Sometimes All It Takes Are Worms and a Dream
By PETER APPLEBOME
Our Towns
The New York Times
July 5, 2007
VALHALLA, N.Y.
At Wade’s Bait and Tackle they’re still talking about the big one.
That would be the 23-pound, 8-ounce, 39 ¼-inch lake trout that Sean Schoenwandt of Brooklyn caught in the Kensico Reservoir on April 22. The average lake trout around here runs maybe four to seven pounds. It was like going birding with your Audubon guide and finding Godzilla in a sugar maple.
Mr. Schoenwandt, 34, caught it from a rowboat in front of the Route 22 bridge with a bait caster and a shiner. It took him at least 20 minutes to reel it in. It may be the biggest fish ever caught in the reservoir, which is about 20 miles north of New York City.
“That fish is going to be talked about for the next 35 years,” said Wade Dalbo, who runs the shop with his father, Neil.
There will always be fish stories, some of them even true. And one can hope there will always be people who fish. But it takes true dedication to all things piscine to decide to open a bait shop in Westchester County. You work all the time. You can make only so much money selling worms and bait fish. Fathers are far more likely to be on the train than on the lake fishing with their children. You’re one terrorism scare away from a reservoir closing that could knock you out of business.
So, on behalf of the devotees from Brooklyn and Queens, Tarrytown and Dobbs Ferry who began their Fourth of July by descending on Wade’s just before it opened at 6 a.m. yesterday, a small salute to the Dalbos, fishing traditionalists who’ve bucked the tide in more ways than one.
“$29.29 guys,” said Wade Dalbo, talking about Chris McGee and Chris Campana. He gets them their shiners and night crawlers. They talk fishing for a while, remembering Father’s Day when Mr. Campana caught four bass, two catfish and a perch, and Mr. McGee caught nothing. “He’s a father, I’m not,” Mr. McGee said with a shrug.
The Dalbos have a history in the area. Neil’s grandfather was a laborer who helped build the Croton Reservoir. His father worked for the water department in the nearby town of North Castle. Neil Dalbo took his son fishing, as if passing on religious rites, and the two have been fishing together ever since. But fishing, like opera or poetry, is getting to be a niche enterprise. There are still fathers who take their children out, and you can get hooked surfing the Internet or watching some bass fishing show on television.
But to keep the faith alive it takes people who really know the rites. The Dalbos qualify. So when the bait shop that had operated in the area for a half century closed after the reservoir was shut down for months after the Sept. 11 attack, they decided to give it a shot. First was a place with a striking 200-pound sign, featuring a huge brown trout, on well-traveled Route 22. Then that got too expensive and they moved to the new location last September.
There’s a small sign inside with ancient fishing wisdom: “Old Fishermen Never Die. They Just Smell That Way.”
There are also two tanks with sawbellies for sale, one with shiners, a display tank with largemouth bass, yellow perch and black crappie from the reservoir, rods and reels, lures and hooks, fishing caps, flashlights and pliers. There are brown trout, deer heads and largemouth bass stuffed on the walls. It’s not a place selling high-end fly rods and reels.
Instead, Wade’s essentially caters to people, local and otherwise, fishing mostly for trout in the spring and fall and bass in the summer, and spending $6.50 for a dozen shiners, $3.50 for two dozen trout worms, $1 apiece for sawbellies.
“We’re not making $200,000 here,” said Wade Dalbo, who turns 24 on Friday.
IT’S hard to compete with the Sports Authority or Wal-Mart on the gear, and the hours are ridiculous, opening at 6 on weekdays and 5 on weekends, then staying open until 4 (Sundays), 5 (Saturdays) or 6 (weekdays) to catch the night fishing crowd. (They’re nominally closed on Wednesdays, but then sometimes they’re not.)
But Wade’s girlfriend, Marra Berlin, and his mother, Lois, help out. And it beats sitting behind a desk or tearing up your shoulders doing construction. Running a fishing shop, after all, is a lot like fishing. Lots of hanging around with nothing much to do but shoot the breeze, mostly about fish, set off by intermittent bouts of furious activity.
And Wade, in particular, has the look of someone who’s pulled off a fast one, figuring if he can make any kind of a living selling bait, explaining the merits and limitations of bait casters, spin casters and spinning combos, he’s way ahead of the game. Then he gets off work and most days goes fishing — catch and release.
“We’re not big fish eaters,” Mrs. Dalbo said.
E-mail: peappl@nytimes.com
Our Towns
The New York Times
July 5, 2007
VALHALLA, N.Y.
At Wade’s Bait and Tackle they’re still talking about the big one.
That would be the 23-pound, 8-ounce, 39 ¼-inch lake trout that Sean Schoenwandt of Brooklyn caught in the Kensico Reservoir on April 22. The average lake trout around here runs maybe four to seven pounds. It was like going birding with your Audubon guide and finding Godzilla in a sugar maple.
Mr. Schoenwandt, 34, caught it from a rowboat in front of the Route 22 bridge with a bait caster and a shiner. It took him at least 20 minutes to reel it in. It may be the biggest fish ever caught in the reservoir, which is about 20 miles north of New York City.
“That fish is going to be talked about for the next 35 years,” said Wade Dalbo, who runs the shop with his father, Neil.
There will always be fish stories, some of them even true. And one can hope there will always be people who fish. But it takes true dedication to all things piscine to decide to open a bait shop in Westchester County. You work all the time. You can make only so much money selling worms and bait fish. Fathers are far more likely to be on the train than on the lake fishing with their children. You’re one terrorism scare away from a reservoir closing that could knock you out of business.
So, on behalf of the devotees from Brooklyn and Queens, Tarrytown and Dobbs Ferry who began their Fourth of July by descending on Wade’s just before it opened at 6 a.m. yesterday, a small salute to the Dalbos, fishing traditionalists who’ve bucked the tide in more ways than one.
“$29.29 guys,” said Wade Dalbo, talking about Chris McGee and Chris Campana. He gets them their shiners and night crawlers. They talk fishing for a while, remembering Father’s Day when Mr. Campana caught four bass, two catfish and a perch, and Mr. McGee caught nothing. “He’s a father, I’m not,” Mr. McGee said with a shrug.
The Dalbos have a history in the area. Neil’s grandfather was a laborer who helped build the Croton Reservoir. His father worked for the water department in the nearby town of North Castle. Neil Dalbo took his son fishing, as if passing on religious rites, and the two have been fishing together ever since. But fishing, like opera or poetry, is getting to be a niche enterprise. There are still fathers who take their children out, and you can get hooked surfing the Internet or watching some bass fishing show on television.
But to keep the faith alive it takes people who really know the rites. The Dalbos qualify. So when the bait shop that had operated in the area for a half century closed after the reservoir was shut down for months after the Sept. 11 attack, they decided to give it a shot. First was a place with a striking 200-pound sign, featuring a huge brown trout, on well-traveled Route 22. Then that got too expensive and they moved to the new location last September.
There’s a small sign inside with ancient fishing wisdom: “Old Fishermen Never Die. They Just Smell That Way.”
There are also two tanks with sawbellies for sale, one with shiners, a display tank with largemouth bass, yellow perch and black crappie from the reservoir, rods and reels, lures and hooks, fishing caps, flashlights and pliers. There are brown trout, deer heads and largemouth bass stuffed on the walls. It’s not a place selling high-end fly rods and reels.
Instead, Wade’s essentially caters to people, local and otherwise, fishing mostly for trout in the spring and fall and bass in the summer, and spending $6.50 for a dozen shiners, $3.50 for two dozen trout worms, $1 apiece for sawbellies.
“We’re not making $200,000 here,” said Wade Dalbo, who turns 24 on Friday.
IT’S hard to compete with the Sports Authority or Wal-Mart on the gear, and the hours are ridiculous, opening at 6 on weekdays and 5 on weekends, then staying open until 4 (Sundays), 5 (Saturdays) or 6 (weekdays) to catch the night fishing crowd. (They’re nominally closed on Wednesdays, but then sometimes they’re not.)
But Wade’s girlfriend, Marra Berlin, and his mother, Lois, help out. And it beats sitting behind a desk or tearing up your shoulders doing construction. Running a fishing shop, after all, is a lot like fishing. Lots of hanging around with nothing much to do but shoot the breeze, mostly about fish, set off by intermittent bouts of furious activity.
And Wade, in particular, has the look of someone who’s pulled off a fast one, figuring if he can make any kind of a living selling bait, explaining the merits and limitations of bait casters, spin casters and spinning combos, he’s way ahead of the game. Then he gets off work and most days goes fishing — catch and release.
“We’re not big fish eaters,” Mrs. Dalbo said.
E-mail: peappl@nytimes.com
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