New bookstore opens in Royal Arcanum building
Les Renards & Co. opened as Norfolk’s new book store benefiting the Norfolk Library. At left, Elizabeth Hilpman talks with George Cronin.
David Carley
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Matt Wabrek creates sculpture from found scrap metal and wood.
L. Tomaino
Besides the satisfaction he gets in making his pieces, Wabrek said, “I really like to see people happy and enjoying themselves. It brings people happiness to see something they like and might want to buy.”
Wabrek did structural ironwork for 25 years, working up and down the East Coast from Arlington, Virginia, to South Station in Boston.He recalls putting up a truss over the train track in Boston.
But in the back of his mind, he always had the thought of using his welding skills for other purposes.
A few years ago, when a cherry tree fell in his yard, he didn’t want the wood to go to waste. Using both his woodworking and welding skills, he milled the wood and then made metal legs for a table.From what was left, he made several charcuterie boards.
From that beginning, he went on to make sculptures, welding together creations to inhabit both garden and home. He uses old shovels, hoes, picks, hammers, wrenches, horseshoes, rakes and pieces of metal he finds at tag sales, junk shops, estate sales and the local landfill to craft his whimsical creatures.
Matt Wabrek’s metal fishProvided
He gets ideas from looking at each old piece of metal.
“Teeth from a sickle bar? I see a bird’s beak,” he said, pointing to the piece.Lifting a hinge from a neat pile in his studio, he said, “These will be dragonflies.”
He still makes tables with welded metal legs that are sculptural in themselves.His studio holds saws, shovels, and propane tanks with silhouettes of trees and other shapes cut into them — plasma cut from his own designs.
In addition, Wabrek makes chairs from old skis, recalling his days as a ski instructor.
“I like to make things, whether it’s a garden fence or whatever.I must have a creative bone somewhere,” he mused.
He recently began a new interest: making spheres. A completed one, made of old wrenches, has a temporary place in his yard, along with fish of varying shapes and sizes, jelly fish, crabs, dogs, snails, and many kinds of birds — including a woodpecker that perches on the side of a building, and long-legged cranes.
Wabrek is happy to make any of his creations on commission. He is currently working on a support for an old tree that he will craft from metal.
Birch Lane Rustics will be at arts and crafts shows and pop-up sales in the area in the coming months. To find out where or ask about sales or commissions email mcwlu15@gmail.com or call/text 860-248-9004.
Eddie Curtis of New Jersey casually caught and released a Housatonic River smallmouth bass of modest size during a Trout Unlimited smallmouth bass event at Housatonic Meadows State Park Saturday, Aug. 16.
Patrick L. Sullivan
The answer is two-fold.
First, the Housatonic River in summer is primarily a smallmouth fishery. The water is too warm for trout but it doesn’t bother the bass much.The trout are hiding out in the thermal refuge areas and are off-limits until mid-September.
Second, the word “unlimited” suggests wiggle room.
When I rolled in there was a small pop-up tent with the words “Trout Unlimited” on it set up by the upper parking lot. Being a trained observer, I spotted this vital clue almost immediately.
There was a folding table under the tent. It was empty, but it seemed likely there would be food on it at some point.
Trained observers are also patient. I tabled the food question and motored down to the lower parking area, where I beheld half a dozen men with fly rods casting into the low, slow river with varying degrees of proficiency and enthusiasm.
The nearest to me turned out to be Eddie Curtis, who hails from southern New Jersey. “About 15 minutes from Philly,” he said.
Curtis was a fortuitous choice of subject. Chatty and easy-going, he embarked on an angling monologue that included adventures on salt and fresh water and an incisive critique of fish and game practices in his home state.
All the while he chucked lazy downstream casts. On about every tenth one, he hooked a smallish smallmouth bass.
I asked him what fly he was using. The answer -- a black Wooly Bugger -- wasn’t surprising. That’s a standard pattern for this kind of fishing. Almost a cliche.
Curtis was using a black Wooly Bugger with an unusual feature — a little propeller or spinner.Patrick L. Sullivan
But this was different in that it had a little propeller attached just below the hook eye.
I last saw something like this in the mid-1990s in New Mexico, where a rustic saloon I just happened to be in had a small display case of standard trout flies with the same kind of propellers attached. The brand name was “Pistol Pete.”
Curtis said they work almost too well. He jerked his thumb behind him and said “He ties them for me.”
I resolved to catch up with “he” when everybody took a break.
I ambled back to the car and exchanged camera and notebook for rod and vest.
I tried four different flies, two surface and two subsurface, and failed to move anything.
Not anxious to perform the Walk of Shame, I tried a black Wooly Bugger, no propeller.
That did the trick.
Back up at the tent my finely honed instincts proved correct.Food had materialized, in the form of two giant submarine sandwiches, a couple of jumbo bags of potato chips, and sodas.
Gerald Berrafati was in charge of this. He is the chapter coordinator for the Mianus Trout Unlimited chapter, and he was talking a mile a minute about various dam removal and stream reclamation projects in his bailiwick.
Since the state of Connecticut east of New Hartford and south of Torrington is a complete mystery to me, I had only a vague idea where these places were.
But it sounded good.
Antoine Bissieux, who does business as “The French Fly Fisherman,” made a cameo appearance. Some years back he was with a couple of sports on the Hous in similar circs — warm, low, late summer -- and I swapped him a handful of mop flies for a sampler of his perdigon nymphs. If he remembered this he didn’t let on.
The six or eight of us at the tent did a number on the chow and talked some guff between bites. The sandwiches were good. So was the guff.
Warren Nesteruk of Southbury (I think) said his wife was giving him a hard time about having so many fly rods.
I asked how many he had.
“Fifteen,” he replied.
When I informed him I had something like 80 rods, he grew thoughtful, as if my awful example might buy him some space.
Then it struck him.
“You’re not married, are you.”
One loose end remained. I hate loose ends, and I wanted to find the fellow who added propellers to his flies.
But they had left.
So if you read this, Eddie Curtis of south Jersey, drop me a line. I’d like to find out if they really do work almost too well.
