by Steve “Tuna” Tornovish
Island people are meant to stay on islands. Them’s the rules. But every now and again, things happen Island people are meant to stay on islands. Them’s the rules. But every now and again, things happen and rules must be broken. This is the tale of a wayward island kid and his recent encounters in a slice of the real world.
For some strange reason, I’ve always had an affinity for Walden Pond, a beautiful expanse located in Concord, MA. Walden Pond is maybe 15 minutes away from Bentley College, now Bentley University (snob appeal much?), my alma mater. This affinity was shared with one Henry David Thoreau, an old dead dude (hat tip to Bill and Ted right there). I’m glad that I had never stumbled into a pop quiz at Bentley that asked me to write a paragraph about the life and times of Henry David Thoreau, because I would have had a tough time conjuring anything up. Um, yeah, he was a trans something or other, right? Yeah, Stevie, you big dummy: Thoreau was a transcendentalist. Do you even know what that means? Nope. Not a clue to this very day. But I do know that he spent a couple of years at Walden Pond in a tiny house (before tiny houses were in vogue), living a minimalist life. No friends, no internet, a wood stove, a bed, and a desk in a place the size of my lawn mower shed. My idea of a minimalist life is living on an island without a Dunkins. Sacrifices must be made, right?
No offense to Mr. Thoreau, but the real reason that I often found myself ditching classes and hanging out at Walden Pond had a lot to do with the comic strip “Doonesbury.” I was addicted to this comic written by Gary Trudeau. Trudeau’s fictional characters lived in some sort of college commune at the also fictional Walden College. True story alert: one drunken Bentley Friday night during my freshman year, my buddy Mark Bradley and I somehow decided that calling Gary Trudeau’s home in Connecticut would be a great idea. We were concerned because one of Trudeau’s most endearing characters, Uncle Duke, had parachuted into Iran to rescue the American hostages and was now missing. This plot line was all consuming for the two of us. Hello operator? Hard to believe, but our favorite author’s phone number was listed in the public registry. I don’t recall much of what Gary Trudeau had to say to us, but I’m fairly certain it involved a strong suggestion that I perform an anatomically improbable act.
Fate has recently conspired to leave me stranded in Salem, MA for a couple of weeks with way too much time on my hands and plenty of things to worry about. If you know me, you know that this is a bad combination. I was in desperate need of a distraction, much as I had been during my college years back in the early 1980s. Sadly, WBCN, the Rock of Boston, 104.1 on your FM dial, had long gone the way of the dinosaurs. But Walden Pond was still in Concord, right where I had left it. I would just go fishing, because that’s what works for me.
I had planned for this downtime. I packed a couple of two-piece fishing rods, one being a spinning combo and the other a bait caster. Tyler from @tylersreelfishing, one of my favorite largemouth bass YouTube fishers, had suggested a small tackle bag from Evolution Outdoor. What a great gear bag that is, by the way! I had filled it with a variety of lures that I thought might help me catch some of the elusive Walden fish.
We were fortunate to be able to stay at our daughter’s apartment in Salem, thus providing reasonable access to Mass. General Hospital. The apartment is also within a half mile of what may well be the worst Dunkins in the entire Northeast region. I had hit the road at 6:00 am in hopes of missing a lot of rush hour traffic. Naturally, a Dunkins stop was necessary. I pulled into the treacherous parking lot and noticed that all of the doors of the store were pegged open. The reason was apparent as soon as I walked in: something had burnt up in significant fashion. I ordered two large hot regular coffees, a fairly standard order, right? The employee was stymied. As was the next. Finally, a third employee told me to hang on, they were making the coffee now. Henry David Thoreau would have told me that society and institutions like Dunkins have corrupted the purity of the individual. I would remind him that this particular individual needs some caffeine corruption in the morning before I have to deal with society. Don’t lay that Transcendentalist philosophy on me, pal!
The drive to Walden took about forty minutes in traffic. I was surprised by the significant activity in the parking lot when I arrived. I quickly learned that there’s a large subculture that meets at Walden Pond for distance swimming in the morning. The average distance swimmer seemed to be a tad bit older than me. I didn’t bother to ask if they were into transcendentalism – it was assumed. Polite greetings carried the day.
The next thing I saw was a game warden. In a strange way, I was glad to see this warden as I was a duly licensed freshwater fisher in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, something that I had never had to be previously. The reason is that the freshwater ponds in Nantucket were somehow exempted from Massachusetts regulations when New York transferred the ownership of the island to Massachusetts. Imagine my disappointment when I got a polite “good morning” and a nod instead of a request to see my freshly printed fishing license!
I made my way across the street and down the trails towards the pond, accompanied by maybe twenty swimmers. I was glad to be fishing somewhere I didn’t need to be on the watch for seals and sharks, but it was apparent that swimmers might be an issue. We shuffled past a large construction site. A significant project was being undertaken to rebuild a bathhouse. The original, built in 1948, was being replaced with one that was ADA compliant. The construction was very incongruent with the natural beauty of the preserve. I get it, but somewhere, on the wood line, the ghost of H.D. Thoreau was glaring his disapproval.
The water in Walden Pond is so very clear. Can I say gin clear? Sorry if that comes off like a Dashiell Hammett ripoff, but I’m here to tell you that you could see the bottom thirty feet away! The shallows were filled with minnows and beautiful little bluegill. The minnows did the pedicure thing to my feet as I waded around. It was a little weird, but I have to say I didn’t hate it.
I had a couple of ideas as to how best attack the pond, but I saw a chance to gain some local knowledge floating nearby. A man in a perfectly laid out fishing kayak was pedaling past me. I asked for some guidance and Bill Eicher was kind enough to help. “Throw a Ned rig! I just caught a 15-inch smallmouth!” Bill gave me some hints as to where a shore-based fisher might find the most success. I had that feeling that I get when I’m out on Great Point and I meet someone new to the area. It’s a universal thing. Transcendentalists believe in the inherent goodness of people. Based on my fortuitous meeting with Mr. Eicher, I would have to agree.
I danced on the learning curve. I lost a couple of lures to the rocks that cover a good portion of Walden Pond’s bottom. I added about 50 yards of 6 lb . fluorocarbon line to my spinning reel to eliminate spooking the fish with my braided backing line. I tried a variety of bass fishing techniques: throwing a chatter bait, the Ned rig (as Eicher suggested), a shaky head rig, and, finally, a drop shot rig. When the drop shot rig didn’t produce with a minnow-style bait attached, I changed it out for a long, skinny plastic worm. That got the job done—a feisty little smallmouth bass grabbed it and gave a good account of itself. After a quick photo op, it was released back to the beautiful water. I felt like the king of Walden Pond. The ghost of Thoreau gave me a golf clap as I headed back to my car.
There’s a beautiful healing quality to large bodies of water. My time at Walden Pond helped me transcend the uncertainty of my college years. It certainly helped me keep my stuff together during a difficult week. I am grateful. Having said all that, I can’t wait to get back to my island to chase blues and strip ers. See you all soon!
Steve “Tuna” Tornovish is a Nantucket native who has spent his life fishing from the beaches of his beloved island. He loves to introduce clients to the joy of fishing with his Nantucket Island Fishing Adventures: stevetuna.com
