It was two years ago this month that I met Joe Chiavarone, a.k.a. to me, "Delaware Joe", on the banks of the Delaware River in Trenton. Born and raised in the capitol city Joe had early connections to a guy you may know, Bob Popovics. They were on the same baseball teams growing up. Joe tells stories of how Popovic's was a monster of a baseball player even at a young age. But that's for another time.
I don't know what it's like to get old, but from what I see it sucks. There's things you can't do anymore, at least like you used to do, or have regrets over the things you didn't do, and then there's always every bump, bruise, ache and doctors visit's checkup to remind you you're starting to break down. But what older age can't do it is erase good memories and knowledge attained from years of doing just about anything. My dad is 76 and has a couple of big medical diagnosis going on but he's sharp as a tack and lights up when he talks about anything having to do with ironworking. My buddy Joe is about the same age, and he lights up when you talk with him about striped bass, striped bass
fishing, and about striped bass fishing in the Delaware River. Joe started fishing the Delaware, for real, in the late 1980's and that continued until 2015. He fished mostly at night due to his work as a radiology technician and daytime responsibilities at home. But there was day fishing also. Joe didn't chase big
fish bites he just fished. He fished from April through the summer and caught the whole time through. I have seen his logs and one August night stands out to me. Him and his buddy putting over 50 bass in the boat. He can draw pictures of the river and every rock, cut, and seam that has existed for centuries. He reads the water like a parent reading the same old Dr. Seuss book to their children for the hundredth time. So much that they almost have it to memory. But a river is not like a book, it changes everyday, even so slightly, depending on the tide, time of day and water levels. You can see his eyes scan
the water and the data that is being generated from his eyes checking with the memory board that is in his brain. It's great to know someone who has so much knowledge and experience and is willing to share.
So on Friday is was a boys few hours out. I'd pick Joe up, we'd get a bite, stop by the river, and then go and check out some new spots I've been thinking of. It was first off to Ben's Deli in Morrisville for a couple of healthy sandwiches, a pork roll egg and cheese for him and a bacon egg and cheese for me. After a quick meal it was off to the river. I took him to a spot that I thought might be relatively easy to
fish from and would have easy access with my truck getting into. Now this is Trenton, this is not the Upper Delaware in Hancock. So what that means is Joe didn't have to worry about slipping on Vaseline covered rocks but more trying not to get entangled in the garbage that was dumped or left by people
who fish these spots when the lights go out and the poaching can go undetected. The law doesn't come around these parts often so fish that are caught are kept, or they'll die by the time they are hoisted up and then dropped back down into the river. But back to Joe. Joe has it all. His tackle is serviceable and well
used. He doesn't have all of the latest gear that "sharpies" have, no ZeeBass or Van Stahl reels, and no CTS, Century or Lamiglass rods. Just good old school tackle that has helped him land hundreds if not thousands of bass, from the Delaware River to the bays and beaches of the Jersey Shore. But we'll concentrate on just the Delaware. I watch Joe cover the water from top to bottom, going from Spooks to
a bucktail without a tap. You know when you take a kid fishing and you're just waiting for that fish to hit, any fish, "Just please God just one". I thought of that with each crank of his Shakespeare reel as his offerings covered the water in front of, alongside, across, and under every rock and seam he could cast to. I was really pulling for him and thought he deserved at least a blow-up for standing in a pile of garbage trying to catch one more striped bass. The day lasted four hours and timing was perfect because the much needed rain was starting to arrive. We took a drive down through Trenton where the current
construction project is underway rebuilding the area known as "The Wall" where every Trenton fishermen has either fished or heard stories about. It is gone. No longer. But the memories remain. I was lucky enough to catch the The Wall, but came too late to the party to have fished "The Power Plant", which was being demolished when Theresa and I moved out West. So when I dropped Joe off he showed me just a fraction of the plugs, rods and reels he has readily available at the front of his garage. Just waiting for that call. It's go time. I loved to see one of his plug bags. An old beat up canvas bag
that has seen it's nights and days of weather, like the owners hands. It's not embroidered, nothing fancy, just a paint stick with the proud name of the owner written across it. As I look at it I wonder, now he knows he has a long ass Italian name, was he going for just the first name and then added the last, and then ran out of room? I don't know but I love the imperfection of it. Near Joe's garage in a ready position is the war wagon. A very experienced 16 foot aluminum boat powered by a Evinrude motor I
think Joe said is from the 1950's or 60's. He has said more than once to me, "I know if I could just get out there I could find the fish". I wouldn't doubt for a minute that he could.
I think it is so important for younger generations to engage, appreciate, and utilize the experience and knowledge of those that have done things before us. Not only is it fun to hear about things back in the day, but as much as things change, they remain the same. Fisherman are basically the same, the fish are the same, and the love of the game is the same, although for some, me included, it could be diagnosed as more of a mental disorder.
So they next time you see an old salt out there near the water stop and say hello, ask a question, and share a story. You never know what you may learn or what kind of relationship that may blossom from that chance interaction. It'll do you, and them, good.