The Bass bite has been winding down even with the weather being stable. The Central Valley of California lacks seasons and much of the deciduous foliage that marks the change in weather patterns, and right now the fish are the best indicator.

This weekend the weather was in the mid 80’s, which is hot enough to spark a good thirst when stomping gravel beds, but not hot enough to be burdensome.

Saturday evening Kelvin and I fished the Upper river, me with six new colors of flies to try – and Kelvin outfitted in soccer coach regalia. Soccer is the politically correct version of football, where the kid gets to preserve those precious kneecaps and ligaments – so’s they can blow them out later on a greasy bottomed trout stream, or hyper-extend them walking into a muskrat burrow.

I’m still waiting for a shipment of colored yarn to complete some prototypes, but the Cardinal flavor enjoyed a warm reception with the Pikeminnow.

I added some orange rubberlegs from last weeks living rubber skirt shipment to the mix – but the Bass remained aloof and unyielding.

Kelvin scored early and often on the large sized Manhattan leech, so I abandoned all the scientific study in favor of getting bit.

It’s a face only a mother could love, the author, hisself.

It’s a brownline “Penitentiary Face” pose, regal almost – minus the double chin and big gut. The greasy curly brim adds that sweat-stained patina of wisdom, accented deftly by the white chin hair and pronounced arse. Not likely to grace the cover of Fly Fisherman anytime soon – and I’d be hard pressed to get service from the fellow behind the Orvis countertop..

I don’t see many pictures of myself, as I fish alone mostly. Now I understand why the Gangbanger’s and ATV crowd gives me a wide berth, not so much threat as imagination – anyone crazy enough to wade through a cocktail of Selenium and horse crap could be packing …

The Bass was the culmination of a slow evening, it ate the Manhattan Leech and I managed to stay connected. Kelvin was gracious enough to snap a few pictures – and now I know why he was grinning while doing so.

I spent the balance of the weekend playing electrician – it’s a close relative of fly fishing; lots of swearing, sweat and toil, the reward is a rush of adrenaline and a shower of sparks, with the biggest difference being able to suck on your fingers when injured. You sure can’t do that where I fish…