Author Archives: KBarton10

Stoneflies caught doing the nasty chat and you’re a freak for listening

Loosely translated it’s, “I dig the minimalist thing, and your cerci are smoking … call me for acrobatic sex.”

I’m tone deaf so I’ll opt for the TV hearing aid that’ll boost my fading senses – enabling the voyeur. If you’re headed back to the car and I’ve got my ear glued to a tree trunk and give you the wave off – you’d be wise to get take out…

I always wondered how them little buggers outwitted me despite my going to the creek every night. The ones that prefer abstinence are on the hollow hickory as lookouts.

brownline_rating

Are we headed back to the wallet based model

“I’ve even had an angler tell me that those who fish and dogs are the only two who need to wear a license around their neck.”

I’ve been “collared” for the last couple of years and haven’t had much issue, but a California Sportfishing group is apparently taking the Department of Fish and Game to task over the requirement that your California license be in plain view.

Easy to spot who's not wearing one I admit that the license clashes garishly with my Pith helmet and red suspenders – but the lack of fashionista lounging in brown water allows me to skulk from bush to bush without incurring a social faux pas.

Maybe if I owned “six pack” abs – instead of carrying all them cans, I’d complain more.

Mine is clipped onto the fishing vest which makes it easy to remember, but I suppose the casual salt water crowd has to remember to attach it to something – and if the fishing is slow and the suntan more important, I suppose they’ve an issue.

The McCloud comes to mind. Everytime I’ve clawed my way through brush and undergrowth to the water’s edge – it was to find something missing off the vest. Perhaps I’ll have a chance to complain later this season.

The Slaw Dog, an hour later and you’re hungry again

It’s plain that a food mascot is needed for any claim of blog legitimacy. Like pets it has to reflect the unique nature of the author, and the community it serves.

The Trout Underground has been serving us a steady diet of elitist Slaw Dog fare, typical Blueliner meal for one, isolationist … unwilling to share the dog or the riffle he’s occupying.

If he were to catch something, he probably would be mum on the pattern too.

Brownline chow is social, we’re unaccustomed to company and pleased to share our tucker. We don’t count slices, servings, calories, or fish – and care less which hand does the reaching. We don’t supply napkins as we make food spatter look good. We’re hearty fellows; a smile and a wave – and you’re welcome to share our fire anytime.

The Sandwich of Entomology 

Like our water, our food sticks to you – a lasting permanent memory ensuring you’re writhing in pain on the water should the hatch come early or late.

The Sandwich of Entomology; The bottom tier contains eight strips of bacon, six sausages and four burger paddies; followed by a second tier of black pudding; topped by a third tier comprised of two diced chicken breasts and six fried eggs.

If you can’t handle it, set it adrift – the fellow downstream will be pleased to finish what you started.

If we’re expecting company, we’ll select fodder that responds well to radiant heat.

 The Colonic Wheel O' Death

The Colonic Wheel O’ Death fits roughly in the large rear vest pocket; two extra large meat pizzas draped over 6 pounds of hamburger, eggs, bacon, Colby and Pepper Jack cheese.

Sure, we’re a little light on the veggies, limp lettuce is poor fuel for a day fighting icy currents and slinging bead heads, for that you need fiber.

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Bogart and Hagar might’ve been on to something

A 3,000,000 year old trout languishing undisturbed in a remote and semi-pristine environment?

… and while you’re thinking some alpine Montana or Alaska venue, and donning them Blueliner togs, think again.

The rare and endangered Bavispe Trout

This is Mexico’s finest, and since 2000 at least a half dozen unique trout species have been discovered and classified by biologists. A 44 page PDF on the history of trout and their dispersion throughout the Sierra Madre is available from the University of Texas, once armed with the details and common names other sites with additional details are readily found.

It’s a quick and interesting study, and the unique trait is pictured above – the red band on the lateral line of the fish is broken by black.

Like everything else, their watershed is diminishing quickly – and the more common Mexican Golden trout and imported McCloud River Rainbow trout are interbreeding with what small native stocks exist.

This ain’t Slaw Dog country, as anything dairy is liable to regurge uncontrollably, this is home to the temperature insensitive Brownline crowd, who don’t blanch when served real dog, corn tortillas, and peppers that makes your eyeballs bleed.

The Armageddon Scenario, you can’t eat an iPhone

That's how we roll It’s part of my duty statement as a computer geek; avoid eye contact with the customer, inhabit darkened alcoves with blinking lights and strange ritual, and finger all the donuts before selecting the one you’re going to eat …

Most claim I don’t fit the mold, a little too outgoing, a bit of rational speech in between acronyms, and I have outside interests beyond warming silicon and confusing users.

It’s still my responsibility to scare snot out of them on a regular basis. I see them growing restive and am required to restore their “I’d rather be at the Dentist” fidget.

The lunchroom discussion was, “buy gold.” Gold being the best hedge against whatever the economy has in store – and all the nouveau investors were regurgitating their best survivalist schemes – largely based on their VISA card still working. Some wanted to buy the gold ETF (exchange traded fund) GLD, others wanted to go buy some coins and salt them away in the mattress.

I listened respectfully while each newly anointed financial whizkid said his piece, then cleared my throat loudly, ” … screw that, I’m buying guns.”

Now that I had everyone’s attention, some sallow fellow hiding in the shadows asks, “why’s that?”

“Simple,” I says, “in an Armageddon scenario, the bank will be on fire so’s your safe deposit box is unavailable, the NYSE will be shut down and you’ll be holding lots of worthless paper saying you own gold – only you’re not sure who’s holding it for you and where, and now that I know which of you has it at home, me and mine will visit, relieving you of that responsibility as well as the bulk of your canned goods.”

“What are you going to do, throw a mouse at me?”

Us outdoors types have always held the Armageddon scenario in great respect. We’ve got Coleman stoves, sleeping bags, fishing tackle, the occasional firearm – and know which end of the match to light to warm ourselves.

While the financial folks gash themselves about declining graphs, we know that if it gets really bad, we’re surviving. The kids might have to get used to a dirt floor and video games drawn on a steamed window – but we can put vittles on the table and keep body and soul together.

A transient man has been arrested for fishing illegally in San Luis Obispo. 23 year old Victor Silva was arrested Sunday evening at five o’clock for fishing in the San Luis Obispo Creek near the Elk Lane Bridge. Silva was one of a group of transient men camped out by the creek. The Tribune reports that he admitted to wildlife officials that he was the one that caught the fish. In turn, Silva has been convicted of poaching a federally protected steelhead trout. While he was not charged with federal violations, he was prosecuted for breaking state Fish and Games rules. Silva will spend ten days in County Jail.

There’s a thousand wrongs in the above, too numerous to mention – and on every possible level. It throws considerable dirt on the survivalist angle; despite our knowing which mushroom is safe to eat, which bark makes a palatable coffee substitute, and how to construct a compass with leaf, needle, and capful of water …

… the warden is likely to take an interest in the gut pile out back.

I’d make sure you saw the courthouse burning before cooking the neighbor’s Dalmatian.

Leaden skies brings out the surrealist

I got a bunch of flies tied this holiday weekend, only I’m not entirely sure what it is I tied … perhaps I was rebelling against the sorely needed monsoon we experienced – with the out-of-doors gray, leaden, and dripping water.

Up to 7 feet of snow had fallen in the Sierra Nevada over the past week, and more was expected by early Tuesday.

… and that’s the good news, as it was the first major storm of the year, closing interstates and even prompting the Trout Underground to abandon the snow blower in favor of me delivering his groceries.

“Could be stunning Blue Wing Olive weather, you should come up – and while you’re at it, bring the following dry goods and victuals…”

I knew better, I’d fallen for the “..when you get to the driveway send up a green star-cluster, we’ll send Wally down with Rum and a toboggan.”

Even the Little Stinking is showing the effects of a sustained downpour, with gauge at Rumsey registering an additional 6″ of water, and a doubling of the stream flow.

 Purple Stonefly-type substance

I got into the swing of things thinking there might be some runoff this year, so I continued piling on extra lead and beads until I’d worked through the Purple stonefly-type things, and was well into a couple dozen Rainbow oddball-not-sure-what-this-is flies.

 All the colors in the rainbow, which usually follows a storm

By the time the big hooks came out I wasn’t quite sure what I was making other than a big splash when it hit, and a concussive wave following.

I’m gearing up in earnest, figuring all the fishing will be early this year. The storm may have added to the snowpack but it’s still quite away’s from normal – perhaps another couple of weeks of steady downpour and I’ll think about some dry flies, as it is now – it’s snow melt followed by should’ve been here last week.

Two if by Sea, three if they attack from freshwater

Trained, angry, and potentially lethal With their backs against the wall due to pollution, and global warming, with estrogen laced runoff blurring sexual identity, and victims of a focused campaign of extermination, are fish forming an insurgency intent on terrestrial Jihad?

Reports from across the globe suggest unprecedented levels of tool use among fish, never chronicled in many hundreds of years of observation.

Dolphins in Australia have been observed using tools, and they seem to pass on their specialist knowledge to others. This is the first time cultural transmission has been confirmed in a marine mammal.

While the military is mum on details, recent documents disclosed under the Freedom of Information Act detail the escape of 36 trained “killer” dolphins during Hurricane Katrina, most were wearing uniforms, complete with lethal darts.

Are “killer dolphins” on the loose off the Mississippi coast? And are they a danger to divers and surfers? This is not the first time military-trained dolphins have escaped from their human masters. Up to 20 per cent of navy dolphins are said to escape each year.

A steady increase in trained cadre, a whale-based global communications system, and migratory regiments waiting to take the fight to fresh water. Have fish finally realized it’s us terrestrials that pollute their homes, altering mood and sexual orientation of their children, and the source of stupid triploid slaves who swim in netted enclosures waiting for their turn at the fillet knife?

Considering the ocean floor is littered with unexploded ordinance, is it only a matter of time before some Orca grabs a torpedo and detonates himself in the engine room of the Royal Caribbean?

Earth has nine terrestrial countries that possess nuclear weapons, and two species, fish have 92 known nuclear weapons in their arsenal, perhaps it’s time to dig a fallout shelter, as it’s only a matter of time before fission clouds envelope Asia – the source of so many Japanese seafood internment camps.

Salmon farmers suggest it’s Seals that rend nets and release brigades of recruits into the brine, possibly swelling the ranks of shock troops destined for our estuaries and freshwater impoundments. Quagga and Zebra mussels infiltrate our freshwater supply, while Rock Snot follows to exploit and train Asian Carp, and perhaps Goldfish.

Fishermen have insisted fish are growing smarter with every outing, and while skeptical non-anglers are asleep in their beds, it may only be our “thin green line” that’ll defend the interior.

Hell, with all the wealth of the oceans at their disposal, Sponge Bob could be sending subliminal messages emasculating our children; PETA and the “Sea Kitten” campaign was just the opening gambit in a global war of supremacy.

Can you put a face on the creator of “Catch and Release?”

The fishing will be superb, just knowing the rest of you can’t

A brief public service message from your pals at Singlebarbed.

Set the rod down and back away slowlySaturday you must pay dues, you must grovel and endure hideous ritual, you must utter filthy words foreign to your vocabulary, and must prepare your tailbone for the obligatory Tom Hanks – Meg Ryan marathon.

More importantly you must not fish, because on the 364th day, She rested, and so must you.

You’ll be skulking through darkened streets hoping your buddies don’t see you hand in hand with the Missus.

They’ll be in line behind you at the Romantic Comedy Cineplex scanning the periphery for their buddies – and you’ll have a “Bro-mance” moment when you collide at the popcorn queue.

Sunday you can laugh at the other fellow’s stories – claiming all you had to do was split a diet coke and shake her hand. We know better, but aren’t about to rat you out – not with the crowd listening.

Me? After a long stint in the dentist’s chair fixing all those old fillings from my youth, and with the Doc scoring a “personal best” of 13 fingers in my gob at once, I’ve got enough Novocain residue in my face to feel invulnerable. I’ll be dodging bullets on the Holy Water – and if the reports sound familiar, I’ll pay them no mind, she couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a scoop shovel.

.. and the 46% of you that forgot what Saturday was – no need to thank me ..

Is there two kinds of cheap

Defiant until SquashedLike you I received my latest fishing catalog and saw carbon rods had finally surpassed the thousand dollar price point. My thoughts on this topic are well documented,  but I couldn’t help wondering – has the price of graphite made bamboo rods a bargain?

Prices listed in the H.L. Leonard and Orvis catalogs of the 1980’s were more pronounced, a graphite rod was in the vicinity of $165, and their bamboo counterpart somewhere between $800 to $1000 each.

Today the graphite is $1000, and the handmade bamboo is somewhere between $2000 and $3000 per rod. Comparatively that’s a decline in the difference between the two of nearly 50% in 28 years.

The raw material used to make carbon fiber is called the precursor. About 90% of the carbon fibers produced are made from polyacrylonitrile. The remaining 10% are made from rayon or petroleum pitch.

During the same period bulk pricing of Polyacrylonitrile fiber has decreased from roughly $6 per pound (1984), to about $0.30 per pound (2005). Once used solely by the military, carbon fiber precursor is now part of everything from cars and cement to roof tiles and outerwear.

Tonkin cane has always been the preferred bamboo source, and while prices spiked in the late 60’s and early 70’s (because we were napalming it with great gusto), relationships in the region have since normalized. Tonkin cane was about $10.00 per bale in the middle 70’s, and today a bale, 20 culms, is nearly $400. (Cheaper if you travel to China and purchase your own.)

Figuring the balance of parts used on graphite and bamboo rods are similar; Portuguese cork, carbide guides, stainless snakes and tip, etc., we can assume the material costs of making a bamboo rod has risen considerably while carbon fiber has declined during the same period.

As carbon is tied to petroleum costs, it fluctuates with energy prices, but as carbon fiber and precursor is used by hundreds of industries and world production is in excess of 500,000 metric tonnes, mass production has lowered the cost dramatically.

So, why have graphite rods prices increased so dramatically?

I can’t answer that, and rod companies won’t.

Some  rod company executive is likely spitting venom at his screen – claiming I’m one in a long line of simplistic rubes that couldn’t possibly understand the economics of rod construction.

Largely true, but only the TARP bailout has less transparency than rod companies and their cost structures.

I think it’s time to buy Bamboo. I haven’t heard of any breakthroughs in mass production that would account for the decline in bamboo rod pricing, it’s plain that these rare craftsmen charge less per hour today than they did 28 years ago – and should rethink that.

$6500 per handcrafted and handrubbed specimen would restore parity, until then $2000 per rod is a bargain.

All Hail the coming of his Flaccid Porcine Awesomeness

Suck her down, Bro Terms like “girth”, “chunky” and “football”, sprayed at large fish by those lucky enough to have hooked an uncommon specimen. The rest of us nod, recognizing the use of reserved fishing superlatives.

So what are we going to call the exceptional blended farm-raised-wild strain of salmon?

Tom Gill of Dalhousie University told The Chronicle-Herald newspaper in Halifax said producers complaining to him about the texture of their farmed fish can blame themselves for adding fish oil to the salmon feed to increase their weight.

Some ponderous lard body rolls on your fly, giving you a brief and lethargic dead-weight squeal to your drag, then points itself at your feet and gasps in long sobbing wheezes, while drooling all over your shoe.

“So you can fatten the fish up and make them heavy in a hurry by feeding them a high-fat diet, but it gives you a really sloppy sort of soft texture,” he said. “If you’re feeding them a high-fat diet, it’s like feeding an individual on a diet of peanuts and potato chips only — of course they get flabby and soft, and that’s what happens to the fish.”

I’m thinking that this has to turn the angling world upside down. Noble Salmon reduced to crack-whore status, spurned by legions of former aficionado’s, and loved only by the Malibu physician administering celebrity facials. 

A “fatbody” isn’t getting up for the morning bite, it’ll be napping by midday, and will skip dusk in favor of the all night drive thru – where it won’t have to display it’s sickly, pale flesh to the gaze of bystanders.

In the latest incident, at the end of last week, 30,000 maturing 2.5kg (5.5lb) fish escaped from their cage in West Loch Roag, off the coast of Lewis, after a seal attack.

The escape, which was detected four days ago, comes at a time when wild salmon are approaching the rivers to spawn, meaning that there could be intermingling and genetic dilution of the wild fish. These are extremely fit creatures, swimming thousands of miles across oceans, then battling their way upstream.

If they spawn with the flabby, cage-reared fish, it is claimed that the offspring can be genetically weak and the wild salmon population, which is recovering after some very bad years, could be threatened.

The Association of Salmon Fishery Boards and the Rivers and Fisheries Trusts of Scotland are now preparing a formal complaint to the European Commission.

In the states, we’ve always asserted that “wild fish” were superior in every respect to their hatchery counterparts, but will that remain true? Hatchery fish have to make the same journey as a wild fish, imparting some common sense and muscle tone, with the addition of a flabby panting farm fish in the watershed – will we have a new respect for its pen reared migratory cousin?

… and will we invent new terms of endearment and prowess? “Half Pounders” refer to returning small steelhead, will we call the smaller farm fish a “quarter pounder with fleas?”

Will the “honor roll” of distinguished names; King, Chinook, Pink, Dog, Chum, and Silver, be augmented with the Butterball and Acne variants?

“I prefer the Butterball, less stretch marks on the fillet, and the timer pops out when it’s done.” 

Go ahead and giggle, a couple seasons from now that could be you talking.