With all the hubbub over the bailout plan and diminishing fortunes of our 401K, Congress and the agencies involved may want sage input from outside the Beltway.

I figure all of us are working an additional five years due to current issues; naturally that’ll qualify us to hit the Social Security insolvency right about the time we’ve regained our footing - advancing our retirement age yet another five years …

So, with an additional “dime” added to your sentence, I figure they owe us a couple minutes near the microphone and may want to hear from the angling contingent.

All they’re looking for is the first 700 Billion, and I’m figuring the angling crowd could fix the entire debacle with about ten simple pledges:

I’m willing to give up two of the ferrules on my four piece rod, it’ll make the action smoother, make rod building less expensive, and will bitch-slap the guy that insisted a nine foot rod should fall apart regularly.

I’m willing to tie my flies one size smaller than they should be, allowing me to conserve fur bearing animals, limit my lust for exotic chickens, and will allow me to accumulate cash reserves for economy stimulating large screen TV’s made offshore.

I’m willing to donate the barb from all my hooks, allowing us to restore dilapidated infrastructure, like bridges - saving what wildlands that remains from onerous strip mines and the inevitable federal cleanup funds that follow their creation.

I’m willing to tax my fishing buddies with the resale of intellectual property,  as the sumbitch couldn’t have ever found the spot without my invite;  rather than take only the blame, I’ll want my share in the proceeds as well. This new revenue can augment my damaged 401K to make my retirement a complete crapshoot.

I will work unless I’m sick, and the presence of large ravenous migratory salmonids will no longer hold my health hostage. Figure 1.5 million fly fishermen, 12 days a year minimum, 18 million additional work days devoted to the production of goods and services … Game over.

I foreswear the use of offshore cane, thereby reducing subsidies to foreign warlords and encouraging the domestic hemp industry to grow bigger stems and more seeds. Someone will make a hybrid big enough to plane - until then elitist’s can join the rest of us in suffering.

I will eat what I catch, lowering my subsistence costs, exposing my offspring to the raw purity of hunter-gatherer woodsmanship, and reducing energy costs to my neighbor (and his groaning freezer) as he’s no longer the recipient of my catch.

I will no longer supersize, opting for mid arbor rather than large, or maybe cutting costs and opting for small arbor. My sacrifice will restore precious raw materials to the industrial complex, stimulating native products and restoring their competitiveness in world markets. Arbor size has never really mattered, it’s always been how it’s used..

Just so it’s completely fair - with both us and the government adjusting our combined largesse; make a sweep of the financial district, gather up anyone ordering steak or salmon tartar, carrying a partially filled Starbucks container, or uses the word “play” to describe a stock transaction, hand them a shovel, and point them at New Orleans or South Texas ….

The Wall Street Journal posted, “The Top 10 Products that Transformed an American Pastime” a survey of the American Sportfishing Association on their view of the top 10 products that changed fishing forever.

I couldn’t decide whether the fly fishing equivalent would be, “The Top 10 Products that I’ve tucked away never to Use” or “The Top 10 wallet-lightening items that I should have reconsidered.”

I’ll go with the straight face for once, and let you remind me of the seventeen other items I completely forgot about.

The Top 10 Products that Changed the Face of Fly Fishing forever? 

1. The plastic fly line - likely a unanimous choice, prior to the advent of the modern fly line we had at least nine other indispensable items in the vest - including the mandatory fishless period wherein we draped our line over a sunny rock hoping to dry it out before the evening hatch started.
2. The fly tying vise - If you’ve ever attempted to tie flies by hand, either out of desperation or on a dare, you’ll agree the vise is somewhere’s in the top 10.
3. The fiberglass fly rod - The rod that mainstreamed fly fishing from an expensive and exclusive club to an everyday pastime. The first machine made rod,  the miracle of industrialization that lowers the price so everyone’s Dad could afford one.
4. Matching the Hatch - The switch from flies-that-attract to flies-that-imitate, and the complete carnage that resulted in everyone rethinking absolutely everything. Attributed to Ernest Schweibert’s book of the same name.
5. The House of Hardy - The standard for fly reels for over 100 years. Only in the last decade has the disk drag, large arbor flavor preempted their reign.
6. Genetic Hackle - The complete overhaul of dry flies and the demise of the lightly dressed “Catskill” standard.
7. The eyed hook - As revolutionary as the plastic fly line, removing tins to moisten gut snells, and adding everything from compartmented fly boxes, to leader enhancements like split shot and beads.
8. Waders - Lumping a lot of technology into this single category, but this stimulates the “fly fisherman as predator” versus the tweed, monocle, and jodhpurs of vacationing nobility.
9. Catch and Release - It’s both an ideology and a product, introducing everything from stomach pumps and barbless hooks, to stream etiquette and what’s socially acceptable once afield.
10. Bottled Water Trash - redefines the wilderness experience, a shift from “make as small an impact as possible”  to “I’m ‘green’ and that’s enough.” The most common trash in the parking lot, littering the streambed, and bobbing in the current.

I tried to restrain the fly tier bias, removing the Matarelli Bobbin in favor of generalist gear, and opting for genetic hackle over synthetics. It’s a daunting and distinguished list, and I’m sure I missed some really important items.

“Kids” or “a job” are disallowed, that only changed your fly fishing world forever ..

We ate all the big stuff, most of the medium sized stuff, and we’re working on the small stuff now. Next comes the really small stuff, those critters so important to the food chain that their absence upsets the entire apple cart.

West coast salmon virtually collapsed this year despite our best lip service, we said we were conserving them like a sumbitch - and industry estimates backed our play. Then the bottom fell out - and everyone shrugs their shoulder and points at “not enough krill” - we were managing the take just fine.

Now they’re suctioning Krill - mostly because of the health benefits associated with Omega 3 fatty acids; you take a couple tons of the fundamental building block of the entire saltwater food chain, mash it up and add some Yellow Dye #3 - puke that into capsule form and serve it up to an aging overweight population as a miracle cure for what ails them.

Naturally the estimates of Krill populations vary depending on whether your livelihood is derived from their capture; scientists estimate 100 million tonnes, and the fishing industry claims there’s five times that amount.

Me, I see it as simple genetic manipulation, akin to the same stuff various organizations protest most violently. In the one case, we’re tinkering in an area best left to Divinities, and in the other - screw them, they’re just  salt water insects nobody’s exploiting yet.

It’s a kind of unknowing hypocrisy, what they really fear is we’ll unleash a biological atom bomb that’ll destroy the Earth in a couple of weeks, whereas destroying the Earth in a couple of decades is just fine.

I don’t get it.

Egghead scientists and eco-radicals get on the Telly - and once they start frothing the rest of us turn the channel. Normal folks are excluded from the same exposure because they don’t froth at the mouth, and make poor sound bites.

That leaves me, a semi-literate SOB wading up a polluted creek thrilled to catch 3″ fish that no one else wants, knowing that next year they’ll be 2″ - and fewer.

Just remember, Soylent Green is made from People…

It’s editorial prerogative to have “moments” - a fit of pique that prompts you to hurl a magazine across the room,  vowing never to buy another. It wasn’t the magazines fault, it was the vendor advertisement that was the source of my ire.

Two fellows in a drift boat with the appropriate wading ensemble:

WHAT YOU SAY

I don’t care how many fish I catch, it’s just great to be out here on the water.

WHAT YOU MEAN

I’ve hooked seven and you’ve only hooked one.

Once it was the sport of Earls, Dukes, and Kings - now it’s just another counting exercise followed by a reason to tailgate others on the freeway. We’ve covered the counting issue before, as has the Trout Underground, but is that all that Madison Avenue can glean from the entire experience?

I find some guy I don’t particularly care for, take him out far enough so his Blackberry phone has no coverage, then piss on him about his skills until he slugs me?

…I probably have to work with him come Monday, so in addition to getting him burnt by the sun, not sharing the good flies, depriving him of Starbucks, and living off of Chicken Fried Steak cooked by teenagers, I am going to sum up his entire existence and find him wanting?

Pals can piss on each other with impunity, but these lads sound more like they’re dating.

Hey Mister Fatuous, obtuse, know-it-all, metrosexual, pissant - your idea of the Great Outdoors is throwing your dog’s crap over your neighbors fence, and hoping he doesn’t notice. You understand NOTHING, and a majestic panorama, an arrowhead, a glimpse of a real bear, a sunset, a solitary quail call, none of this will you comprehend, none will give cause for thought or pause your march back to your BMW.

I bet you put Ketchup on Steak.

…well, we covered the guy that thought up the ad, now about them guys in the boat…

Technorati Tags: pissed

Quoting PETA to generate controversy is as tired as Britney Spears minus undergarments, a quick blip of interest followed by an unpleasant aftertaste, knowing you’ve been played.

Bad taste was what I was left with after reading another nebulous, fluffy article about “Catch and Release” in the Sacramento Bee; grab a couple facts, quote the lunatic fringe, then sign off with a question mark.

I figured to complete the article, purely in the interests of Science.

Biologists are certain that releasing fish helps sustain populations that would falter if those fish were eaten. But they know much less about how repeated releases may affect breeding, behavior and more.

Humans that are released repeatedly show little ill effects; initial relief, then despair as assets are carved up, within weeks the male shows the same self destructive behavior as before the marriage, implying males learned little or nothing from the experience.

It is a comparison that does not sit well with People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.

“Every parent who fishes is telling their kids that it’s fun to torment and abuse animals,” said Lindsay Rajt, manager of the group’s factory farming and vegan campaigns.

“There are a variety of ways to enjoy the outdoors that don’t involve hooking a live animal by the mouth and dragging them into an environment where they can’t breathe,” she said.

Perhaps the above would be a bit more revealing if we altered a couple of words.

Every parent who abuses their spouse is telling their kids that it’s fun to torment and abuse animals. There are a variety of ways to enjoy others that don’t involve hooking a live animal by the mouth and dragging them into an environment where they can’t breathe,” she said.

Most of the husbands I spoke with would consider “holding her purse at Macy’s” or visiting the In-Laws to be just such an environment. Mankind seems to have bounced back from the experience, so can it be as insufferable as the PETA radicals make out?

“Even the world’s most renowned expert in pain can’t tell you if a fish feels pain,” said Steve Jinks, a professor of anesthesiology and pain medicine at UC Davis Medical School.

The medical community is split on whether “pain” is only felt by sentient critters, requiring higher brain development than fish exhibit. I have little doubt that fish feel pain, to say otherwise is to dabble in human arrogance.

On the human front pain is essential to our survival, it teaches us what is safe and what’s unsafe, with animals it can be no different.

“We are putting selective pressure on every bass fishery around and selecting for the least aggressive fish,” he said. “It probably means they’re not as good defenders of their babies … which can’t be good for the population.”

I disagree completely. If a fish is caught and associates a Royal Trude with flesh damage, it’s likely that it won’t eat another one. Angling is the art of presenting the Royal Trude in a manner that disguises it as something else, hence the fish can be caught more than once.

For the PETA loyalists,I enjoy both fishing and catching, and I do so with the knowledge that I am causing fish pain. I attempt to minimize suffering by releasing fish with as little stress as possible, even when it pains me to do so.

I am a brute, I share the top of the food chain with other brutes.

Rather than trying to get me to stop fishing, why don’t you prove that a radish has no feelings, as long as there’s reasonable doubt, you’re treading on thin ice.

Technorati Tags: PETA, radishes have feelings, catch and release, brute

“Halving my gruel ration” is pretty sacred stuff for us portly types. It’s like hearing the “Defcon 4″ klaxon echoing through Cheyenne Mountain, requiring instantaneous response.

 …that’s OK, this was what TC was going to unwrap for Christmas, a genuine bamboo monitor, with matching bamboo mouse.

Now I’m thinking the rubber dogdoo or the inflatable fish bladder is the appropriate gift, that’ll teach him to mess with fat guys.

Technorati Tags: bamboo monitor, take that

I’m thinking that the TC is bent on world domination with the inclusion of the Daytripper to the Underground Writers Network. It’s a great addition, guaranteed to get you in trouble with the boss, as now there’s three idjits to read.

What he failed to consider is that two of the authors fish, and between us we have six or eight times the fish porn of the Trout Underground, with even a hint of provocation, we’ll not hesitate to put “Pop” in his place…

The Daytripper is another hard charging fishing blog, written by an angler unafraid to get some on him - the kind of fellow SingleBarbed doesn’t have to feel self conscious around as he smells as bad as we do.

I like hardcore, guys that fish in the rain intentional, not accidental - the kind of fellow unafraid to tell you your 15″ fish was 13″ tops.

Last week’s series of posts were particularly distressing, a lethal combination of looming drought coupled with enough short sightedness to assure us of less fish next year; add the Trout Underground’s access issue for the Upper Sacramento and McCloud River, and both fish and fishermen are being squeezed from all directions.

There’s little question we’re due for some fundamental change, as even my short life has seen consistent degradation of most of the traditional gamefish.

My question is simple, are we still thinking like settlers, possessed by some silly notion that we can pull up stakes and head West?

Fly fishing includes many more species today than it did when I was young; web sites expound on the thrill of common salt water species, warm water coarse fish, and strange venues like Mongolia or downtown Los Angeles. Those exploits largely fail to make the cover of our mainstream media, but those deeds are as worthy and heroic as any fellow paying $10,000 to catch two salmon.

This is what we’ve got, there isn’t anymore unexplored continents, do we adapt our archaic notion of “quality” or do we wait until someone does that for us?

I am often chided for the “Brownline” angle; fishing for nuisance fish in a contaminated creek. I recognize that I am fishing for “cockroaches” - there is little nobility, no posturing, few groupies, and fewer practitioners. It’s fishing, with the same mixture of victory and despair as a fancy fish clothed in an expensive venue.

It’s unfortunate that even with all the stressors allied against trout, salmon, and all the traditional gamefish - and recognizing that future generations may not have the options that we do, we are still content to ignore Darwinism, and those species that will likely dominate the waterways of the future. 

Yes, it’s a cockroach - it still got me off the couch, out into the woods, and exercising - it has me pondering variables at the tieing bench, and leaves me alternately elated and frustrated when fishing.

Isn’t that the true measure of a gamefish?

The above picture is a 20″ Pikeminnow thrown onto the bank by a fisherman. Pikeminnow are notorious killers of salmon fry, but this fellow didn’t know that, he was merely disappointed that it was a “sucker” rather than a mercury filled bass.

It’s a cockroach and my guess is he felt that he was making room for more desirable species. It’s likely he’s right, but there are a lot of nets between the desirable fish and the river mouth, and multiple dams preventing their re-entry into my little creek, and if one or two were to actually make it, this fellow would be pleased to kill both of them.

Me, I look on this with a dim view. Both Darwin and the press of Humanity are conspiring to rid us of the desirable fish, why not ascribe a little dignity to what remains?

Ever seen this unappealing fellow? It’s a Hoki, sometimes called a “Whiting” and it should be very familiar to you. It’s a replacement for Pollock, which replaced Atlantic Cod, which replaced Halibut. It’s likely a cockroach for the 4 star restaurant crowd, but a single US company imports 61 million pounds of it a year. Meet the Fillet O’ Fish sandwich, gentlemen.

Fish Filet Patty:
Pollock or Hoki, bleached wheat flour, water, modified corn starch, yellow corn flour, dextrose, salt, yeast, cellulose gum, natural flavoring (vegetable source). Cooked in partially hydrogenated vegetable oils, (may contain partially hydrogenated soybean oil and/or partially hydrogenated corn oil and/or partially hydrogenated canola oil and/or cottonseed oil and/or sunflower oil and/or corn oil). TBHQ and citric acid added to help preserve freshness. Dimethylpolysiloxane added as an anti-foaming agent.

Change is inevitable both in our sport and elsewhere, and I’m thinking perhaps our value system needs to adjust in lockstep with the environment. I’m not interested in validation, I just want to swing my fly in front of the nose of that waterborne insect, and watch him melt my reel.

When my kids trod the “pooty” water, maybe he’ll remember the pictures and exclaim to his pal, “…when my Dad caught these they were huge.”

Technorati Tags: brownlining, hoki, atlantic cod, fillet o’ fish, coarse fish, eat me

It’s only been 200 years but it worked the last time. Inflation or Recession is immaterial but when the price of beer is scheduled for a 10% increase, with the likelihood of mass shortages AND the flavor will be akin to strained gym socks…

It’s time for armed insurrection.

The timing is perfect, this close to Halloween no one will notice a couple hundred Indians in full warpaint armed with can openers. The national media will be all over it - with the proper notification - and we can lay waste to a couple of Budweiser trucks accompanied by the cheers of the populace.

“Beer Ships” don’t exist, but with a subtle modification of venue, mayhap we can hijack a ferry, pull a couple of doughnuts in the Sound, and be back by lunch.

Personally I think American beer tastes like gym socks already, but as we are seeking the moral high ground, we can’t admit it publicly.

Technorati Tags: beer shortage, armed insurrection, beer ship

Too damn many staid and conventional posts for my comfort, it’s lonely out here on the lunatic fringe, but we’re used to it.

When is a fisherman not a predator? When he’s shopping for groceries. A fat target lolling gracefully in the current, pinching cantaloupes and inspecting meat, oblivious to the fact that he is being stalked, his every move calculated…

I’m unpacking gear and damp stuff from the car, I glance down while hanging waders, and have to recoil in total fear, the bastard got me again. Dammit.

I’m looking at a 20-pack of Cottonelle toilet paper, sheathed in a second festive wrapper to hide both label and “hook”. I took the bait like some bovine, a victim of the sale aisle - finning comfortably sipping groceries, and then some grinning evil  Madison Avenue SOB set hook on me.

Those of you under age 23, Cottonelle is the only toilet paper refused by gasoline companies, as the employee mortality rate was considered unacceptable. Special embossing ensures your backside is raw after the third pass, and you bleed to death with prolonged usage. A 20 pack is the toilet paper equivalent of a double amputation.

I always saw myself as a skilled angler, yet I fear Cottonelle’s marketing director. I know he is a fly fisherman too, he studies my feeding pattern, is canny in the life cycle of male grocery shoppers - how we pretend to know stuff in the vegetable aisle, (so the feminine of the species thinks we cook) and preys on us specifically.

Sure, we make great sport of them Madison Avenue swells and their feeble attempts at fishing, but who has the last laugh?

Me, I’m grimacing.

Technorati Tags: Cottonelle, raw flesh, wish I was 20 again