It should have been a no brainer, how I was going to impress fishing pals by serving the remnants of a gigantic salmon, with the filets themselves proof of an unlikely miracle while fishing. Pounds of enormous, succulent fish flesh draped across the plate – as all listened open-mouthed to my tale of 4 pound tippet, running at full speed across a slippery Pacific Coast riffle, hours of screaming reels and hard fought yardage, followed by me emptying a .45 into my foe, as he made a last spasmodic move for an extremity.

The proof was to be the simple part. Six or seven slabs of salmon joined using meat glue, to make an aggregate fillet rivaling a world’s record (something I planned on pointing out during the obligatory cigars and brandy) …

Instead I find out the joke’s on us me, as the meat industry has been manufacturing the nuggets on a Chicken, rather than them existing in some hidden feathery place not yet discovered by fly tiers.

… and while most of the world is banning it from the table in horror, only in the US would our four star chef’s rise to the possibilities of Frankenfood, generously ladling glue into all manner of odd proteins, while charging us double for the privilege.

Makes you wonder how safe it is when the fellow cautions the reporter not to inhale.

See the Harvard School of Cooking and Chef Wylie Dufresne take your palate to new heights compliments of Meat Glue … which can be purchased from Amazon.com for $89.00 per kilo.

We don’t tell because it would simply kill the bastards to know that only girls and hunters like Taupe.

… real Fishermen resent fashion as it confuses us from what’s truly important, warmth and not-warm-enough.

… real Fishermen resent color as it allows society to notice we haven’t changed our underwear this week.  We know that fresh undies adds precious minutes to our morning ritual and allows lesser men to get to the river first.

We’re aware society requires we cover our ample paunch, blanched soft arse, and other sensitive bits - with something – otherwise the late arrivals would bring John Law and chase us out of the best water.

But that’s all we know, yet all of that is about to change…

Imagine jeans, sweats or socks that clean and de-odorize themselves when hung on a clothesline in the sun or draped on a balcony railing. Scientists are reporting development of a new cotton fabric that does clean itself of stains and bacteria when exposed to ordinary sunlight.

Their report describes cotton fabric coated with nanoparticles made from a compound of titanium dioxide and nitrogen. They show that fabric coated with the material removes an orange dye stain when exposed to sunlight. Further dispersing nanoparticles composed of silver and iodine accelerates the discoloration process. The coating remains intact after washing and drying.

- via PhysOrg.com

I know some of the above terms are unfamiliar, so I’ll translate: “washing and drying” means … in case you fall in.

Self cleaning underwear that allows you to drop trouser for ninety seconds, which because of beer you have to do anyways, and like Jesus Hisself, all sins and indiscretions are wiped clean by modern science.

I bet astronauts get it next …

Prohibits the Secretary of the Interior and the Secretary of Agriculture (USDA) from taking action on public lands which impede the border security activities of the Secretary of Homeland Security (DHS) (Secretary). States that the Secretary shall have immediate access to any public land managed by the federal government in order to conduct activities that assist in securing the border (including access to maintain and construct roads, construct a fence, use patrol vehicles, and set up monitoring equipment). States that a specified waiver by the Secretary of certain laws regarding sections of the international border between the United States and Mexico and between the United States and Canada shall apply to all sections of the international land and maritime borders of the United States within 100 miles of such borders with respect to the Secretary’s activities under this Act.

HR1505 is an interesting tidbit, allowing the Department of Homeland Security to preempt all other federal agencies and restrictions in the last 100 miles between the US and any external border.

Which implies they can rattle about in gas guzzling 4 wheel drive and two-stroke vehicles, and build a network of surveillance and roads the rest of us will quickly exploit as the quickest way to the Pristine – despite any former Wilderness or National Park protections.

I think their intent is not to make it easy for the US Border Patrol, instead are opting to restore that border to impermeable status with an injection of thousands of rubber gloved TSA agents.

All the illegal immigrants apprehended will resent being groped and fondled,  turn around and leave of their own accord.

Nearly twice a year I’m

In addition to the demise of the neatly tapered whip finish, most of us 99%’ers require a plastic container and paper label extolling the leaden nature of Grandma’s Fruit Cake – so we can tell how many slices we’ll have before the Type IV Diabetes klaxon summons the Gendarmes …

The many decade-long fairytale of Grandma’s Orgy of Christmas Baked goods has somehow given way to a smoldering microwave and a store-bought box of sugary unmentionables.

… which gives off a comforting whiff of overly warmed plastic when zapped, so we remind our kids of how plastic smelled – back when it had real carbon …

As I represent the 1% that still makes everything by hand – it falls to me to make the workforce regret coming to work this week, and stuffing themselves beyond capacity because the food is real for a change.

When you’re attempting to feed 40 or 50 people the Precious becomes the flat areas of the kitchen. As each smoking tray is yanked from the oven it was offloaded onto my makeshift cooling rack, wherein I shoved aside boxes of scissors, hooks, and flies – in favor of cinnamon, powdered sugar, and slivered almonds.

Herein lies the lesson for you young bucks – given that tomorrow everything feminine within a couple of zip codes will be making big doe eyes in my direction, as I’ve been identified as the Baking Equivalent of Brad Pitt.

… which will last so long as I’m upwind of them gals …

It’s not about being the best fisherman, it’s about being the best provisioned – you’ll always get the invite so long as you can lay on the smoking board  …

As every watershed could wind up whelping mongrel fish; escapees from fish farms mating frantically with whatever genetic material is pumped into the overly warm trickle by Fish & Game, the real question is for us anglers – can we broaden our minds long enough to redefine our catch?

We’ve failed horribly in the past.

Recent sampling in Europe has found as much as 30% of fish at market mislabeled. While no one is pointing fingers at some broader conspiracy to replace fancy cuts with mongrel fillets, our collective palate wouldn’t know guppy from Fillet O’ Fish.

… we prove that daily at the drive thru …

“Fish passes through so many hands from the time it’s caught to the time it’s sold that it’s hard to tell where the mislabeling occurs or whether it’s intentional. That makes the process very difficult to police,”

In the US, Consumer Reports suggests 20-25% of the fish on store shelves isn’t the product advertised.

Genetic bar coding will allow many extra world records of the more mundane variety, like hybrid Rain-browns, or the fabled Kokanee-Walleye-Musky mixture, known fondly as the “Kowalski” – takes artificials voraciously, fights like hell, only you have to teach it to swim …

Outside of a chaste population of fingerlings in some chilly headwater, genetic bar coding will confirm that everything that bumps ass on algae has some form of interloper in its bloodline, and outside of the hoary ancient records where only a shock tippet and a couple of feet of leader was needed, nearly all non-digital IGFA records will likely join Roger Maris’s as some quaint but meaningful codicil is attached (*61).

There will only be two kinds of fish left; Mother Nature fish – found behind glass in aquariums – whose pedigree rivals that of royal and ancient, and *fish … “real” having been trademarked in an earlier court battle …

*Fish :  contains lips, beaks, heavy metals, nitrogenous fertilizers, soy meal, jowls, gills, scales, copepods, and organic matter. Organic Matter contains more lips, innards, test tube genetic material, red dye #4, and the occasional fingernail …

Most of the angling media has been citing small upticks in angling as a resurgence in the sport and a sign of a stronger economy, yet most of the story remains unpleasant with more to come. Wishful thinking and small upticks in statistics aren’t likely to keep us out of another trough before all those ripples from the mortgage wreckage grows quiet.

Call it a gift from your neighbor and our pals in Europe, and take it along with the rest of the damn lies and statistics, with a generous leavening of salt …

The National Sporting Goods Assn. found that sport fishing in California dropped from 5 million people in 1985 to 3.1 million in 2004. That number took another dip this year, to 2.5 million.

The California Department of Fish and Game also shows that in 2008 it issued 2.8 million fishing licenses. Last year the number had dropped by 400,000 and through Aug. 30 of this year by 300,000 more.

- via the LA Times

Add all that up and you can see why the body politic plans to kick the environmental lobby to the curb, given that since 1985, half of California’s anglers no longer purchase licenses …

Yet in uncharacteristic upbeat style I’ll suggest us longtime Californio’s have merely opted to fish illegally, rather than donate all that license money to be pissed away on the Governor’s pet projects or civil servant pensions.

If the government can redirect the cash as it sees fit, we can decide to keep the cash and blow it on munchies or Starbux and simply take our chances. Due to the budget most of the wardens have been let go already, and with hatcheries spreading Whirling Disease and Didymo, what are they really going to do, take away our birthday?

In a short 25 years we’ve lost half the anglers and three quarters of the fish, yet based on those numbers we’re still winning!

(… and you were expecting another downbeat we’re-all-gonna-die post.)

While traveling last week, I did have time to inhale a small salad while enjoying the banks of the mighty Eel River. In between bites I noticed a bit of motion in the water and am rendered vengeful and solemn by the sight of 200 large salmon milling in a circle only feet away …

Nothing like a fish that appears to be six inches wide at the back to give a fellow real trouble swallowing lettuce …

My accomplice was oblivious to the spectacle as he was negotiating  three inches of rare roast beef and a monstrous hard roll, while giggling at my self-inflicted dietary choice. Suddenly one of the larger fish comes cleans out of the water and dampens us both …

“Dude, that was a salmon.”

I nodded the affirmative as he noticed all the other fish leisurely rolling in contentment, finning their way over to give me the finger, then swimming a lazy circle to repeat the insult.

He exclaimed, “ I can run us back to Fortuna and you can buy a rod and reel, and we could be back in an hour…”

I shook my head, “No, fishing is a karmic-Zen-Masochistic thing – and while I don’t expect a non-fisherman to understand; the reason the fish are here is because I lack my fishing gear. In physical terms, both fish and fishing tackle are positively charged ions – and can never occupy the same space – nor get close enough to one another to cause harm – as their natural state repels the other.

If I had brought the gear we’d be standing in a torrential downpour with a flat tire, fishless – or that prominent badge on your truck would cause Weott’s version of “Jimmy Olsen Cub Reporter” to stop and immortalize us for the six o’clock news and the both of us holding big dripping fish and a pink slip …

Driving to Fortuna is for godless amateurs – who’ve not fished enough to learn this truism …”

At this point he’s looking at me fixedly, jaw open and roast beef visible, “OMFG, that’s some serious hokey horseshit,” he says.

I’d tried to explain it and failed. Now I was content to wave as the fish swam past knowing it as a quasi-religious truth recognizable only by those that believe. Not the old-timey religious types – more like those that are fool enough to stand in cold water and have done so enough times to recognize this immutable Law of Nature.

I figure this is a larger lesson for society. The hubbub over perfumed and coifed Wall Streeters gambling with everyone’s 401K is moot for us outdoorsy types. As fishermen we knew whether tarred with the 1% label or granted membership in the other 99%, we’d land on our feet regardless of new economics …

Two Rafters, One Fisherman, whose instincts are akin to a predatory cat, never ruffled, never hurried, aware of everything and its consequences …

Guess which is the fly fisherman. No hint necessary as it should be that obvious …

There’s little to fear, as outdoorsy trials go you won’t have to do much other than sign a piece of paper now …

Later it may not be so easy, but at that advanced stage of the game, who cares?

Perhaps a grand sendoff for an old retriever – who spent the last couple of seasons licking his balls by your fire …

… or now that your spouse, who bitterly resented the time spent on your outdoor passions and both your rod and gun collections, has finally passed this mortal plane, you can spread her ashes complements of 10 cases of shotgun shells – containing everything from teeth fillings to wedding ring …

… and when the warden complains of  steel shot only, you can get all tearful about how it was her last wish, to use them gold fillings and gall stones to take out an entire V of geese – when the lighter steel merely rattled off the wing coverts.

And when you march up to St Peter at them Pearly Gates, you can do so knowing that the wife and kids are looked after – as the last thing some interloper will see is you coming across the living room at 900 fps …