of an uncomfortable situation. It’s far easier than unconvincingly diving once again in the job market. And it could be an additional step on the Nestlé fast track.

Personally though, staying in Paris in a familiar environment is obviously much easier and comfortable. Moving to Panama and starting from scratch amidst other expatriates is risky. I’ve done it once in Switzerland, where I could head back to Paris on a regular basis, and it wasn’t easy. Will it be any easier in South America? A lot of it depends on circumstances, so it’s a gamble.

There are other side notes to be considered but what it comes down to is this: Professional versus Personal. It’s a gamble. The bottom line is, do you swing for the fences or take the strike ? Christmas week isnt going to be as restful as expected.

Leafing through the winter bookshelf

Frank G. Dwyer
December 17, 2005

Another saltwater season has come and gone for the most part, and what a great season it was! From spring stripers rolling on the flats to an abundance of bluefish carousing in our surf, 2005 was a terrific season for fishing. The late start to the season we experienced due to a brutally long winter led to some terrific fall fishing this year.

As you prepare your gear to be banished to the garage or basement, take comfort in knowing that we will once again feel the tug of the line next spring. In addition, we can also fight may a fish vicariously through the efforts of several fine authors who have taken the time to write the following books that can help you through the upcoming winter.

Readers of this column know I have a certain interest/addiction to the annual Martha's Vineyard Striped Bass and Bluefish Derby. In Robert Post's Reading The Water, the fishing adventures of many legendary island anglers are recounted, with several of the stories concentrating on derby time. I've read this book too many times to count , and never get tired of it. It was out of print for years, but has recently come back into circulation with a new forward by Henry "Hal" Lyman.

More recently, Ray Ellis and Ed Jerome put out a book entitled Fishing The Vineyard. Ellis is a wonderful artist who has painted many terrific Vineyard scenes. Jerome is a resident of Martha's Vineyard and has been intimately involved with the annual Derby as Chairman for many years. The book has wonderful stories, paintings and photographs celebrating the awesome fishing experience that awaits anglers who visit Martha's Vineyard. The book is readily available on-line and in traditional bookstores.

In Blues, John Hersey weaves a tale of a stranger and a fisherman who meet on Martha's Vineyard. The stranger accepts an offer to join the fisherman on one of his outings, which leads to a summer of discovery for both the fisherman and stranger. This is another book that can be tough to find, but its seems to be currently available .

On the Run: An Anglers journey Down the Striper Coast, by David DiBenedetto, traces the annual fall migration of the striped bass from Maine to North Carolina. The book is an entertaining read but also educational in that you will learn quite a bit about the striped bass and their history. DiBenedetto is an editor at Field and Stream magazine and writes with a style that stimulates the reader's interest and imagination.

John Waldman's compilation of stories devoted to striped bass, Stripers, An Angler's Anthology, is a collection of writings from author's who have a certain affinity to the striped bass. Stories by the likes of John Cole, Nelson Bryant, Frank Daignault and J. Kenney Abramson, to name a few, grace the pages of this book and provide a wonderful look at the often sought after moron scuttles.

For a look back at the way things used to be, pick up a copy of Frank Daignault's Twenty Years on the Cape: My Time as a Surfcaster. While the book depicts a time when it was commonplace to harvest large numbers of striped bass each and every night, it also provides the insight of a dedicated and successful fisherman like Daignault. The book provides vivid details of a family that spent many a day and night on the beaches of Cape Cod.

Close to Shore: A True Story of Terror in the Age of Innocence is an account of the summer of 1916 when a Great White shark terrorized swimmers along the New Jersey shore. Michael Capuzzo does an admirable job of interweaving historical accounts of the times with the attacks that were part of the inspiration for Jaws, Peter Benchley's novel (and movie). Read this one long before summer arrives!

For a deep and explorative look at the fishermen of Gloucester, pick up a copy of Kim Bartlett's The Finest Kind: The Fishermen of Gloucester. You'll feel as though you are part of the crew on the boat as the book provides the reader with details and descriptions of this difficult profession. While The Perfect Storm was an excellent portrayal of one Gloucester crew's story, this book provides terrific insight into the Gloucester fishing industry.

(Originally Published October 31, 2003)

Ocean of Dire Delight

Oh quiescent wave of submerged engagement,
flowing with aforesaid solemnity.
Ominous transcription you desire,
bereft of recrudescence,
a luxury you know not.
With pernicious tongues,
the wind quietly whispers your dispersion.

Oh irresistible energy of calming consternation,
gracefully feeding the insurgent tide.
Impetuous gales of tribulation
iteratively intensify the subconscious swells.
Each rising crest,
like a synchronizing pendulum,
innocently propels the next.

Oh surf of pacifying poison,
foolishly receding awareness.
Your distracting prowess I yearn to contest.
Only grateful pursuance of ahimsa,
a mere perspective shift,
solaces the contentious wind fetch,
like a combative coastline of consciousness.

Another Vineyard Derby Trip In the Books

One of these days, I will hopefully relive my glory year of 1997 at the Martha's Vineyard Striped Bass and Bluefish Derby and win at least a daily price (2nd place daily bluefish), but 2005 proved very similar to the last few years as very few fish were landed in my foursome.

Mike, Don, Andy and I have all made the pilgrimage to the Vineyard for several years for the annual fishing event. The event is about fishing primarily, but certainly about camaraderie and goofing around with friends as well.

We arrived on the Vineyard via the MV Katama, which is a freight ship in the Steamship Authority's fleet. We happened to be on a 4pm boat, which was during a good blow left over from Hurricane Rita. We had a pretty rough forty minute ride over from Woods Hole and all of us were excited to get fishing. I'm talking waves over the bow and onto the cars on the deck "pretty rough" here.

Our first stop was at Dick's Bait and Tackle on New York Avenue in Oak Bluffs to register for the derby. We usually register at Coops Bait and Tackle, but wanted to fish Tashmoo that evening, so we decided not to ride all the way over to Edgartown.

After settling in at the Nashua House, which has been our flop house of choice for the last few years, we headed to Tashmoo for some plugging to work the kinks out. Unfortunately it was the last day of the quarter for me and I was trying to work out a last minute deal, but that didn't stop my friends from working the jetty with danny plugs, needle fish and perhaps a mr. wiggly.

We were all tired and decided to head back towards Oak Bluffs and perhaps a few night caps. It used to be that October in Oak Bluffs was quiet, but it sure felt like July as we turned up Circuit Avenue.

There was plenty of automobile and pedestrian traffic milling around the streets of Oak Bluffs as we made our way back to the hotel. A few Grey Goose's later and we hit the sack in hopes of rising early and finding False Albacore off East Beach on Chappaquiddick.

We were on the street loading the car by 4:45 AM on Friday morning. Good thing ol' Dippin' Donuts opens early!! We motored onto the sand at Norton Point and made our way to Chappaquiddick. With the beach erosion being what it is these days, over-sand vehicles are routed back onto the island and over the Dyke Bridge (Teddy K's Bridge), where you can either head to Cape Poge and the infamous Edgartown Gut or out onto East Beach and Wasque Point.

We spilled our 40 year-old bodies out of the truck and began rigging up our rods in the pre-dawn light. As the sun rose out of Nantucket Sound, we began to see distant splashes breaking the calm surface of the water, and we all knew there were Albies (False Albacore) in the area.

Now, being in the area and actually catching fish are two completely different things and the distant splashes stayed out of casting range for most of the morning. Andy did land a small striper just before dawn on Friday morning and also a 3-pound bluefish, but out of 30 or so fishermen on the beach that morning, we saw 3 Albies landed in four hours.

At 11 AM, after a breakfast of Barley and Hops, we headed down towards Cape Poge, hugging the shoreline in search of the tell-tale splashes that Albies make. Several times we stopped to cast to pods of fish, but had no luck. Luckily it was not raining like it has done in the past, and getting skunked in the sun certainly beats getting shut out in the rain!

After heading back to Oak Bluffs for some downtime and dinner, we once again headed out in the Vineyard darkness. This time decided to give it a go off the South Beach / Norton Point area, specifically a location known as Metcalf's Hole. We spent a solid three hours making assorted offerings of eels, squid and butterfish, and only had a few bluefish and a small striper to show for it. For the record, I did not catch anything and left that to Don, Andy and Mike!

We arrived back at the hotel for another round of Goose and hit the hay after a long day of casting. Once again Andy awoke us at around 4:30 AM and we were once again headed to Dippin' Donuts and then onto the beach, only this time on a Saturday morning. The beach on Chappy was more crowded--even at 5:15AM--since it was a Saturday, but unfortunately the fishing was much the same as the day before.

We were scheduled on a Noon ferry and considering the conditions, we figured we'd have no problems tearing ourselves away from the beach, but our lack of fish was certainly not from lack of effort. We did see a few more Albies landed on Saturday morning--maybe five--however they still seemed to stay mostly our of casting range. It's a maddening fish to chase, but the excitement of one on the line makes the frustration that comes with fishing for them worth it.

The lack of fish certainly did not temper our enthusiasm to head back to the Vineyard again next year. While landing a few more fish and getting some fish to the weigh station would be nice, the trip is certainly more about the good time had with good friends!

Sweet Song of Tumult

The melody is melancholy, the harmony, divine.

Somber pulsations of rhythmic dissonance coalesces
the nebulous sequence, discrete and disjoint.

Cries of cosmic loneliness quietly resonate in woeful stillness.

The songbird slowly transcends the canyon of malaise.

Drive diminishing, she weeps to the humble stratus layer,
longing for emotional camaraderie and revitalizing self-validation.

"Oh dark cloud," she quavers
"The earth has disappeared!
My direction waivers,
for I know not any destination."

The docile cloud slowly replies,
"Breathe deeply, sweet songbird."

The songbird quickly retorts.
"Forsaken are my words."

Onward she flies.
Bewildered.

Saturtrey

Trey at the Warfield. Saturdaynight. That's nothing but a sure bet for a good time so with floor tickets in hand Lani and I went in led by James who had hooked us up at the last minute. Friends had picked out a spot on the left side one tier up, just in front of the bar. The big speakers were directly in front of us, but we couldn't see all of the stage.

Lights down, roar up and they're onstage. They started right off firey. Air Said to Me, Plasma and Last Tube were all very sick with lots of heaviness in the bass section and tearing jams out of Trey's guitar. I've seen the guy play a million times it feels like, but never with this exact team. I spent a lot of time watching the bassist and drummer and the two guys were having the time of their lives. Huge grins and absolutely thunderous sounds coming from their instruments. And Trey's riffs whirled around them wholly locked in with frequent launches into blistering jams. Cayman Review threw a funky groove into the Warfield and the danceparty was starting to bubble up. Throughout the beginning tunes I noticed that he was letting things get a little dark, a little funky, a little weird and I loved it. I enjoy a little menace in my jams and it was the first time I'd see Trey let that back into his show in a controlled, interesting way. Each song was long. He let the songs live big and large and wasn't afraid to take them in a variety of directions before pulling them back in to their conclusions. It was kinda funny to hear the songs with horns, but not be able to see the actual horn players because they were out of view, behind the speaker tower. After Wherever You Find It came the acoustic portion of the set. Phish time.

Pebbles and Marbles. Man. I just don't know about this song. I want to like it. I know a lot of people really do. At some point in the future I might dig it too, but it's just one that I've never connected with. I guess it's because I don't like/understand the lyrics, that I spend most of the song thinking about what he's trying to say and less just enjoying the music. And the next one, Fast Enough for You is exactly what the lyrics lament, for me. It's just not nearly fast enough for me, and far too repetitive. But my bitchiness belies the enjoyment I had hearing him take some big Phish songs back to their essential parts. Except, I just didn't want to hear them.

I don't know what I would have preferred, but those two didn't do it for me. Others loved it, I know. Inlaw was great. The song is beautifully composed and Trey simply nailed it. All night his playing was stellar, he looked great, his voice was excellent and he was clearly having a great time. And he got me dancing, for sure. And then... and then... "and then he slayed me" is what I should be writing right now, but I simply can't. Here, instead, the pain of pleasure passed dug in and twisted around. He played Sample In a Jar into Bathtub Gin on his acoustic guitar and we all wailed along with him, filling in the parts where Mike and Page and Fish would normally live. It should have been divine. For many I'm certain it was. But for me it contained too much of what I missed for me to simply enjoy it for what it was. It's my problem, I know. It was obvious Trey loved playing it and I was having just as much fun as everyone else singing along but it was like walking to the store for your favorite sixpack instead of discovering an awesome bar you never knew existed. The place that has rare, delicious beers on tap, a great jukebox ten of your best friends, an empty pool table and hot, generous bartenders. It wasn't that. It was walking to the store listening to your iPod, buying your favorite six pack and then strolling home to watch simpsons on DVD and smoke bowls. Still really great, but just... unsurprising.

What would I have rather heard? Not Phish, or maybe some other rarer Phish acoustics. I'd like to have Les out there and hear some Oysterhead. I'd like to see him throw in a great cover or two, maybe Dylan, maybe Jerry, maybe Jimi, maybe Floyd. Going back to the Phish right now when I'm in the midst of trying to get my head around his new songs and new groove was jarring, unsettling. But again, this is me. This is how I felt it. The show was amazing I knew, but it was coming in through my mind and not my heart. The acoustic Phish songs were poignant and powerful and perfectly executed. I just couldn't fit them into my brain and soul all the right ways. After a great Gin singalong, he got back to the electricity. And there was a guest! Les is coming Les is coming Les is gonna play! I thought with a thrill, suddenly knowing this night was about to get superinsane and we were going to blow the roof off this place. But I was foiled by my own expectations. Instead it was Jerry Harrison who I'd vaguely heard of, but didn't really know, even though I'm a huge Talking Heads fan. I have trouble with band member names, I always have. As Trey did the introduction and those two words emerged from his mouth: Talking Heads, I suddenly thought that maybe one of my musical fantasies was going to come true and I was about to hear Life During Wartime, live and in person. But no, they played Road Runner. It was a song from Jerry's other band Modern Lovers and it was totally fun. Poppy and rocky and definitely something I'd heard before, but at this point in the show I noticed that my head and ears were hurting like crazy.

The huge speakers in front of me had suddenly become a stack of destruction. As I sit here 2 nights later, I can still hear/feel a slight ringing in my left ear. Yesterday it was both. And whenever it's quite I can feel high pitch buzz and I remember the moment during Road Runner when I thought to myself: this time it's going to stick. And I'm kind of pissed off about that. I should have been smarter and worn earplugs the second I stared those enormous speakers in the face, but instead it wasn't until nearly 2 hours later that I thought to take precautions. Lani and I conferred, she tried to get earplugs, but instead we just used a bit of cocktail napkin and the relief was immediate. Unfortunately, the ringing persists.

Road Runner didn't last long, and it felt like a slightly strange diversion in the show. And then came Simple Twist Up Dave, which I thought had already been played as the second song, but that was Plasma, so I spent a little bit of time trying to figure out what song it was I had mislabled in my mind but Gotta Jibboo brought me right back to the Warfield and they rocked it utterly. Ether Sunday sent a breezy groove through the place and we all moved around in the soaring licks. The Halls in the rhythm section continued to keep it very thick with a solid, bouncing bass line throughout and precise, fluid drums. Tuesday and Mr. Completely brought back Trey's signature tension and release jams, but Low, despite it's absence from the official setlist, definitely came in at the end instead of the rest of Mr. Completely.

I was impressed with how long he had played when Low ended. When he came back out for the encore only five or ten minutes had passed and by the time it was done, he had played nearly three hours of music. Come Together and then I Want To Take You Higher were both pleas and affirmations of what Trey can do. And he did it well Saturday night at the Warfield. He brought us all together. Me and my wife and our friends. People we haven't seen in a while, people that don't go out every night, musicians like Jerry Harrison who deserve huge accolades for all their great work, Trey himself, just getting to hang with him for an evening in such a special venue, it was truly a treat. But I remain conflicted because I still cannot sit here and say it was as great a rock show as several other shows I've seen in the recent months. And that I cannot say that when it was by all accounts a great show, that tells me something. That I knew I was watching a great Trey show and that it was all coming together and that the bass player and the drummer and the other guy on guitar were all meshing with the horns when they showed up and that Trey was soaring over them all with precision and grace, doing what he does best and still letting all of them get into the mix and play around, it should still two days later all still be filling me with thrill and magic, and yet somehow it doesn't, the show didn't. I wanted to love it for exactly what it was, for what he was doing and part of me does love that. I love that he's starting fresh and trying all kinds of somethings new. But my ears are still ringing, and I can't take a bath without Page opening the Gin for me, and when Trey wheels around because he didn't hear what someone said, and there's no one there but empty stage, it reminds me too forcefully of what I have seen and been a part of, and what wasn't there Saturday night.

It's early still, and there's so much potential for Trey and for all his musical efforts. But the subtext, the humor, the spontaneous insane magic of Phish that is the sum greater than its four parts plus lights times each of us, is difficult to disregard. That glorious shadow looms over all Trey's music, for me, and the conduit of musician, audience, music, musician, audience and then that extra step where joy and magic live, it simply never stayed long enough in me to give me the chills when I wasn't looking. My mind is filled with what my eyes didn't see. I loved watching him play so well, but this time, for some reason it's my ears that are still ringing while the thrill in my soul has slowed and stopped, it was doing that even as the show let out.

I love that he is clean and healthy and has his voice back. I love that his jams are tight and flawless again. But in the end I simply didn't love the show as much as I wanted to, even though I know he gave it his all. I'll be back though, next time, and they will be even better, I'm sure. We came together and we all had fun, but just like he said, I wanted him to take me just a little bit higher.