Category: Southeast

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Packing List – Maryland

Carl Van Vechten, Billie Holiday, 1942, Van Vechten Collection, Library of Congress

We’re not good at traveling light, but when we went back to Maryland we traveled about as light as we ever have. I didn’t take a guitar. We took no fishing gear. We didn’t take anything we couldn’t carry onto a plane, which did include a book about Northwest salmon and an iPad.  I still managed to take one too many pairs of shoes.

We had trouble getting the car because I’d  changed the plane reservation but not the car reservation and came in seven hours late.  Not only did I change the plane reservation, I had us going home the next morning while we were fishing, but Kris fixed the plane while I waited for Budget to take care of the car.  I use Budget for the fast break, but this time it wasn’t very fast. The Budget counter beat us up for better than an hour.

We never made it to Annapolis for the crab cakes on the harbor side that I’d planned.

As for places in Maryland I’d still like to see, we got the water-side tour of Annapolis, which I figure took care of the Naval Academy, but I’d have liked to see the Antietam National Battlefield: there’s something holy about Civil War battlefields. Along with the civil rights landmarks of the South they may be our only real places of pilgrimage. We didn’t make Antietam, and someday I’ll go back for it.

Driving from Baltimore to Annapolis we realized that Barry Levinson made four Baltimore movies we should have watched: Diner (1982), Tin Men (1987), Avalon (1990), and Liberty Heights ( 1999).  Next time, or maybe this week.

We did manage to eat at Woodberry Kitchen in Baltimore for a second time. After we dropped off the car at the airport we took a beat-up and clanking metro train through the city, down past the 50s suburbs, past Camden Yards and the harbor into the hard part of town, the part of town that looks like a city with the nation’s highest murder rate, and finally to a stop in gentrifying Woodberry, one block from Woodberry Kitchen. The couple next to us at the restaurant said there were 220-odd separate neighborhoods in Baltimore, and we saw some from the train. After dinner though we took an Uber to our hotel by the airport. Chickens.

I’ve listened to the Maryland playlist now off and on for a year.  You can’t listen to enough Billie Holiday, and the Low Symphony by Phillip Glass is something special: it sounds like water.  I even liked Eubie Blake’s ragtime piano. Frank Zappa, on the other hand, is just not the thing.

I’m Just Wild About Harry, Eubie Blank and Noble Sissle, 1921, Indiana University.

  • Billie Holiday. Lots of it, but not nearly enough.
  • Bobby Bare, Streets of Baltimore. There’s also a nice version by Gram Parsons, with Emmylou Harris. It’s about an unhappy marriage.
  • Bob Dylan, The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll. It’s about the murder of a servant.
  • Bruce Springsteen, Hungry Heart. It’s about abandoning your family.
  • Counting Crows, Raining in Baltimore. It’s about rain in Baltimore, and the need for a rain coat.
  • Phillip Glass, Low Symphony. I meant to download more Glass.  It sounds like the Chesapeake.
  • Eubie Blake. Ragtime.
  • Frank Zappa. There was a lot of it, and I listened to it, and wondered why we ever liked him. I guess we were all more juvenile once.
  • Hoagie Charmichael, Baltimore Oriole. There’s also a version by George Harrison, of all people. It’s about a prostitute. It’s used as Lauren Bacall’s musical theme in Howard Hawks’ To Have and Have Not.
  • Kate & Anna McGarrigle, Baltimore Fire. It’s about Baltimore burning. Like all McGarrigle music it’s terrific.
  • Little Feat, Feets Don’t Fail Me Now. It may be the only happy song of the lot, but Baltimore only plays a cameo role.
  • Lucinda Williams, Trying to Get to Heaven. It’s a Bob Dylan song about desperation.
  • Lyle Lovett, Baltimore. It’s about death.
  • Nina Simone, Baltimore. Written by Randy Newman, and he’s got a version too. It’s about how hard it is just to live.
  • Prince, Baltimore. It’s about police brutality.
  • Talking Heads, Mommy Daddy You And I. It’s about a family car ride, or train ride, or bus ride, or something. It’s one of the sillier moments for the Talking Heads. I hope I never hear it again.
  • Tim Hardin, The Lady Came from Baltimore. It’s a love song about a thief and a lady. It really is a love song though. It’s about poverty and social inequality.

I think I lost my favorite Corpus Christi Hooks cap.

 

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Working Water

This was our third trip to Maryland in roughly a year. Last August we visited Camden Yard to see the Astros play the Orioles, and caught rainbows on a side-trip to the Gunpowder River.  In May we fished the Chesapeake for one day. We got blown off the water and caught nothing.

We fished in May with Captain Tom Hughes.  It was terrible weather, but that’s what you get sometimes, particularly fishing with the Thomases, and allowing only one day for a place doesn’t always work, particularly in saltwater.  Captain Hughes told us to come back and fish a half-day for the cost of gas. We split the difference and booked a whole day.

Fishing once with a guide is kind of random. You don’t know the guide and the guide doesn’t know you. Fishing the second time with Captain Tom was fishing with a friend. First thing he said was we’re getting your fish. We started north up the bay, a big working waterway like our home Port of Galveston, to where the freighter UBC Sacramento was anchored under load. There were birds working and bait popping, and for the next three hours we fished, both of us with his 9-weight Orvis Helios rods, fine rods, but me with a 350-grain Orvis Depth-Charge line and weighted Clouser and Kris with a popper on a floating line. In 50-feet of water she was fishing poppers. It didn’t matter though what we were fishing: we both caught fish.

I had fished freighters once before, offshore from South Padre Island just north of Mexico, where freighters stacked up for the Port of Brownsville. We were fishing king mackerel, called kingfish in Texas, at 30 feet with 10-weights and for blue runners on the surface with a 6-weight. There were big rollers and I was seasick, really seasick, and the guide was annoyed that I didn’t know what I was doing with a sinking line, but who knows how to fish a freighter? Captain Tom knows. And unlike that South Texas guide Captain Tom knew how to tell us what to do.

Of course that South Padre guide may also have been annoyed that I kept throwing up over his boat’s gunnels. Mostly I made it over the gunnels anyway.

I was surprised how much I liked fishing the Depth Charge line. It was easier to cast than I thought it would be, and Captain Tom knows how to translate the screen of a fish finder into presentation of a fly at a depth. That’s pretty amazing when you think about it, and together with knowledge of structure (including the UBC Sacramento) and observation of birds may be the best way to consistently fish big water like the Chesapeake. Periodically he’d tell me fish were stacked around 20’ and 40’, and to let the line sink for a 12-count, about a foot a second with the heavy Clouser. I asked him why if the fish were at 20 feet he didn’t tell me to let the line go for a 20-count? These fish, he said, are aggressive. These aren’t lazy fish. They’ll come up to the fly if they’re feeding. If they won’t come up to the fly don’t bother.

Sometimes when we were in a flock of working birds and there were stripers crashing the surface I stripped in the Clouser as soon as it hit the water. I was fishing poppers too.

Captain Tom has to report to Maryland how many fish are caught out of his boat when he guides, and he somewhat conservatively came up with 56, all in the first four hours. All of us thought he under-counted a bit. It was hard to keep up, and and in addition to the fish landed Kris and I both missed plenty of strikes. The fish weren’t giants, the smallest few were not much more than a pound and the largest probably three, but there was nothing tentative about them. They were saltwater-bright and strong even at a pound, and whatever: I know I caught my fish. I caught my Chesapeake rockfish. That’s the right color of fish for Maryland.

When I go back to fish stripers again maybe I’ll want to hunt for larger fish. Or maybe not. 56 fish is anybody’s good day.

By the end of the day we covered 35 miles of water, and when the fish finally shut off Kris and I were worn out. We ate lunch drifting in the bay. Later I napped a bit while Captain Tom explored the bridge pilings, but there was nothing there, at least nothing worth breaking out the rods for. Kris said she never got to nap because I wouldn’t shut up. Later still Captain Tom gave us a water-side tour of the Naval Academy and the Annapolis waterfront. There are lots of sailboats in Annapolis.

It was a good day. Every angler should fish the Chesapeake, it’s quintessential American water, and anybody who’s interested in fly fishing big water should fish the Chesapeake with Captain Tom. It’s pretty great fly fishing, fish or no fish.

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Packing List – Louisiana

Louis Armstrong, 1952, World Telegraph staff photographer, Library of Congress, no copyright known. From Wikimedia Commons.

Stuff we forgot, stuff that didn’t work, stuff I lost, places we never got to, and music. 

My flies weren’t big enough for our guide, Bailey Short, so we used his.  My leader wasn’t heavy enough, Bailey wanted at least 20 pounds, but that was easy, we just cut off the 16 pound tippet. He wanted 10 weight rods.  Oddly I thought I took a 10 weight rod, but when I got there I’d grabbed a 12, so I fished with his Orvis Helios 3D.  It was hard, but somebody’s gotta do it. What a nice rod.  I never touched my 7 weight and shouldn’t have taken it.

I’d tied up the leader with a 5’ butt section of 20 pound hard Mason monofilament.  I really liked how the leader laid out.  There was about 2.5’ of 20 pound Rio Saltwater Flourocarbon after the butt, so that’s what we fished after the 16 pound tippet was cut. It was about a 7.5’ two-piece leader.

We took insect repellent but I didn’t put it on until too late.  I fished barefoot in the boat and by the end of the second day my feet were covered with horsefly bites.  I guess they caught me when I was napping. And I did nap, especially the second day when I was hung over.  Otherwise I wore long pants and shirt and a buff and had no problems.

As for places, I really meant to go to the WWII museum but didn’t get there. I wanted to go for jazz in the afternoon on Frenchman Street but never made it. I wanted to see the plantations up the river road, especially some of the newer exhibits that cover slave life. There are half-a-hundred places I still haven’t eaten. I’d like to catch a bass out of a john boat near New Iberia in the Bayou Teche. That’s what I get for reading too much James Lee Burke.

Instead we mostly fished.

Now for the playlist. There’s some great music out of Louisiana, or about Louisiana.

  • Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. Jerry Jeff Walker wrote Mr. Bojangles after a night in a New Orleans jail. I’d rather not spend a night in a New Orleans jail.
  • Louis Armstrong, including Louis Armstrong and King Oliver, King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band, Red Onion Jazz Babies, Louis Armstrong & His Hot Seven, Louis Armstrong and His Hot Five, Johnnie Dodd’s Black Bottom Stompers, and Lillie Delk Christian & Louis Armstrong. Thomas Brothers’ Louis Armstrong’s New Orleans, is as good of a book about early 20th century New Orleans and the birth of jazz as is out there.  His Louis Armstrong’s Chicago is also pretty great, and most of the recordings I have are from Armstrong’s in the 20s in Chicago.  Maybe there are earlier recordings in New Orleans, but I’m not aware of any.
  • Wynton Marsalis. I need to get some newer stuff by Marsalis.  What I’ve got is a bit lush. Hot House Flowers, from the late 80s.
  • Branford Marsalis. Renaissance, again from the late 80s.This was something I really ended up liking, especially Peacock.
  • Dr. John
  • Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, Louisiana Rain.
  • Patti LaBelle, Lady Marmalade.
  • The Animals. You can’t go to New Orleans without House of the Rising Sun. 
  • The Rolling Stones. I don’t really like the Stones, and it’s mostly because of songs like Brown Sugar. I’m sorry, but that’s got to be the most reprehensible song ever written. Good riff though.
  • Count Basie, Louisiana
  • Buckwheat Zydeco
  • Arlo Guthrie, City of New Orleans. Ok, it’s about a train, but it’s a good song. 

Heinrich Klaus, Fats Domino playing in Hamburg Germany, 1973. licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution License.  His stuff on Flickr is brilliant.
  • Fats Domino.
  • Lucinda Williams. Williams gets all the small town stuff, Slidell, Lake Charles. Louisiana claims her, but I say Arkansas. Still, there are Louisiana songs. 
  • Roy Orbison. Orbison was born in my home town, so he had an excuse for thinking bayous might be blue.  Linda Ronstadt is pretty great too. 
  • The Neville Brothers.
  • Randy Newman. Apparently Newman lived in New Orleans as a child. Who knew? Louisiana is the best song I know about cultural failure. I should have downloaded all of Good Ol’ Boys, especially Kingfish.
  • Creedence Clearwater Revival. They actually sang a lot about Louisiana for a bunch of California kids. 
  • Clifton Chenier.
  • Doug Kershaw & Rusty Kershaw.
  • Jean Knight. Everybody should hear Mr. Big Stuff one more time. 
  • Jimmie Dale Gilmore and the Flatlanders, Eddie LeJeune, Johnnie Allan, Jo-El Sonnier. All of these have versions of Jolie Blon, which is one of the great songs.
  • Tim McGraw. My only nod to the Baptist Louisiana north. It was kind of jarringly out of place.
  • Paul Simon, Take me to the Mardi Gras.
  • Steve Earle, After the Mardi Gras.
  • Johnny Cash, Big River.
  • Sting, Moon Over Bourbon Street.
  • Bob Dylan, Mr. Tambourine Man (which also means The Byrds), and with the Band, Crash on the Levee. 
  • Led Zeppelin, When the Levee Breaks.
  • Beausoleil. I always thought Bayou Cadillac was Buy You a Cadillac.
  • Allan Toussaint, Last Train.
  • Santana, Toussaint l’ouverature.
  • Benny Goodman, King Porter Stomp. Goodman famously feuded with Armstrong because he thought Armstrong a clown.
  • Mahalia Jackson.

 

Mathew Brady, Portrait of Louis Gottschalk, c. 1855, Library of Congress.

Some of these, Fats Domino, Clifton Chenier, the Neville Brothers, and the others with no comments, had a lot of songs and are so essential that I’ve got nothing to add. I need to go back and add Jerry Lee Lewis, Louis Gottschalk, and more Jo-El Sonnier.

On the guitar I was  working on a transcription of the Bach Fugue in A minor for organ. It’s better than I am. As for lost, it was a pair of reading glasses.  It was a nice pair, too.

 

 

 

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The Monteleone and Oysterology

I remember the first time I saw Kris. She walked past and I couldn’t believe how pretty and bright and lively she was. It worked out well, too.

I also remember the first time I saw the Hotel Monteleone.  I was at a tax and securities law conference at the Marriott on Canal, and walking down Royal I saw the prettiest, brightest, liveliest hotel I’d ever seen. I wondered why I wasn’t staying there. Every time I’ve been to New Orleans since I’ve tried to book the Monteleone, but it’s always full. I thought maybe this would be a final trip to New Orleans, we have so many places to go to get 50 fish, so I made a special effort to get the right restaurants and a reservation at the Monteleone.

The restaurants were great. The Monteleone not so much.

Like I said, the restaurants were great. We had Beignet Friday morning at Morning Call in City Park, which has altogether better beignet than Cafe du Monde. That didn’t stop us though from buying beignet at the Cafe du Monde early the next two mornings, because their beignet is pretty good too.  Morning Call put us near the New Orleans Museum of Art, which has a good early Italian art collection, a good collection of moderns, and an El Greco. It was time well spent.

We ate lunch late, around 3, at Willie Mae’s Scotch House in the Treme. I may never go to New Orleans again, but if I do it will include Willie Mae’s Scotch House.  That’s some great fried chicken, and we were smart enough to order extra for the next day’s fishing. Fried chicken is even better cold. Dinner Friday night was at Commander’s Palace, old school. I had pecan-crusted black drum and the turtle soup–exactly what I’d have had at Brennan’s in Houston, so it felt very homey. I have to say, the service is even better in New Orleans. I wore a jacket because, well, that’s what one does at Commander’s Palace.

Dinner Saturday was at La Petite Grocery.  I had the triple tail.  I’m still working on my 50 fish dinners, but I’m collecting them faster than my 50 fish. Mostly the rest of the time we fished, except of course for the dozen raw at Felix Oyster Bar.

We have a friend who is a bona fide oysterologist, complete with PhD, and anticipating this trip I asked him about oysters in August. He said that the problem with oysters in summer wasn’t that they were more dangerous, eating raw oysters is always risky, but that I would probably be ok if I was otherwise reasonably healthy. Oysters aren’t particularly safer at  60° than they are at 80°  (though I guess the danger of spoilage is less). The problem with summer oysters is that oysters spawn in the summer.

Oysters broadcast spawn, like tarpon, except that they have neither fins nor feet, so they aren’t traveling to spawning grounds. They’re either in bed together or they ain’t. When summer comes around and the oysters are fat and lusty they broadcast their boy stuff and their girl stuff to make baby oysters, and oyster sex leaves them flat and limp and altogether less satisfying than the cool-weather, non-spawned, pre-orgasmic oysters. But flat and limp or fat and lusty I still had a dozen at Felix, and so far I’m not dead yet. They were also pretty great, and at Felix I didn’t have to stand in line at Acme Oyster House across the street. Pro tip from my daughter.

I also had a shopping spree at Faulkner House Books which isn’t a restaurant, but I had to prepare for my future trip to Mississippi, and where else does one buy Faulkner? I also bought some Eudora Welty who I’ve never read.  Mississippi here I come.

But first the Monteleone.  Some things just don’t work out the way you plan.  The Monteleone is in the center of the quarter, a block off Bourbon Street, and for at least a half-dozen blocks the traffic is as bad as midtown Manhattan at rush hour. Then I had to circle the block because there was no place to park at the entrance. Toss in plenty of pedestrians, many with to-go cups and on the wet side of sober, and a brass band and my nerves were fried. The rooms are nice but small, and the Monteleone didn’t have coffee made at 5 am, which is unforgiveable.  The Carousel Bar is famous, and big, but it’s hard to find a vacant chair at either bar or table. There are people everywhere.

You know what I want in a hotel? I want a quiet place. I want to go into the hotel bar and sit down and be welcomed from the moment I arrive. I want coffee at 5 am that I don’t have to make myself. I don’t want French Quarter tourist craziness in the hotel lobby, in the parking garage, or at the hotel entrance while I’m waiting on an Uber. I’m not cut out for the Monteleone. Next time the Columns.

And then of course I screwed up.  I apparently made our reservation for Friday, not Friday and Saturday. When we got back to the hotel late Saturday afternoon we were locked out of our room.

Thank God.

We got on Hotels.com and got a room at the Roosevelt, Huey P. Long’s favorite hotel and a place we’d stayed before. It’s in downtown, on the edge of the Quarter, so outside the craziness. It’s got a good bar, the Sazerac, where I shouldn’t have stopped but did. It’s got bigger rooms. It’s got one of the great lobbies in hoteldom.

These were important life lessons.  If you’re older than 30, don’t stay in the Quarter, no matter how bright and shiny that face. And don’t think you won’t ever return to New Orleans. And go ahead with the dozen raw.