Through the past brightly Bygod, that’s the end of these
Editor’s note: We have been told by those who claim to know him well, that Don Negus, is on “vacation” this week. Considering that Mr. Negus is wholly retired, one might argue he is permanently on vacation but at this time he is reportedly out- of-state.
In 1797, Don Negus’ family was awarded a large tract of land in upstate New York as payment for Captain John M. Negus’ contribution to America’s Revolutionary War effort. The property and homestead, located near the small town of Fabius, remained in the family until 1953, when Don’s great uncle, an intemperateman, sold the farm out from under Don’s Grandfather and, after 150 years, the property left the Negus Family.
Don Negus is rumored to be in the Fabius area.
Before he left town, Negus submitted this excerpt from “Very Fine Wing-shot,” his
2016 biography of his father, Don Negus Sr. This part features his father and his father’s iconoclast best friend, acclaimed author, Harvey Chalmers.
Back around 1964 or 5, my father’s interest in photography began to grow. Eventually he’d put his 12 gauge in the closet and pick up a Canon AE-1. Initially he became enamored with taking color slides. We never had to endure (or make house guests endure) endless hours of Negus home movies but we did end up with a projector and a movie screen, just no sound or motion . We were easily amused in those days.
A lion’s share of my father’s slides, chronicled his fishing and hunting trips with his best friend, author and historian, Harvey Chalmers, II. Since my father was holding the camera, most of those shots were ofharvey. Whenever my father and I would visit the old author at his home in Amsterdam, we would all enjoy an after-dinner slide show.
On nearly all of Harvey’s hunting and fishing trips, hewore a pair of voluminous earth-colored, canvasduck pants. Harvey was by no means a fatman but by the time he was in his 70s, let’s just say he was a stout one.
On one particular slide presentation of the “Don and Harvey Go Fishing Show,” Harvey was pictured from behind while wrestling with a worldclass rainbow. He was wearing the aforementioned trousers. “Good Lord, I’m as wide as a damn dump truck” Harvey muttered. He stood up abruptly and left the room. Thinking it had suddenly occurred to himthat he needed to visit the bathroom, we sat quietly and made pleasant conversation.
Ten minutes later we were still sitting there and Harvey had not yet returned. His wife, Bunny, arose and went to check on him. A fewminutes later, she returned with a wry smile on her face. “He’s out in back,” she told us.
My father and I walked out into the back yard. Harveywas standing by a flaming burn barrel. His canvas pants were hanging from a stick and he was slowly lowering them into the flames. “By God, that’s the end of these,” he growled. And indeed, it was.
•
One of my father andharvey’s favorite fishing spots was a creek that ran past a dairy. The water was stingy when it came to giving up its fish except for one hour, once every day. At the same prescribed time every afternoon, having no refrigeration, the dairy would dump all their unsold milk directly into the creek. The gin-clear water would cloud up and suddenly, the trout would gobble anything they were offered. The two men would limit-out on fat brookies. In those days, no one had heard of “catch-and-release.”
On the way home, Harvey directed my father to give him all his fish, with no explanation. My father was puzzled but complied. Harvey then proceeded to make several stops at a series of impoverished-looking homes. At each house, Harvey would present the inhabitants with two or three trout, presumably for the evening’s meal. When they had given away the last of the day’s catch and were nearly back to Harvey’s, my father turned to his friend and said, “That was very charitable of you to give away all our fish.”
“Ahhh,” replied Harvey as he pulled into his driveway, “I didn’t want ‘em. Milk-fed fish are mushy.”
In case you’re wondering, trout, do not ever “feed” on milk.