Yesterday, I was driving home from a trout trip through Buttzville in the northwest corner of Jersey. Buttzville is a little Ozark-like village mildly famous for being the home of renowned Hot Dog Johnny's dog and birch beer joint. As I sped through the town proper, a sign with the word "Hellgramites" crudely painted on it caught my eye in front of a building that I believe was once a gas station or post office. As many of you know, hellgrammites are lethal smallmouth baits, and at least where I live, they are not easy to find in bait shops anymore. Even though I had no immediate need for 'mites, I just had to stop. The man who was tending the small table full of tomatoes, zucchinis, and a cooler of night crawlers introduced himself as Freddie, and when I asked about the sign—the lettering of which reminded me of "RedRum" on the mirror in "The Shining"—he told me he was actually out of the pinching miracle baits today. But Freddie, it turned out, was a wealth of 'mite info, willing to tell me anything I wanted to know about collecting them except exactly where he collects them.