Posts Tagged ‘bacon’

Canadian rough fish: delicious but bony

July 31, 2017

The prep and the time that it took

For the sinker, the line, and the hook

And don’t forget bacon

For the rig that you’re makin’

When you fish the lake or the brook.

Synopsis: I’m a Family Practitioner from Sioux City, Iowa. In 2010 I danced back from the brink of burnout, and honoring a 1 year non-compete clause, traveled and worked in out-of-the-way places in Alaska, Nebraska, Iowa, and New Zealand. After three years working with a Community Health Center, I went back to traveling and adventures in temporary positions. Assignments in Alaska, rural Iowa, suburban Pennsylvania and western Nebraska have followed.  I finished my most recent assignment in Clarinda on May 18.  Right now I’m in northern British Columbia, getting a first-hand look at the Canadian system. Any identifiable patient information has been included with permission.

A lot of people in this town do a lot of fishing.   And while I really enjoy the sport, my lack of knowledge, skill, and experience give the fish quite an advantage.  I approach the problem like I approach a clinical case with unclear references: I ask the successful.  Anglers love to talk and show off their cell phone pictures.

I got clues to several spots where the fish congregate. I bought swivels, hooks, sinkers, lures, and a net.   The panel consensus for bait, to my surprise, came down to bacon.  For a lot of reasons, I haven’t bought bacon for decades, but I ignored all those nitrites on the other side of the plastic, and bought a kilo of ends and trimmings.

The real commitment came when I paid for my license.

So on Sunday morning, Bethany and I put the bug spray, sunscreen, and bear spray into her backpack, loaded the pole and my lunch box (I don’t have a real tackle box) into the car, and set off for one of the local myriad of lakes, the most commonly recommended spot.

With a breeze strong enough to deter mosquitos, and skies fresh washed by heavy rain the night before, we pulled onto a spit of land and parked in the shade.

I can’t tell you why I can handle worms and body parts without revulsion, but bacon makes my skin crawl. Still, I got a good hunk of it on the hook, and casted it into the wind.  The idea of this rig is to put the sinkers on the bottom and have the bait floating free.  Then I sat down on a log.  Bethany, who helped assemble the equipment, sat down to read.

My mind drifted.

More serious, better equipped fisherman would have a truck and a boat. Or at least a good size cooler, a chair, and a real tackle box.  But I learned in archery that the more seriously you take something, the less fun you’re having when you do it.  And, at this stage of the game, I can’t blame the pole for angling failure.

Then the rod thumped in my hand. I tried jerking the pole to set the hook but the sinkers had wedged up against something on the bottom.  I jerked, and pulled this way and that, and started to reel in the line.  Of course by that time the fish had thrown the hook.

I kept cranking, knowing I’d have to rebait.

Then the rod thumped again, and I realized the fish hadn’t thrown the hook.

I pulled in an 18 inch fish that I couldn’t identify. With Bethany’s help, I dispatched him.  I put more bacon on the hook (not as bad the second time), and cast again.

The second fish took the bait but not the hook.

The third fish, of the same species as the first, took the hook deep and, though smaller, couldn’t survive release.

We now had enough fish for a meal for two. And as much fun as fishing is, I don’t harm animals except for food and self-defense.

I fried the two fish, both a bit big for the frying pan. We found the flesh tasty but bony.

I changed clothes in the afternoon and went over to the hospital

My patient, one of those who know more about fishing than I do, identified the fish as a pikeminnow (formerly called squaw fish), a rough or coarse fish without limit or size restrictions.

Fish snobbery fills the angling world; Iowans turn their noses up at the invasive silver carp, Alaskans won’t eat pink salmon, and fly fishermen display bumper stickers saying “To spin is to sin.”

But I was thrilled to catch a rough fish the length of my forearm. Even if I had to touch bacon.

 

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Fisherfolk and forest fires.

July 20, 2017

If you can’t take the fire, stay out of the smoke

The stuff that makes you wheeze, cough and choke

This great conflagration

Caused evacuation

And perhaps even brought on a stroke.

Synopsis: I’m a Family Practitioner from Sioux City, Iowa. In 2010 I danced back from the brink of burnout, and honoring a 1 year non-compete clause, traveled and worked in out-of-the-way places in Alaska, Nebraska, Iowa, and New Zealand. After three years working with a Community Health Center, I went back to traveling and adventures in temporary positions. Assignments in Alaska, rural Iowa, suburban Pennsylvania and western Nebraska have followed.  I finished my most recent assignment in Clarinda on May 18.  Right now I’m in northern British Columbia, getting a first-hand look at the Canadian system. Any identifiable patient information has been included with permission.

I had call this last Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and I’m on call again tonight, Wednesday. Over the weekend I saw so many people with possible or definite stroke that my neurologic exam, thorough but a bit rusty on Friday, was polished and speedy by Monday morning.

I have had to do suturing at least once a day for the last week. I do not anticipate robots taking over this part of my job in my lifetime; especially if children are involved.

Stitching people up brings the opportunity to just chat with the patient, and I got the chance to pick the brains of a couple of really expert fisherfolk. The lakes around here hold some lake trout, ling cod, bull trout, and Dolley Varden.  One person I talked to has never come back without a fish, and more than one told me about great spots to catch 28 pounders.  Of course we call fishing stories just that for a reason.  Still, after I bandage the wound, the cell phones come out and the photos of the fish have been very impressive.  The most common, and the most successful bait around here seems to be bacon.

Every morning and evening, when I enter and exit the hotel, I see the crews that stay here, too. Of course I expect the seasonal workers: the rail crews, pipeline workers, tree planters, and such.  But now I see firefighters rotating off the line, and I have attended a few in the clinic.

Today the raging forest fires brought in the first of what I anticipate will be a long series of people with respiratory problems. Those numbers might take a while to ramp up, but lungs show an acute phase inflammation, over the first few hours to days, and a longer term late phase inflammation that lasts 6 weeks.

The area doesn’t have many roads, and the fires have cut off evacuation routes south. Last week, at the town’s only thrift store (staffed by hospital auxiliary volunteers), Bethany ran into a family who had to flee the fires.

 

The flu epidemic continues but other illness doesn’t stop, freight barges across the Aleutian, and a bullet-free approach to polar bears

February 5, 2011

With an ether can wrapped up with bacon,

A bear can be sadly mistaken,

     For with just one bite

     That punctures it, right?

He’ll be dead before three steps are taken.

Synopsis:  I’m a family practitioner from Sioux City, Iowa.  Avoiding burnout, I’m taking a sabbatical while my one-year non-compete clause winds down, having adventures, visiting family and friends, and working in out-of-the-way places.  Currently I’m on assignment at the hospital in Barrow, Alaska, the northernmost point in the United States.

Morning rounds on Friday dwelt on the flu.   The yearly influenza epidemic is raging in Barrow, though the peak hasn’t hit, we expect it next week.  Barrow’s three retail stores have run out of Tylenol. 

Most people do OK with the infection, but a few, especially the infants, have gotten very ill.  Some have been flown out on a Medevac plane.

Though the flu predominates, we see a wide variety of other problems.

When people suddenly decelerate from going too fast on a snow machine, car, motorcycle, airplane, or boat, flesh and bone try to occupy the same space as steel or glass, snow or ice.  The person always loses.  While limbs shatter quickly, lives shatter more slowly, then families shatter later.  A permanent injury taxes resilience of the person and his or her social context, and the effect ripples through generations.

Over the yearsm (before I came here) I attended two different male patients who had no social context.  Neither had any friends or family, both worked alone.  They died in their fifties of malignancies.

Most of my patients who had scheduled Friday morning appointments didn’t show.  In the afternoon, I took care of patients with, successively, influenza, diabetes, hypertension, car accident, back pain, more influenza, ankle injury, seizures, an eye problem, viral vomiting with dehydration, a productive cough, more influenza, and another ankle injury.

Through the day, on the job and outside my work, I talk to people.

I got information on the barge system.  This last year the Native government, Uqpiagvik Inuit Corporation (UIC) sent four barges up from Seattle.  One tug boat can handle one or two barges.  Most years the freight needs can be handled by three barges, but the new hospital construction demanded supplies.  Hazardous materials come by barge, including diesel fuel, gasoline, industrial chemicals, and the black powder used by the whaling crews.  UIC owns three barges and two tugs, and contracted with a private company to bring the other barge up.  Outside the short summer barge season, necessary supplies come up the Dalton Highway from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay, then fly air freight to Barrow.  The barges transport goods to the outlying villages, where they stop on the way to Barrow, but they also haul freight to Prudhoe Bay.

I was told that if one wraps a can of ether-based car starting fluid in bacon and throws it to a polar bear, the bear will bite the can, puncturing it, and will die in a matter of seconds.  I can’t swear to the veracity of the statement, and I’m not going to find out.  I’m darned sure not going to carry bacon around in bear country.