Monthly Archives: July 2007

GuideSpeak revealed

Two prams pass each other on the river, two sun bronzed, flint-eyed “Clint Eastwood types” nod at each other in wary respect..

“How goes it, Bob?”

“Pretty fair, a couple of long-line releases, boated a couple, three runs – 2 hits, a couple left on base.”

“Same here, you going to be out later?

“Yep, I’ll probably chasing Golden Salmon this evening.”

Yes, the “steely eyed” part is pure fantasy; one guide was middle aged and balding, the other had a bad hangover and was wearing yesterday’s shirt. Both had the presence of mind to speak in “GuideSpeak.”

If you are fortunate enough to fish a river 100 of the 180 days of the season, there are few surprises left. Where the fish are and what they’ll be eating is well known. Boat and tackle will be identical and the only variance will be the skills of the client.

GuideSpeak allows “Clint” to talk about your success, without embarrasing you, him, the other guide, or the other guides clients. Guides always sound noncommital about fishing, as the other fellow may have had a bad day afield.

The above conversation can be loosely translated to mean:

“The sunburnt fellow in the bow has the reaction time of a Dimetrodon, he lost two (long line release) because he wouldn’t give them any slack, despite my screaming at him – he landed two small fish that committed suicide by fish hook, we had plenty of grabs (3 runs, 2 hits), but “Mr. Dinosaur-reflexes” snapped the 5X on the strike (a couple left on base).”

No, guides are not making fun of you, as we were there once ourselves. This is shop-talk and in any business it is a testosterone-fest, rarely complimentary.

Guides love to fish, probably more than most as they dodge fishooks for a living. The “Golden Salmon” reference is the important part, as they are telling their pal where they will be fishing after they drop you off at the lodge.

If you can find that spot this evening, he will undoubtedly assist you without thought of compensation, as the “steely eyed outdoorsman” mask you saw earlier will be discarded – he used it this morning just to impress your daughter…

You fish, Right

Is 1500 lbs of dead fish like a wedding? …after all the good liquor is consumed and the guests start departing, you’re left with the bride – and the bill?

I am accosted in the hallway with a “you fish, right?” comment. The speaker points to the screen of his PC – displaying a grinning angler, 42 quarts of blood, and 1400 pounds of Black Marlin hanging from block and tackle.

I assume this is going to be another, “You fish therefore you’re a Beast” conversation, and as I prepare my rebuttal, I am thrust off balance by his follow up question. “What do you do with all that dead fish?”

I confess, I really don’t know.

I had always assumed that part of the charter involved sending you 1400 cans of something-or-other, but the postage would bankrupt you. I have never fished “big game” before, and have even wondered what the guy holding the 60lb carp was going to do.

I figure a third of any fish is skin, cartilage, guts, and fins. Add another 10% to waste in the fillet process, and a 1500 lb fish is still a formidable 900lbs of dead flesh. Any “good” woman is going to prevent you from foisting that carcass on her – at the point of a shotgun, no less.

Being the traditional “Bwana, Great Hunter” type – you really dont care for eating fish, but occasionally do buy fish sticks, nicely sterile, breaded, and frozen. If we assume that 1lb of fish is a dinner serving (for one), then you and the spouse have 450 dinners in the freezer.

You’re the outdoors guy in your neighborhood, and the normal channels of “laundering” dead game, is to fob the fish on your neighbors. Assuming each package is approximately 5 lbs, you need 90 families (who still speak to you).

10 homes on my block, 20 – if you count both sides of the street. If we allow for the folks you have pissed off; revving your truck before 6AM, recipients of “freezer burned” fish, and those that you gave the “naturally stuffed” fish to… you just fed eight city blocks of people with that one corpse.

“Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and answer the door with ‘You killed it, you eat it.’ “

Like you, I am a fly fisherman and must answer for all the angling brotherhood. Explaining to non anglers the secret rituals, the devil worship, and how to tell a good fib. Can anyone help?

Greening of America

No sooner do we reclaim the “Most Hotdogs Ate in 12 Minutes” record, when we lose on other fronts.

Upstaged smartly by the Chinese, the world’s largest toilet facility has been unveiled in an unlikely location, Chongqing – Peoples Republic of China.

Previously, the largest toilet in the World was considered the Hudson River, or the Great Lakes – kinda depended where you were born…

Proof that the Green Movement is working, albeit ever so slow.

Viagra for Vision

Remember the reoccuring cubicle-induced-dream of retiring and fishing whenever possible? With prudent financial planning that is a real possibilty, but the active element of retirement is the old part.

Not the good kind of old, like Hardy reels, bamboo rods and fine wine, the bad kind – where you squint to see a dry fly, and give up changing your fly at twilight.

In the waning hours of the evening, I force feed fish, ignoring everything the fish and insects are telling me – with the hope that one more stupid fish remains, who will eat my #8 Bird’s Stone thinking it was a well developed #18 mayfly.

I need glasses. Unfortunately, lots of them.

I need a magnifying set to tie flys, I need a polarized set for harsh sun conditions, I need a magnifying polarized set for waning sun, and a clear magnifying lens as darkness approaches. I need a system that keeps them close without entangling them in my vest, I need inexpensive, so that I can lose them in the water, torn from my grip by tree branches, or left on a car hood at night.

What’s needed is Viagra for vision, make that we need it, as you’ll walk in my shoes soon enough. Chemical treatment may have untoward side effects, as your fishing friends will insist that when afflicted with “…effects lasting more than 4 hours” – you get your own room.

I have an appointment with an optomitrist and am assembling a kit to demonstrate what I need them bifocals to do. I expect the same puzzlement and shrug as last time, so I am playing the Viagra trump card…”it’s been 4 hours Doc, wanna see it?”

I am counting on the receptionist diving clean through the sliding glass window..

Back to you, Bob

Scent is why NASCAR kicked our collective butt; BBQ, spilled gasoline, hot dogs, and clouds of rubber smoke, invite the crowd to be part of the race, not just spectators.

Flyfishing footage is tame in comparison. TV analysts relies on the same hushed tones as Golf announcers, reinforcing the notion that we are intruding, and no cheering please.

What’s needed is flyfishing scent, applied to your fly. Bass anglers and deer hunters have had this for years, both enjoy higher viewership and audience participation than flyfishing. Doe urine and Crayfish guts may be crucial to regain our rightful place in the Nielsen ratings.

Now some slow talking southerner can hawk “Scent of 1000 Nightcrawlers” directly to the camera, as he applies a generous dollop to his fly. Women will no longer want to fly fish, as a vigorous squeeze results in a “Oh God, I got some on me!” scream. Blue collar stalwarts will flock to the sport again, as “Mashed Stonefly” proves itself well matched with Ritz crackers and beer. Talented anglers will no longer have to work for a living, as corporate sponsors scour the landscape for the next Richard Petty.

Angling announcers will regain their voice, from towers decked with Pepsi banners and inflated Skoal cans, and color commentary will no longer be passive as anglers “trade paint” in the riffle below. “No Bob, he’s not drafting, he’s holding Andy’s head under water – now a kick to the groin area, what a Cinderella story for the youngster from…”

All that’s needed is a little scent, maybe some bikini clad sponsors, and a couple of anglers that can say, “I’m going to Disneyland” – with a straight face.

Reproduction is overrated

The last couple of years I haven’t been able to find the Muskol liquid repellant and was beginning to fear that it was no longer made. Replacing it on store shelves was an assortment of products, flavored with Mango, Licorice, or Vanilla.

I read the dermatologist testimonials that framed each package, but failed to pull the trigger, opting instead to go with my last bottle of “the good stuff.” One vendor assured me the product was no longer made, and that 100% DEET had caused its demise.

I looked up DEET on the Web, curious what I had been basting myself with for the last decade. Not to worry, as prolonged exposure merely mutates your chromosomes until reproduction is futile. I did giggle at the excerpt from the EPA:

” Sunscreen products are intended for frequent generous use, and DEET products are intended for spare infrequent use. “

It’s obvious the above author doesn’t fish, as most anglers slather themselves mightily prior to leaving the parking lot. I had always hoped that Muskol was introducing both a shampoo and a body wash, myself.

Fear not, Muskol is alive and well. It no longer boasts of “100% DEET” like the old concoction, now it is a 70% DEET, 30% Active Toluamides. DEET is a toluamide, so they may just be wordsmithing the container to make reproduction still seem possible.

This ain’t high fashion

I felt terrible, 20 years of hard fishing displayed proudly on my vest; assorted tears, imbedded flies, stains from Muskol and fly floatants, tattered wool patch minus the wool, and the reek of perishables left in pockets forgotten.

It was the perfect vest, the kind that your girlfriend holds with two fingers at arm’s length; shoulders sunbleached from olive to indescribable, pockets tattered, stitching non existant… I felt like I was telling the vet to put the needle to Old Yeller.

I needed a new vest.

I have always been partial to “shorties” – and now that exposed midriff is fashionable again, am even more so. The short vest allows a gear fiend to load what’s required, and keeps fly boxes, cameras, and sandwiches above the water line – safe from harm.

Researching what was available affirmed that gear had come a long way. Instead of a single “D” ring for the landing net, there were attachments and retractable devices aplenty. Pockets had multiplied by at least a dozen, linings were available, colors were rampant, but shorties were still in short supply.

Requirement: Neutral Color

I love the new colors available, but I would rather blend with my environment. Red or Burnt Orange vests are very dapper, but I would as soon sneak up on you undetected.

Requirement: Repairable

The stitching and lining must be accessible so that I can restitch or repair the vest when needed. The down side of dangling items is heavy brush – as I am defending my rod, the vest will recieve the brunt of limbs and thorns. You will tear attachments from your vest, you’ll snag open pockets as well – make sure you select a vest that can be repaired easily. Tippet material and a bare fish hook can be used to quickly repair a torn pocket, it’ll hold until you get back to town.

Requirement: Unlined or mesh

I am going to wade stupid repeatedly, and the bigger the fish – the more likely I will wade agressively. I will get wet, I need the vest to drain quickly. Extra lining means additional drying time…no issue in August, but a big issue in January.

Requirement: Loose fitting

I may need to shuck out of this straight-jacket in a hurry, and I might have to do it underwater. This ain’t high fashion.

Requirement: Comfortable Neck enclosure

If you insist on loading your vest with everything you own, you will feel it on the neck and shoulder area. Your neck will be sunburnt, and even the slightest chafing will be painful. Get soft material near the neckline if possible.

I bought a Simm’s Vertical Master – not quite a shorty, but short enough to keep dry flies above water, mesh lined for a fast drain, and has a soft collar to ease the chafing.

This is season one with the new togs, it has performed as advertised, holding 2 to 3 times more gear than my old Columbia shorty. It appears that Columbia has moved onto mainstream gear, as I could find no vests in their product catalog.

What is not replacable is the patina acquired by the old rags…it gave all of my fish stories instant credibility, inspiring fear in fellow anglers, and revulsion from their womenfolk.

The dreaded Father-Son outing

It’s oft said that a domestic disturbance call is the most dangerous for a policeman. The disturbance part is run-of-the-mill, but the domestic portion can spiral out of control at a moment’s notice, usually with the officer now defending himself against both combatants.

Guides fear a domestic engagement in the same way. Learning that tomorrow will be a Father-Son trip can cause even the hardiest veteran to blanch. The prospect of a sandwich comprised of a sulking youngster and an angry Poppa, looms fearfully in a guide’s thoughts.

It doesn’t have to be this way, and for those well meaning anglers who consider this type of adventure, I’ll share some advice.

Rule 1: You told your Dad to get stuffed, now it’s payback time.

Passionate anglers, those that live for the out-of-doors adventure cannot instruct their blood-kin, nor anyone they are dating. Just as you always half heartedly minded your father’s advice, so shall you be received. The fascination and intricacy of the sport came to you later, and not on the first lesson. Attempting to impart all of that wonderment to a child, wife, or girlfriend, on a single outing will end badly.

You need a disinterested third party to assist, that’s where your guide can assist.

Rule 2: Once you step in the boat, you’re no longer related.

This is the deadliest of all sins, the Trip Killer, the single crime that will result in a child’s refusal to enjoy anything, with arms folded formidably on chest and lip protrusion at maximum. A guide can fix the issue if you let him, but as the child’s father, chances are you’ll see it as your responsibility, and the situation will degrade further. Because you’ll never have seen this coming, let me explain what the guide saw …

Each time he mentioned where he wanted you to fish, what fly was needed, and how you should fish it, you repeated the instructions to your child. The kid has perfect hearing and heard the commandments the first time. Repeating the instructions – especially in the presence of a stranger, reaffirms that he’s a junior, incapable of understanding what was said the first time. If you continue this he’ll be angry soon.

Guides have to deal with all manners of clients; axe murderers, aristocrats, hollywood nobility, alcoholics, beginners, and politicians. He’ll ensure you have a wonderful time, as that’s what he does. Within a couple of casts he’ll size your skill level and which angler needs the most help, and will direct his efforts on the weak player to overcome his/her unfamiliarity with the sport.

In most cases he’ll ensure that your child out fishes you, as all kids want to best their Poppa at something, and as this may be his first trip ever, what you really want – is for him to ask “can he go again, next week.”

Rule 3: Frame the outing for the best results

Never take your girlfriend steelhead fishing – and never insist the kid stay out in 105 degree temperatures. Fish are found in Nature, Nature is uncontrollable, be flexible and select the outing to match the temperment of the participants.

If your girlfriend has cold feet and delights in tormenting you during the winter, don’t take this woman steelhead fishing in January. She’ll hate you, you’ll hate you, and when you look for sympathy from your pals, they’re going to look in disbelief and exclaim, “What were you thinking?”

Likewise with your son or daughter, plan a trip that has moderate weather so you can focus on fishing, not trembling uncontrollably, with “Can I Go Back to the Car” as the popular refrain.

No one likes trout fishing when it is 105 degrees in the shade, not even the trout. Ask the guide to map your trip around the comfortable hours of the day and evening, rather than gut out the terrible midday temperatures. Most will be happy to do so – they’ve had their head baked far too many days already.

Rule 4: Meet with the guide to discuss expectations

Prior to the trip, while the child is carrying gear to the water’s edge, talk with your guide. He can customize the day to appeal to various tastes, including songbirds and wildflowers. If he knows that your goal is to build you a “fishing buddy” – he’ll be thrilled to assist. It’s the Grand Experiment, and if you’re successful, he’ll be trying it on his recalcitrant snotty kid the following week.

If you know of particular likes and dislikes, communicate them. Sacrificing an hour of marginal fishing so that your spouse has the opportunity to examine Indian rock carvings, may be just what’s needed for her to have a quality adventure.

Rule 5: If you draw blood from my body forcefully, you owe me

Guides bear the scars of instruction on their anatomy as they’re punctured forcibly and often by clients. Tip according to the total volume of blood extracted – it’s an unspoken rule, not about money as much as it is getting you out of the doghouse.

It’s also the reason why most insist your flies are barbless. Guides must navigate between anglers perched precariously in midstream – so if you add a weighted #4 Golden Stone to his cheek, he’ll show little pain as he removes it, and will smile as he does so, reassuring your girlfriend so she doesn’t faint into 3 foot of fast moving water.

If you imbed something in your wife’s rear, he’ll leave the first aid kit where his car used to be…

Angling Reality Show

Before the viewing public is completely saturated with the Reality Show phenomena and discards the genre like disco, can’t we get one lame fishing show?

Curt Gowdy started it all, grabbing every major sporting figure of his day, escorting them through bramble thickets and poor ratings, to shoot the Crazed Alsatian Wildebeest, or similar bovine concoction…

American Idol is so … yesterday, isn’t the stage ripe for an angling knock-off?

We take a couple of hopeless urbanites into the Canadian wilderness, require them to tie flies from lint found on their clothing, subject them to every blood sucking organism that exists, weigh their catch and prepare it as an entree for the judges.

Ok, we’ll give them no cooking implements, and one spice…tarragon?

It may well be the death-knell of the entire genre, but that would be good too.

I am thinking Marilyn Manson and Donnie Osmond as the first match, each accompanied by a seasoned guide, as a tie-breaker we can have Tonya Harding stalk them both…

Commercial Tyer wannabe

The fellow that throttled the peacock in Burger King’s parking lot should be a lesson to aspiring commercial fly tiers. The good news is that he was a beginner, the bad news is probably the fate that drove him to cracking publicly.

Many anglers decide to defray the cost of their next fly rod via tying flies, most forget the part about the mindless repetition that’s part of tying many hundreds of dozens of the same fly in at most a couple sizes.

You might’ve assumed there’d be groupies, free Hoffman saddles, and membership in the Hilton Posse, but to sustain that level of popularity, you’ll have to crank many thousands of Zug Bugs in size 18 and 20.

Yes, people actually use those sizes, and if you’re any good – you’ll get tagged with the bulk of their production.

So why was this fellow a beginner? He was astute enough to kick the tail feathers loose – but a grizzled veteran would have thanked everyone for finding the bird, rushed home and skinned it using his wife’s favorite fillet knife.

Singlebarbed

Fly fishing the Unloved & Unclean