It’s both surprising and predictable, a statistical glimpse of the evolution of fishing and outdoor tradition - after a couple of decades of Ronald McDonald, over protective parents, and absent the sterile blessing of Saranwrap.

Pennsylvania Fish and Boat commission released a trout angling survey last week that has an uncommon tilt; of those surveyed only 3% confessed they fished to eat the result.

82% fished bait, 59% lures, and 40% were fly fishermen, the majority preferred bait (53%), but they also preferred to release the fish (88%) at least half the time.

That seems abnormally high - and may include small fish thrown back in favor of larger quarry, which may qualify as “half the time.”

Pennsylvania being a couple thousand miles away, California’s interpretation of this time honored practice suggests; 97% of us are neighbors of the 3% that keep fish, so we can expect freezer burned “gifts” at any moment.

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With 109 degree temperatures outside and the smoke reducing  visibility to about two miles, it’s a wonder that anyone has a desire to go out-of-doors.

I sure don’t, and now the Mayflies hatching in my driveway want inside to lay eggs - can’t say I blame them with everything outside all the same color.

I have always been fascinated by airtanker’s doing what they do best, and Tanker 00 used to be stationed next to me when I lived in Redding, California, some years ago. This is a USFS contractor buzzing some high rent real estate in Santa Barbara, part of a 17 photo series hosted by the Boston Globe on our California fires.

Makes for some serious wallpaper for your desktop.

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Skipping the fishing to go straight to the catching part sounds potentially cheaper, but the virtual odds sound much too realistic to be a cost savings.

I don’t think you’ll want to leave your cell phone lying around; $10 for three casts approximates the cost of fly fishing, but the idea that your kid could pizzle away your entire paycheck, worse yet, could win two or three hundred pounds of fish should cause you to blanch.

The game — called “Ippon Zuri” (which means “pole-and-line fishing”) — was created by FIT, a Fukuoka-based system development company who teamed up with a local seafood wholesaler. Game play is simple: players use the phone keys to cast bait to promising-looking fish in the game’s virtual waters, which include sea bream, crab, and other seasonal fish. When a fish takes the bait, the player is sent to a slot machine screen where, if luck prevails and 3 numbers line up appropriately, the virtual fish is hooked and reeled in. A message is then relayed to the wholesaler, who picks up the real-world equivalent from the local seafood market and delivers it, whole and raw, to the player’s doorstep.

Hardened anglers will balk at the slot machine segment, decrying that fishing could ever compare with any game of chance. I’m not so sure that fading light and tiny naturals isn’t exactly that - chancy at best to pick the correct fly and even less of seeing it to set the hook.

They tried the live action version on those Internet deer hunting sites, I’m guessing the webcam flavor can’t be far behind.

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I never thought about the perils of genetically manipulated beef, with my meager BBQ skills I usually eat briquette of “beef like substance”. Charcoal is a spice - get enough black on that haunch and the genetics are the least of your worries.

I’m fine with modified grains - and anything else derived from stem cell research, figuring whatever plague we unleash would be tame compared to what we’d already done to the environment, and it might even weed a few of us conspicuous capitalists off the landscape - lessening the burden somewhat.

But a fellow has to draw the line somewhere’s …

The current flap over a new sewage treatment plant for the Provo River may be our call to arms, not in the traditional sense - but if the manager has his way, they’ll be adding trout to the outflow to test water quality:

Matthews has his own idea for demonstrating the water’s high quality. He wants to build a 10-foot fish tank in the sewer plant to hold a couple of trout from one of the nearby fishing holes. The district will run treated effluent through it.

“If there’s a problem,” he said, “we’ll see it in our own plant.”

The old “canary in a coal mine” ploy - but what if a half dozen fertile fish were to escape after a couple seasons of inhaling pooty water?

It could stimulate catch and release fishing out of self defense, then again, they could be the next Invasive Species - intermingling and inter-breeding with native fish so everything tastes like warm Pampers.

Suddenly I’m waffling on the science front, brown trout are fine - but I don’t want all of them that way…

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If you’re one of the big homebuilders the ground has been coming away from underfoot for over a year -  now the courts have determined all that “ground” went into the creek, and in addition to all the homes they have and can’t sell, they’re liable for the sins committed while building all that excess inventory.

It smells kind of like … Justice …

Michigan-based Pulte Homes, Southern California-based KB Homes, Texas-based Centex Homes and Colorado-based Richmond American Homes agreed to pay a combined $4.3 million in penalties to resolve widespread Clean Water Act stormwater violations at hundreds of construction sites nationwide. The companies are also required to implement a program that should prevent an estimated 1.2 billion pounds of sediment from entering the nation’s waters each year.

In Northern California, the beneficiary will be the Garcia River, home to a modest run of both salmon and steelhead.

Pulte will spend an estimated $418,000 on the North Fork of the Garcia River, the largest sub-watershed of the river, to treat an estimated 13,475 cubic yards of stored and road-related sediment, and upgrade all permanent and seasonal roads and stream crossings within the sub-watershed. The North Fork project will decrease sediment loading and runoff and improve anadromous fish habitat.

The company will also spend an estimated $190,000 on the Blue Waterhole Creek, which is a high-priority for restoration because although it contains good natural pool structures desired by anadromous fish, it is also subject to very high water temperatures lethal to young coho salmon.

Now that we’re counting Salmon on one hand every little bit helps, whether this is the start of an endless chain of appeals, or the start of something tangible remains to be seen.

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I’m guessing this is proof positive that only the fishing part is bad for you; the financial drain, societal shunning, and the debris field of destroyed relationships aren’t cited - so only fishing causes those..

We’ve always known wading is a punishing exercise, now everyone will be stomping life out of invertebrates to “feel the burn.”

The design combines the unique benefits of exercising in water with a stylish treadmill. This results in exceptional levels of health, fitness and wellbeing.

What’s lost on the designers is the adrenalin surge of sliding towards deep water complements of worn felt or missing cleats, or the aerobic upper body workout as your grip on that tree limb falters, and Class 3 white water beckons.

That’s not “wellbeing” but any brush with Death certainly makes the living sweeter.

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Brownlining is fine, but I’ve got to draw the line somewhere. Fishing anywhere in Northern California would be best described as “Brown Lunging” regardless of elevation and venue.

I did manage to sneak out between shifts Saturday morning, fires traditionally dampen down in the evening due to the increased humidity, and the smoke decreases somewhat. I hit the American River at first light and the entire place smelled like Ma’s home cooked Peanut Butter cookies.

I managed to stick a single fish but lost it before it could be identified. I assume it was a Shad - briefly contemplating hanging it from a tree limb for an hour to smoke it …

I headed home before the worst of the smoke returned, nothing like smoking a pack of cigarettes per cast - even the hardiest fishermen would turn tail.

Next week is more of the same, bring your own oxygen mask or stay out of the area.

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It’s the burgeoning field of “BioMimicry” - the imitation of natural processes in a man made device. Mayfly gills and their movement appear to be the last great hope for canaries.

A tiny robotic replica of a mayflies gill is likely to replace the old “canary in a coal mine” - as its physical properties and size means it can move both airborne and waterborne particles over a sensor head without inducing a counter current with its movement.

The next step will be to construct a tiny artificial micro-robot that can reproduce the switchable gill action of the mayfly nymph. Such a mechanism could be installed in sensors intended to detect unhealthy air in otherwise stagnant areas, such as in subway stations or mines. If a miniature set of robotic mayfly gill plates can move air over a sensor, potentially harmful substances can be detected faster - and no canaries would be harmed in the process.

It’s a big deal because all manner of unhealthy items live in stagnant dank areas, and the speed the sensor registers means someone has a running start for the exit.

This may cause some consternation for us ardent fishing types, some fellow waving and yelling about BWO’s might be complaining about your Bad Wader Odor.

Oh, Hell - just throw a rock at Mr. CandyAss..

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It was the title that seemed out of place, “Escape to Montana’s Firehole Ranch for a Romantic Fly Fishing Getaway.”

I sat and pondered, scratched my chin and still came up blank - romance and fly fishing just doesn’t fit in the same sentence, I get the same nagging discomfort as if I’d ended a sentence absent a preposition ..

Divorce and fly fishing rolls off the tongue as if made for one another, and while “romance of fly fishing” is lyrical - it’s still unsettling. I just can’t figure how two predators can make nice long enough for a second date.

Naturally I’m thinking of the neo-primitive-archaic flavor taught to us by Mom, who stressed all the old school pointers; hold the barbwire down so she can trespass easily, look attentive when she’s attempting to talk over the roar of the fast water, try to smooth the boot print off the beef jerky before offering her some, and for that special  moment - intertwine arms when lathering on bug repellant.

I’m hoping in-stream romance has been updated since Ma gave me the basics, as I’m at a loss whether to throw an elbow when racing her for the pocket water, and the proper epithet to hurl when she says her fish was this big, and I’m convinced she lying.

Any gal I’d want to date would have a vocabulary of a Longshoreman, would shower almost as often as I did, might get squeamish if a limb was missing, and have the ethics of lukewarm toothpaste - why else would I take them fishing?

Then it hit me …

I, like you, would’ve proposed after she said, “I love fly fishing” - and if she didn’t laugh outright - we’d be newlywed’s - I could throw elbows, call her an outright lying SOB, and toss rocks at fish in front of her.

The theory is sound but the reality could be a profit oriented gamble, the Firehole Ranch might be gearing up for same-sex marriage traffic, and as I’m unfamiliar with their courtship ritual, it could be a cash cow..

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I can only assume I’m part of the larger malady, and you may have noticed the sudden quiet from my end of the Blogosphere. All I remember was a salad and a turkey-dog, then 48 hours of “Kill Me, please.”

The only thing quiet was the blog, as all my “ends” were suddenly clamoring for attention, with me hugging the Porcelain, suddenly really religious.

Little Red vine-ripened fruit, I salute you - and after three or four years, when I can look at you again, I may buy some more. Until then everything that resembles you has been banished from the pantry - and if I succumb to the desire of a BLT, I’ll slice a red donut.

Not being able to stray more than 13 feet from the water closet puts a crimp in fishing, but humor has returned so it appears I’ll survive.

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