Remembering “Pops”

Kevin Blinkoff
Executive Editor

For the past 6 years, as editor of On The Water, I’ve had the pleasure of serving as the middleman in the relationship between Dave “Pops” Masch and our readers.

Once a month, I received his columns in an email from his typist, who converted his handwritten pages into Word documents. Right up until what would be his last submission, it was a thrill for me to see his columns arrive in my mailbox. In what unexpected way would he respond to the latest round of reader questions? What bizarre catch would he be cooking this month? What stories would he tell, and in what clever way would he make me laugh? I wouldn’t read his columns immediately; my routine was to save them as a treat, savoring his “Cooking The Catch” column while I ate an otherwise disinteresting lunch at my desk.

Dave had a computer and an email address, but he preferred to have his “Ask Pops” emails sent to an On The Water account so he could have a printed copy. Most questions submitted to Pops began with some version of “I love your column,” or “Your column is the first thing I read every month.” I think he was aware that his writing was appreciated by On The Water readers, but I know that he would have been overwhelmed by the incredible response we’ve received since his passing.

As much as readers loved his columns, Dave loved writing them. He relished the letters, questions and comments he received from On The Water readers, and he took great pleasure in meeting readers at StriperFest, at sportsmen’s shows, and in the course of his travels around town in his beat-up red pickup with the “ASKPOP” license plate. He particularly enjoyed hearing from readers who had additional knowledge or a differing opinion to share, even those who disagreed with something he had written.

Dave would regularly come into our office to collect his emails and letters. He always took a seat and read them immediately, usually smiling, and occasionally laughing out loud while reading them to himself. More often than not, one of the questions would spark a story, and a bunch of us would gather because being in his audience felt like a gift. When a story ended—and the laughter subsided—one of us would scramble to come up with another question or share some recent observation, in an attempt to elicit one more story and keep Pops around as long as we could.

Neal Larsson
General Manager

Dave “Pops” Masch was one of the most interesting and likeable people I’ve ever known. I never got to fish with him but (aside from his many visits to the office over the last dozen or so years) I shared a five-hour ride to and from New Jersey with him for the NJ Saltwater Fishing Expo, where Dave was doing a cooking demonstration. On that drive, I learned we had a lot in common. We both played first base in college baseball, had an affinity for cooking and epicurean delights (including Popeye’s Fried Chicken—especially their red beans and rice), and of course we shared a love for the ocean.

One of the things I’ll take away from knowing Dave was his enjoyment of learning. As much as he enjoyed enlightening people with his Pops column, I think he was equally happy, or even happier, to learn something new from our readers and people he met at shows. My favorite story on that trip to New Jersey involved Pops telling me about his father, a German immigrant who came to the East Coast to visit from Detroit. He described his father as a very practical man, and Pops tried to serve him boiled lobster but his dad would have none of it, stating in his German accent, “David, if you found that thing in the bushes you wouldn’t eat it, would you?” We both agreed he had a point.

During that drive to New Jersey, some of the stories Dave told me regarding his travels and work left me thinking to myself that he may have been one of the richest men I’ve ever met, not in the things he had or in material worth, but rich in the way he experienced life, the people he met, and the youth whose lives he made a difference in. There was an understated joy in everything he did, whether it was cooking, gardening, teaching, long-lining, or shellfishing. As he told stories about these experiences, there was a spark, a twinkle in his eye, that only a few other people I’ve known have had. I can’t help thinking that I’m a richer man for having known Dave Masch.

Andy Nabreski
Design Manager

I first met Pops on a jetty while fishing on a dark, foggy night back in May, 2000. I was a recent college grad, transplanted to Cape Cod and obsessed with the insane fishing that now surrounded me. I lived in a tiny apartment, I had no girlfriend, and I fished every chance I could get. Surfcasting was new to me. I became obsessed with trying to figure out the effects of tide, moon and wind, and I spent countless hours driving around Falmouth hunting for new spots.

One night I decided I would do some recon at a beach I had never fished. I got there just after dark and set up. There was a steady southwest wind, and the fog was thick, but it felt, and even smelled, fishy, and my gut told me to sit tight, soak some bait, and see what the incoming tide would bring.

After an hour, I began getting discouraged, as I was yet to get even so much as a nibble. I did, however, notice the sporadic bursts from a flashlight, creeping through the fog, coming from a jetty about 100 yards to my right. They were becoming more consistent, and as the night rolled on, curiosity got the better of me. I packed up my gear, and headed toward the light. Someone was suspiciously active with a flashlight, and if it was indeed another fisherman, they appeared to be having some fast action.

As I approached the jetty I could hear loud, incessant laughter booming through the fog. Whoever it is, I thought, at least sounds friendly. Then the light came back on, and 30 feet in front of me, I could make a respectable striper being slid up onto the beach at the base of the jetty.

“Nice fish!” I yelled.

“Who’s that!? Jeez, you just scared the crap out of me!”

“Sorry about that! I’m Andy, I was just fishing down the beach a ways, not really doing much, so I figured come see what was going on over here.”

“Ohh… I’m Pops. You don’t want to fish down there, all the fish are right here. This is my friend Joe. Come on out on the jetty with us, we can fish three guys in this spot if you do it right.”

Now I was the one crapping my pants. I had stumbled across the legendary Dave “Pops” Masch in one of his honey holes, during a blitz, and he was going to show me how to fish it.

I had been reading On The Water magazine since moving to Cape Cod. It was my favorite magazine, and Pops was an idol.
That night, Pops taught me a lifetime of knowledge about fishing that beach.

“You gotta be here two hours before the high tide. Southwest wind is always the best. If it’s blowing from the east, stay home and make cookies. Keep it simple, all you need is a chunk of herring and a fishfinder rig, two ounces of lead. Cast it out at ten o’clock of the jetty, right toward that point of land. Let the current swing it around in front of the jetty. If it gets to 2 o’clock without getting eaten, reel it in and cast again. With three guys, we need to rotate and move to your right after casting. Don’t step on the last rock on the jetty, it’s slimy as hell. Joe’s fallen off that rock three times.”

We all caught several big stripers that night, and we had a hell of a time. Pops was cracking jokes non-stop, swearing at fish, and recounting various tales from the sea. Joe, a recovered alcoholic, would tell fishing stories from his drinking days, like the time he passed out on this same beach and woke up in the morning to find a seagull pecking at his bait, which was now sitting in 3 inches of water as the tide had hit dead low.

I was amazed at the kindness and generosity they showed me. Fishermen tend to be a secretive lot, and I’ve had some ugly experiences in the past, but these two guys had no reservations about sharing what they had, and they were incredibly fun to fish with.

I would go on to spend many nights on that same dark jetty with Pops and Joe. When the tide and wind lined up just right, I knew that they would be there, and the three of us would rotate casts from the tip of the jetty. We would laugh, tell stories, and we caught a ton of fish.

I have since lost touch with Joe; he hasn’t been at the jetty in over five or six years now. But when I landed the job at On The Water back in 2002, I would get to know Pops much better.

NOTABLE POPS QUOTES:

“Sousing and marinating the bland freshwater shrimp we get from farms in Southeast Asia improves them greatly. My wife said I never improved when soused, but then I was never bland or Southeast Asian.”

“A chowder, like pornography, is hard to define but easily recognizable when you see it, or in this case, taste it. Hurrah for true chowder!”

“I always carry a head of garlic with me when I travel both for personal security and happiness and in case I run into some clams and olive oil.”

“I was on a panel with three other guys who were bass experts, and for some reason they considered me one as well—I’m not and I don’t claim to be a bass fishing expert. But at one point we were supposed to tell stories about big ones that got away, and they were going to give a prize for the best lie. If you’re ever in a liar’s contest, you always want to be last. The other three guys told their stories. It got to be my turn and I didn’t say anything. The emcee said, ‘You’ve always got something to say, Pops. Why don’t you tell us a story about a big one that got away?’ I said, ‘I don’t let big ones get away.’ So I won right away.”

“Although I catch many fish, I spend a lot on gas, tackle, books and other sources of information. It would be cheaper to pay top dollar than to catch my own. True, but dull…A silly idea. One cannot put a price on a strike on a surface lure at daybreak, or on the “bulldogging” of a big blue after he has finished jumping, or on the marvelous odor of a freshly caught false albacore. This is the stuff that songs, poems and paintings are made of by people more talented than I.”

Every month, for the past 10 years, Pops, who lived close by, would make an appearance at the OTW office. He’d bring in his monthly columns, and take a seat next to my desk, and patiently wait for me to scan in his drawings. I would crank up the resolution on the scanner way higher than it needed to be, in order to prolong the scanning process, and allow me more time to pick Pops’ brain.

Each time we would have a pleasant, sometimes bizarre, but always enlightening conversation. We would ponder questions people had sent in for his column. We would discuss art, religion, politics, cooking, gardening, bird watching, and fishing. And Pops would always crack jokes, tell stories and make us laugh.

“Have you ever eaten a swan?” I once asked.

“Yes, twice. The young ones are tender, the old ones are tough.”
The guy had eaten everything under the sun. He was an encyclopedia of bizarre foods and loved talking about food and cooking.

I got to know Pops even better when we began working on his first cookbook. We needed to get photos for the book’s cover, and I got to spend a few days fishing and cooking with him. Spending time with him in his home kitchen was priceless. Pops showed me his home office, and it looked exactly like I imagined it. Much like my own desk, his office was a mess of clutter, fishing lures, oddities and artifacts.

“This is a whale vertebra I found in Fiji, and this is the penis bone from a walrus. Did you know walruses have a penis bone?”
I did not. Fascinating. It was huge.

While we cooked a recipe from his book in the kitchen, Pops was playing a CD of frog calls in the background. At first it seemed odd, but it would soon blend into the background, until one particular frog call caught my attention.
“Creet…creet…creet… the gray tree frog.”

That was it. I’d been tormented by that sound. I had heard it hundreds of times, coming from the top of massive pine trees at sunset in Maine, where I spend a lot of vacation time in my family’s pond-side cabin. My wife and I had always assumed it was a bird. Nope. Gray tree frog. No wonder Pops is so smart, I thought. The guy listens to frog calls in his spare time.
Dave “Pops” Masch was a special man who taught us all many things. Most significantly, he taught the importance of sharing what we have and know, being friendly, and making people laugh.

George Clondas
Senior Graphic Designer

I met Pops about 10 years ago. With one glance you could tell there was something interesting about him. At the time, he was nursing a bad leg, suffered from falling on the rocks while fishing that autumn. His first words were, “Who’s the new guy?” After my introduction, he told me “Good luck!” and laughed his infectious, gravelly laugh.

Each month, Pops visited On The Water to scan his drawings for that month’s columns, and while he waited, he told stories. Over the years, we had many great conversations, not just about fishing and cooking, but about music, art and child rearing. I jokingly expressed my concern one day that I was messing up my daughter with my odd sense of humor. He assured me that I was not, and proclaimed that everyone should have a sense of humor, no matter how warped.

Pops was also a great artist. One thing he created was quirky wire fish sculptures, in the same style as the drawings that appeared in his columns. He inspired me to make my own. So after some trial and error, I found my own style and hung a few on my cubicle wall. When he came in that month, he saw them, said they were great and asked where I got them. Proudly, I told him that I had made them. “Wow that’s great,” he said. “You should sell them.” “Who would buy them?” I asked. “I’ll give ya’ three bucks,” he said, with his trademark laugh. Then he told me about a gallery in Woods Hole and convinced me to take a few in. This past fall I sold my first two, for a bit more than three bucks. Thanks Pops for inspiring me. I’ll miss you.

Phil Stanton
(“Predator” Phil)

I’ve made regular appearances in Dave’s columns as his friend “Predator” Phil Stanton, “the protein provider.” When Dave needed, say, a 20-pound striper for a cooking demonstration he’d be giving the next day, I was the guy he called on. We fished together countless times on my boat out of Woods Hole on Cape Cod.

At a roast for his 75th birthday, I told the crowd that Dave Masch should change his name to “Dave Smash,” since that’s how he went through life, smashing into things and smashing up his own body. It seemed like he was regularly beating himself up, usually while fishing.

One time on my boat, he was making his way around the center console when he started yelling at me to stop the boat and help him out. “I’ve got a hook in my ear!” he yelled. I looked up, and the tip of one rod was bouncing in the rod holder while the back hook of a plug was snagged in Dave’s earlobe.

Of course, he wanted to keep fishing, so I had to operate on him right out there to remove the hook. “Push the S.O.B. through!” he said. “Just get it out of there.” So I pushed it and it popped through his earlobe with a loud sound, like the snapping of a rubber band. I took a quick picture and then cut the hook free with a pair of rusty needle-nose pliers. We kept fishing, and he kept bleeding, but he didn’t care.

Later that night, after I put the boat away and washed up, we met back at his house for dinner. He was going to serve some of the striper we’d caught that day. My lady friend and fishing partner, Kelly Livingston; our fishing friend, first mate and tackle guru, Gary Engblom; and I were seated at Dave’s table to eat. When he came out of the kitchen and sat down, I looked across the table and laughed when I saw that he still had dried blood crusted down his neck and on his shoulder!

That’s just who Dave was–he was always a mess, because taking time out to clean up wasn’t a priority for him. We spent a lot of time together. I will really miss going with my son and friends to visit him at his home. I’ll miss his kind, welcoming manner, the many laughs, the great discussions, and especially his homemade bread. We meet many people in our lifetimes, but only a special few become genuinely close friends. Dave Masch was one, and I will really miss him.

Gary Engblom
(Gary the Tackle Guru)

Dave, I can’t believe you have gone without warning. A lady friend of mine says that if you believe in the afterlife, Dave is here in spirit, healed and healthy, ready to help you when you need him. So even if you can’t fish with Predator Phil and me anymore, you will always be with us in spirit. And, if we need some advice while out on the water, we know you will be there to help. You will never be forgotten. I miss you, brother.

Scott Britton
(Pops’ son-in-law and “cooking rival”)

When you went to Pops’ house, the door was always open. I would knock anyway, but was chastised for doing so. As I entered, off to my right in the kitchen, I’d see the stove. Something was always cooking. A well-used pot would be on at a rolling boil and it would appear to be filled nearly to the brim, and there was freshly baked bread on the counter. Dave would be in his office, but I wouldn’t be able to see him behind the overloaded coat rack and piles of books. Once I snaked my way through, Dave would be in his chair, feet up on his desk, computer on – perhaps with a poker hand showing, his old 12-inch Orion TV on the Sox game, a couple of open books nearby, and a yellow lined pad of paper in his lap with the beginnings of his next On The Water piece. I’d stand there, since his office didn’t really afford the space for two people to sit at once. There wasn’t a square foot of vacant space anywhere.

Hundreds of books were scattered all over, seemingly random, but if you looked closely you would see they were carefully organized. There were books about fish, fishing, angling, fly-fishing, marine animals, reptiles, amphibians and wildlife; bird books of every description; books about food, art, religion and philosophy. On top of, beside, and all around the books, were small African statuettes, Japanese netsuke, scrimshaw, wind-up toys, unusual fish bones, gourds, woodcarving tools, pennywhistles, needle-nose pliers of all sizes, assorted rods and reels, giant seed pods, lures, flies, ball jars with unidentifiable things in formaldehyde, and knives… and that’s just an amateur’s start to a daunting inventory.

On the closet was a bag full of costume wigs. On walls covered with paintings, portraits, fish prints and awards, was a giant quahog mounted to a plaque that reads “Captured Megansett ’86.” Dave caught it while fishing and was almost giddily proud of it. When his grandchildren went through his office after he passed, they found a pouch made from a kangaroo’s scrotum filled with gold coins. He had seeds that had to pass through the digestive system of an elephant to be fertilized. (What kind of seeds are those? How did he get them? Why didn’t I pay more attention?) Dave was thrilled when Carolina wrens got through a hole in a screen, built a nest, and laid eggs that hatched between that screen and the glass of his office window.

It was in that room where I could describe a bird I had seen for a likely identification, or ask how to prune a peach tree, when to germinate tomato seeds, where were bluefish biting, how to catch fluke, or what are traditional preparations for finnan haddie. I had so many more questions to ask him.

For the past month or two, we had been planning to make seafood sausages together. We’d been refining the recipe for several years now, and almost had it down.

It’s going to take a lot of work to honor such a man, but if you think about it, he worked pretty tirelessly, with much better than 80% accuracy, to prepare us all for life without him. He left a legacy of joy and passion for life. And that’s worth carrying on.

READER MESSAGES

I read Pops all the time.  As a novice cook (as well as an avid fisherman), many of his recipes were prepared at my kitchen. Before I read your February issue, I had no idea of his background or resume. I read about him with my mouth wide open and with great envy. A man who followed his passion, chased his dreams and did good deeds all along the way—he is no longer a cook to me, he is my role model for life.  -Thomas J. O’Brien

I never met the man, but I felt like he was a good friend. Pops, from the first issue of On the Water that I bought on the newsstand, you were the best excuse to take out a subscription. Whatever your best days were I hope you have an eternity filled with them.   -Rick Volpe Jr.

I loved reading anything that Pop’s wrote as well as watching him on On The Water TV. He was real, passionate and humble. You could tell that he was smart as heck but he would never talk down or seem to be “telling” you how to do something. I try to expose my children to all the wonders of the shore…clamming, crabbing, fishing, lobstering, etc., and Pops was an inspiration. I always felt he was a friend that I hadn’t yet met.   -Sam Orr

Say it isn’t so Pops! The first things that I looked for each month were your “Ask Pops” and “Cooking The Catch” columns. After 45+ years of fishing & sailing these waters, I thought that I had run out of things to learn—you showed me otherwise. I always read and reread your articles and books. You are a brother to every “man of fish.” May you have fair winds and following seas, and endless fishing with your son and Seth. God speed to you and God bless your family.   – Mark Pulcini

We were so fortunate two years ago to spend an incredible hour with Mr. Masch in Providence at the fishing show. He had planned to give us a cooking demonstration, but the local fire laws prevented that, so he sat with us, answering questions and speaking to us about fish and his love of the sea. It was a magic time that we will never forget, now more poignant since his passing. Our sincere condolences to his family; we have all lost a true hero.  Sincerely, Jeanne Verity and Don Hughes

Thoughts and prayers to Pops’ family, friends and On The Water—a true loss. I recently purchased Pops’ new book at the 2012 StriperFest, and he was a complete joy to joke and converse with. His dedicated enthusiasm to cooking the catch was unrivaled and Pops will surely be missed. We all now owe it to Pops to “cook the catch” with one of his many intriguing recipes. Enjoy the many new recipes you may contrive with the “Big Guy,” Pops!   -C. Mullen