I managed to eke one last trip out of the old waders – and with one set on backorder, I was just lucky I opted for the “chemical resistant” flavor on the second pair. No camouflage this time, just the ninja-esque black boots famous for cleaning overflowing toilets and oil spills.

Now I just need gloves to match.

Black will come in handy now that I know I’m standing on a 16” pipe bursting with Kerosene.

Peeking over the levee yielded the above warning, and I was sure some trigger happy airman in a Humvee was in my immediate future. It’s times like this you think about the Tungsten beads you ordered from mainland China, and the Jungle Cock you scored from Pakistan …

… and you wonder whether that cranked telephone attached to your testicles will hurt a lot – especially when you’re cuffed to a metal box spring and soaked with water.

Why didn’t I just buy them from Dan Bailey?

I’m staying at the bottom of the trench frantically throwing “L” shaped casts as the wind is blowing much too hard for flies. I figure after a hundred yards I might get lucky and snake a few fish to the bank, which will give me a clue what calls this home.

Standing on a greasy mud spine throwing crayfish is much less fun when a squadron of fast-movers pull high-G above your head. I frantically try to find purchase knowing they’ll get “tone” on the second pass.

Bad enough that I can’t control the flight of the flies I’m using – much less dodge Sparrows while moonwalking around muskrat holes. Wisdom overcame fish lust and I sought terra firma.

I was tempted briefly by the Brownline Shower facility above, no soap needed and undressing optional. It’s the drain from an unknown number of cornfields making it rich in precious nutrients, so precious they’re sprayed from planes rather than found in the soil.

The head would build to the size of a small car and the wind would tear it free and send it aloft. Once it crested the levee the wind would shatter it into a thousand pieces and the process began anew.

I christened it the Popcorn Geyser – something to torment fishing buddies with…

“OK, there’s some really big fish on this stretch, I want you to stand right here and …”

Blanked again. Three trips, two called by wind and the third by low water. I suppose I should’ve taken my cue from the wind farm just down the road.

Tags: Solano County irrigation district, brownliners, fly fishing, crayfish, mudbugs, fast movers, waders, Tungsten beads, Jungle Cock