I felt I was obligated to find all those fingerling salmon, steelhead, and striped bass we’d siphoned out of the Lower Sacramento, but all I got was another steely glare and the commandment to drop trousers and cough …

… which I complied with in all haste, knowing that were I to be outted as a whiny Norteno, they might nudge me over the fence as target practice for drug lords.

Despite whizzing over numerous concrete structures claiming they were bridges, there was no water visible. Only a bit of light green in the midst of darker green to mark what the sign claimed was a watershed.

The sudden glimpse of the Bridge over San Luis Rey sent me into a fervor, given how adamant Poppa was that I read the book. The sign appeared unbidden as I cruised over the Southern California waterway of the same name.

Many years had passed since I cracked Thorton Wilder’s small tome, and confused what I was speeding over for a contemporary replacement of the failed original. The sign, shallow wash, and thicket of greasewood were gone in an instant, and I spun around to memorize detail before realizing the fast food and gleaming mall had no relation to the real story, which took place in Peru.

“It’s when you’re safe at home that you wish you were having an adventure. When you’re having an adventure you wish you were safe at home.”
? Thornton Wilder

I understood why they take our water, they’ve got none of their own. I might hold my nose while drinking all the agricultural chemicals that’ve seeped into my water supply, and can only imagine what flavors and colors are added to the pumped version after its been drank and excreted through countless smaller burgs as it trickles its way into Mexico.

I stuck with Diet Coke and the occasional Iced Tea, never attempting the raw liquid from the tap.

Work related to be sure, but in the company of non-fishermen I walked soft – hoping to avoid confrontation. “What’s in that lake?” I pointed while attempting small talk …

“Water.”

(Note to self, ignore their obvious boorishness – being non-fishermen is proof they were abused children.)

The flight home was most welcome – and in keeping with the media references I was treated to a bit of Samuel L. Jackson, “… WHO put the Motherf**king Penguins on the Motherf**king plane?”

SeaWorld to be exact … and as the Emperor Penguins ran up and down the aisles of the aircraft, I wondered whether all the smiling people in blue shirts and khakis would remain smiling after I wrenched a big handful of hackle off of NumNum …

“Animal Ambassadors” I was told – and like summoning memories of the text,  I scrambled to think whether they squawked or screamed, and whether that could be heard over a pair of Pratt & Whitney turbofans at 41,000 feet  …

I’d heard they were smart, noticing how they kept alert to my every move as their trainer nudged them past my seat. I’d pulled the emergency can of sardines out of my carryon earlier to avoid TSA’s Good Squad, a detail I’d now regret.

Let’s eat Glow-Inna-Dark genetically-engineered, research fish despite their being finely honed scientific thoroughbreds, engineered for pollution detection …

… and that Glow Inna Dark thing, shouldn’t matter on the flavor dont’cha think?

Madam, what you were attempting to convey was, “Jesus Bob, this fish tastes like licking the inside of an aquarium accented deftly by raw sewage (and if the camera wasn’t rolling, I’d spit this crap all over you ..), and the cucumber does nothing other than make me want to hurl.

… I guess the wasabi was kind of strong … for dummies especially …

Normally I’d have my lower lip pooched, regaling you with how I was all set to feed voracious brown-water cockroaches all manner of hideous and colorful flies, only the weather interrupted the festivities and I watch sullen as Chocolate Milk circled the drain where my beloved creek used to be …

Instead I’m all smiles.

Chocolate water means enough rain fell in the last two weekends to soak into the ground, with a bit left over to raise the creek nearly a foot.  A bit of extra water into the lake above means something to pizzle into the creekbed come August, when daytime temps break 100 degrees, and what fish are active compete with tomatoes for a hint of cold water.

This winter was a pale mockery of normal, and rather than watch my creek drained and dried for the second time in three years, I’d rather some life sustaining trickle was released from the reservoir above when it’s needed most.

I photographed this same stretch last year, where the foreground oak was underwater to its lower branches (see the Before and After pictures).

Naturally I’d rather not dwell on the

Just long enough for your next tired exhale …

Now every recruitment drive to enlist them thick-witted kids of yours into the ranks of Outdoorsmen, highlights our collective shortcomings as parents and teachers, as due to our inability to pay down our mortgage, they’re now known as “Generation Stuck.”

What’s so damning is in addition to their feet under your table well into their thirties, you’ve had twice as long to teach them respect for the Woods and fly fishing as your Dad, and whiffed horribly …

But Generation Y has become Generation Why Bother. The Great Recession and the still weak economy make the trend toward risk aversion worse. Children raised during recessions ultimately take fewer risks with their investments and their jobs. Even when the recession passes, they don’t strive as hard to find new jobs, and they hang on to lousy jobs longer.

- via the BusinessInsider.com

… me, I was only thinking we should recruit alternate-lifestyle anglers hoping to spare you the microscope of public opinion and scorn. I recognized that the tone deaf little weasel that shares your name is expert in joysticks, Hellfire missiles, and targeting Toyota trucks filled with insurgents, only he can’t hold down a job long enough to buy his next video game …

Sure. My little funny generated plenty of hushed whispers and death threats, but that Politically Correct Lightning bolt of Death, intent on cleaving me from topknot to breastbone, ain’t going to happen. Political Correctness was invented so you didn’t have to take a stand on any subject at a cocktail party, nor did you have to reveal you’d never read Dickens, Henry James*, and the only Conrad you knew swaggered his way through Baa Baa Black Sheep …

(*yuck)

… which is why you’ll never be counted amongst them, given how rarified that space is …

While we’re saving for some island getaway featuring umbrella drinks and fish we’ve never seen, they’re thinking of buying the entire island and anchoring it off of the Keys next month …

11 decks worth of floating island that allows you to follow the Trade Winds … anywhere …

Utopia is not an object to travel in, it is a place to be, an island established for anyone who has the vision to create such a place. Measuring 100m in length and breadth, and spanning over 11 decks with the equivalent volume of a
present-day cruise liner there is enough space to create an entire micronation.

To hell with bamboo, think like Tsunami Debris and wallow from one time zone to the next.

Your own province, kingdom, city-state, or capitol, make your own Fish & Game laws while defending your micronation from your wine steward and the coup he’s planned with your stevedores …

AK-47’s are extra.

Scientists agree there aren’t that many fish in the sea, and the Human Race depends on your ability to think outside your own miserable existence and set things right …

Today, all the B-Grade trash bloggers will be featuring acres of taut flesh whose boyfriends are scared of losing them, therefore will be shown courtesy and tokens of esteem. Reminding them how a little leniency regarding; abandonment of home, responsibilities, and children – not to mention coveting bamboo, barbless hooks, or the Out Of Doors, is always repaid with interest …

To hell with hard-bodies, we know all the best gals hate fishing, mostly because we made them so.

Valentine’s Day is like a Full Dress Atlantic Salmon fly. You lack most of the materials and rarely practice their techniques, but recognize that each step builds to a larger chorus, and each mistake, however small, can never be hidden by any subsequent step.

Which, after considerable effort, yields a fly worthy of framing and ensures many pleasant hours afield without fear of the axe handle upon your return.

She has raised your kids and seen the skid marks in your undergarments, it’s time to give the poor lass her due.

A towering bouquet of posies at her work can be augmented with a small card from “Raoul”, or “Esteban”, even better  … “Thor”, mentioning how last night was life altering and how the discarded pieces of her wardrobe have been left with the guard at the front desk  …

She’ll have the card snatched from her grip and will suffer interrogation at the hands of her pals, be forced to reveal every last detail of imagined indiscretion, which will elevate her stature to “bad girl” – the envy of the homebody biddies.

She’ll smile knowingly and claim, “ … why I never, there must be some mistake …” – and you get the next month free to chase steelhead … after you buy her dinner and wince through two seasons of The Bachelor …

… don’t yawn, not .. even .. once.

There are a number of compounds that can be used to effectively sedate fishes, including compounds commonly found in human foods (e.g., eugenol and similar compounds found in clove, wintergreen, spearmint and other essential oils) and over-the-counter oral pain relievers (e.g., benzocaine).

-via the American Fisheries Society

The first couple of casts disperses precious oils into the current above my quarry, soothing that rush of “fight or flight” endorphins my pear shaped shadow and thunderous feet have invoked.  Depending on size and depth, a couple lifesavers plunked into the fast water above ensures everything below enjoys complete serenity as they lift off the bottom to inhale my artificial with obvious relish …

Over time recreational use gives way to addiction, and a stick of Doublemint and the saliva lingering on your clinch knot brings anything of heft upstream at a fast trot.

Just don’t mention it to your kid, he’s still willing to smoke anything.

Upon our return we notice small things common to the water-bearing provinces that simply don’t manifest themselves in the cold stone canyons of urban California …

As I came back through Silicon Valley and the Mothball Fleet, I noted all manner of dirty brown drainages filled with industrial solvents and castoff silicon wafers. A fellow could spend quite some time learning the area – but only after finding waders that didn’t melt in the combined effluent.

I did pull over and admired Solyndra’s empty parking lot. It happened to materialize out of the pre-dawn gloom and I needed to … eat lunch.

Screw the beaming children and barking dogs, fish scrambling in fear is charged with emotion, and I’m glad to be back …

Simple housekeeping post

Item 1: Dry Fly Samples: I sent out 35 samples of dry fly dubbing to anyone who had the request to me before Sunday. As rendering the stuff into final form takes a bit of time, and I enclosed at least three colors for each of you, I had to burn weekend daylight to get it all enroute.

I have a second batch going out this weekend, for those requesting it since last Sunday. You’ll likely be getting it early next week, so don’t despair – Singlebarbed loves you (not!), tuck in that lower lip …

Item 2: Free Fly Tying class scissors for Clubs: I have another batch of cosmetic defect SixthFinger scissors that are free to any casting club that asks. I’ll include 12 sets (mixed sizes and metals) for each request to those folks that ask on behalf of their fly tying program. Emails to me (address on the “about” page at top), first come first serve. (looks like about 4-5 classes worth available).

Item 3: More travel awaits: Not content to send me to all the Northern counties of California, now I’m touring all the southern ones to boot. Posting will be affected, so you’ll have to amuse yourself with something else for a bit.

The only real difference is my refusal to shower when in the South state. It’s the knowledge that I’m wasting precious Northern California snowmelt that prevents me from using anything damper than a Towelette.

Guess I won’t get invited back – and I’m okay with that mostly …

I once prided myself on my

I’m tempted to look at your exam and copy your answers, as I can’t seem to grasp some of these longwinded connections …

The Greatest Estuary the world has ever known is dying, with the Delta Smelt simply a hood ornament representative of the larger ecosystem. Scientists suggest we’re pulling too much freshwater out and pumping it south, so Mssr. Resnick (owner of all the Kern River Water Bank) and his spouse (owner of POM Wonderful) call in a chit from Senator Feinstein to overturn that scientific evidence …

… then they mount a smear campaign to blame the Striped Bass as the root evil of the Delta – claiming even bass boats and small children are on their diet.

Better still, California Department of Fish & Game decides (or has it decided for them) that the bullshit press paid for by Mssr. Resnick is one of a lot of possible stressors of the aforementioned fragile drainage, and as we need to deal with ALL of those stressors equally (some being more equal than others) we should boost the bag limit on the invasive Striped Bass (itself in decline) in order to restore balance to the San Francisco Delta.

Stripers being similar to Al Qaeda operatives, faceless, non-voting, and therefore the root of all wickedness.

For February, the California Fish & Game is holding public comment on the below changes;

The basic proposed changes are as follows:

• Raising the daily bag limit for striped bass from two to six fish.
• Raising the possession limit for striped bass from two to 12 fish.
• Lowering the minimum size for striped bass from 18 to 12 inches.
• Establishing a “hot spot” for striped bass fishing at Clifton Court Forebay and specified adjacent waterways at which the daily bag limit will be 20 fish, the possession limit will be 40 fish and there will be no size limit. Anglers fishing at the hot spot would be required to fill out a report card and deposit it in an iron ranger or similar receptacle.
• Changes to the sport fishing regulations for the Carmel, Pajaro and Salinas Rivers to allow harvest of striped bass when the fishery would otherwise be closed.

I realize that while many might shake their head at this latest outcome, this darkest of hours, it merely represents the tip of the iceberg of what’s coming.

Jobs, baby – and damn the environmental consequences. It doesn’t matter that our youth was spent placing Vibert boxes in streambed cobble, picking up litter and releasing our catch, the excesses of our middle age undid all the good we accomplished – despite cotton bell bottoms and Earth shoes.

Unfettered consumerism coupled with mortgage debt, the Great White Shark of society.

… suggesting it’s no longer appropriate for me to lug 2-stroke oil bottles and gallons of anti-freeze out of the brown water … better  I empty them into the creek to give my foe a “soldier’s death”, worthy of their tenacity and honor.

Where I was once conscious of the ecology and stepped onto the bank to make water, now I’ll simply “drop-trou“ in mid current and let fly.

The choices for us being simple. Either we aid fish evolution so it can swim up sewer pipes to inhale one or both of your ass cheeks in a single grab, or it dies a horrible death – screaming for its mommy.