Author Archives: KBarton10
Lang Auction – Estate of Helen Shaw
The estate of Helen Shaw appears to be one of the highlights of the next Lang’s Auction, November 7th & 8th. Lang’s uses both the traditional auction venue and eBay (for remote bids) and the items for sale are varied and mind boggling.
Flies by Helen Shaw, Walt Dette and his wife Winnie, bamboo rods, books, tying materials, and a veritable time capsule of paraphernalia.
Both Helen Shaw and Walt Dette were fly tyer’s of the highest caliber. Meticulous flies that were largely created pre-synthetic materials, pre-genetic hackle, and without the use of a vice (in many cases.)
This is the realm of Pearsall’s Gossamer Silk, local chickens, and manually waxed thread woven into a precise delicacy rivaling anything we produce today.
Ebay has 2500 items listed as part of this auction, and if you collect old cane rods – all the masters are represented; Walton Powell, Payne, Leonard, Orvis, Winston, Gary Howell’s, Nash, Thomas & Thomas, F.E. Thomas, etc.
… and the reels to go with them are also present in force; Meek, Milum, Hardy, Gehrke, Meisselbach, Ross, Galvan, and everyone else.
There’s quite a lot of sporting gear including a Ward Brother’s Redhead decoy, canoes, and correspondence from almost every noteworthy angler to and from Ms. Shaw. Fish decoys, duck calls, something for every sporting taste.
I would eyeball the flies while you’re able, fly tyers of this quality are squirreled away to preserve the organic materials and dye colors. There appears to be about 50 lots of Walt Dette’s work, and nearly 100 lots of Helen Shaw flies – including one collection of 338 flies, starting bid $4000.
You must sign up for the auction in advance, simply click on any of the items and read the process. Grab a mug of coffee and wander through this unique display.
21000 feet is a half dozen depleted uranium splitshot and some lead wire
The concept of “life lists” has always intrigued me – an angler notes all the species he’s caught throughout his career, removes all his former girlfriends and the result is his angling legacy.
There’s no such thing as a “bad” list, lots of species implies well traveled, and few species means thorough – neither counts volume or gross weight.
Like all edifices this one is crumbling as well, with numerous vitriolic threads on the fishing boards alternately exalting or scoffing at some poor fellows achievements or imagination.
In an attempt to restore harmony, I’d suggest “the Superbowl of fishes” is necessary to eliminate hecklers, not the Great White Shark (too many of the boards have claimants that landed it on a 5 weight), but rather the Snailfish…
You’ll have to explain it to them, especially the part about using Iranian centrifuges to make an enhanced Tungsten conehead, capable of sinking at 400 yards a second – these fish hang deep, about 5 miles worth..
I bet A.J. McClane howls at my misfortune, I bet he was an SOB too
Charlie Brown and I had the same vocabulary, featuring a plaintive howl everytime Lucy yanked the football away. My battle was with the fly tyer’s of A.J. McClane’s Standard Fishing Encyclopedia – it was the bible featuring color plates of flies and their recipes, allowing me to gauge my proportions against the real thing.
I’d always be three quarters finished when they’d mention Medium Blue Dun, or Gray Jungle Fowl – and I’d start cursing in earnest. Substitution is a four letter word when you’re learning how to tie flies, usually you’re already substituting the right way of doing it with your way, and to replace materials wholesale is akin to cheating.
Matching the completed fly with the grainy photo in A.J. McClane’s book was compounded by the fluorescent green hackle you’d substituted for medium blue dun, enough of a change to reduce effectiveness and preventing the fly from earning a spot in your box – as it’s now somehow tainted.
Years later we found out that a Greenwell’s Glory couldn’t catch crap, and the chartreuse hackle we’d added could only have helped.
I lived in fear of fine print, as every author hid the “mongoose mask hair” or “rutting beaver forepaw” behind an asterisk or small text, and delighted in knowing some new tyer was uttering a howl of protest.
As a kid I’d take my hard earned coin down to the fly shop and press my nose against the glass, psyching myself up for the pending ordeal; dividing $2.18 among thousands of “needs” – and winding up with 14 little glassine bindles of feather dander.
Sure, I had rabbit aplenty, but never Olive rabbit, or Olive thread, everything I tied for the first decade was black thread, Size A Nymo – and I was a stud for scoring that. My Light Cahill’s suffered accordingly, as once they were dampened they were Really Dark Cahill’s.
Now that I’m old and mean, I recognize that ritual of suffering is a crucial component in rounding the skills of a good fly tyer. Suffering steeled your resolve when neighbor’s tabby met steel belted radial and a dull Buck knife and swift burial were warranted. Lingering at the gut pile meant you could high grade all the mallards, widgeon, sprig, and teal – fighting maggots for the best flank feathers. It taught you to accelerate at the deer – in the last possible moment, rather than brake hard and have him come through the windshield.
…and that critical moment when you connected the dots and realized all those bludgeoned baby seal’s were needed for a full dress Green Highlander? You shrugged it off quickly in your haste to score a dime bag…
Now that you’ve reached your maturity, forged hard by the crucible of those tyers what came before you, tithing “one tenth of your get” to animal fur and brightly colored feathers, it’s time to instill in your legacy as many obscure items as practical so the next kid quits in tears.
Time is on your side, Old Guys get to have dusty old boxes of “the Good Stuff” hidden away. Most of the dust is moth eggs, but even the rumor of stash is enough to keep a young prick in deferential mode – he’ll save the lip for his parents, where it counts.
It’s your responsibility to send subsequent generations screaming in defeat, so it’s doubly important to recognize an impossible material when you see it. Low production and esoteric usage helps, and very little is needed. Enough to comprise an egg sac on a dry fly, or articulated limb on a nymph – just enough to make the fly impossible to tie.
It’s like a quiver of arrows, you trot them out as needed – each trial more difficult than the last..
I’m holding the above in the wings, next time some fly tyer claims, “I seen my buddy tie that,” I’ll trot out the “Lagoon” color on some money fly, and watch him writhe in agony. 100% viscose, flat chenille in colors not likely to grace a fly shop anytime this century.
A.J. McClane got me with rare and exotic animals, urine dyed fox, and twisted silks from the Orient, my legacy will be synthetics that were used to trim Elvis Presley’s Cadillac…
I bet A.J. was an SOB too, must be why I liked his books so much.
It’s a face only a mother would love
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…
You may want to rethink putting an antisocial fellow in charge
Every military entity has it’s elite shock troops – those fellows with polished braid, erect bearing, and starched berets. Sometimes they represent the best in us and sometimes the worst, depending on their leadership…
Bite Back magazine – a glossy rag appealing to the radical fringe of the anti-meat, anti-fur, crowd, lists among it’s victories the defacement and destruction of the Bank House Fly Fishery, a fly fishing club in Lancashire, England.
“On Monday 22nd members of the angling retribution squad visited bank house fly fisherie in caton lancaster uk. We ripped down competion pictures and generally made a mess of their little club house of death. Before leaving we trashed 3 windows including a big glass door. We want to make it clear this is just the start of our campaign and unless bank house fly fisherie stops the slaughter of innocent life for their perverted pleasure we will return and things will be taken to the next level. The choice is yours. Angling Retribution Squad
It begs the question, if fly fishing were to have elite shock troops – what great blow would they strike, and what would be the entry requirements?
Ski masks and AK47’s are old news, courtesy of Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberation Army, and a catchy name would help to strike mortal terror in the hearts and minds of the populace…
It’s a cinch some dimwit would suggest emptying bloody Cul de Canard feathers on the steps of Congress, but all the fly tyer’s in the group would either boycott the attack – or scoop what they could carry. An easy trail to follow with some fellow running down the street and a feather blizzard in his wake.
A scrawled note from the Nymphal Freedom Deliverance Army would have great effect, but once they found out it wasn’t porn, most of the leaflets would line canary cages.
I think if I had the opportunity to be the “Oberleutnant Sturmfuhrer” of the NFDA, I might suggest adding six or seven additional chromosomes to triploid fish, hoping to make them “grab-oid’s”. It’s self serving and anti-revolutionary, but then I’m not so sure I wouldn’t “drop dime” on my compatriots just to have the river to myself.
An ignoble end to a worthy opponent
It’s the senseless exploitation that makes fish hate us, demeaning a noble foe by toeing him into the brush, worse yet, making him lick the feet of his master, that type of brutality is carried down into the gene pool and remembered.
I bet fish were once like slippery dogs, you throw the fly – they catch and return it; as most lacked the good sense of a setter or retriever, they’d play tug of war rather than drop the fly at your feet.
The news that we’re eating them probably made them reluctant to play, and now – pressing them into a lifetime of servitude munching Mrs Ledbetter’s bunions is the last straw.
Bui was personally delivered a letter Thursday informing her of the agency’s decision, which was based on a state law that all implements used in pedicures had to be “sanitized, disinfected, or disposed of after each service to protect salon customers from the possibility of disease and infections.”
“You can clean files and other equipment, but there is just no way to sanitize live fish,” said Christine Anthony, a spokeswoman for the agency.
I’m not so certain, as fish-nibbling pedicures was a thriving concern – why not increase profits by expanding the venue to include fish and chips while you’re being nibbled?
Wait for the customer to leave, take the tub into the back room and deep fry the contents. It makes as much sense as shooting the human performing the pedicure, aren’t they an implement as well?
You could at least throw me a towel when you’re done, the War on Six Dollar items heats up, or I do
I made the mistake of restocking some rubber leg material at my last visit to the local establishment, and was driven into another paroxysm of swearing.
There among all the pre-packaged “jobbed” materials was the Spirit River “Tarantula legs” – minus the color I was looking for, naturally. I did find one old pack down at the floor that someone had missed – just enough to get me through the weekend.
My mistake was glancing at the price while admiring my find.
Don’t waste your money – times is hard enough without being used savagely, $2.50 for about 24 strands of colored leg material is unconscionable – that’s a dime per fly.
Spirit River buys the damn stuff from someone akin to the Living Rubber Company, and you’ll find all the colors and sizes they offer – plus extra colors not available at your fly shop – and the price is 1/11th what the shop charges.
Do the markup math yourself – a “25 skirt pack” is about $6.00 from Living Rubber, and each of the “skirts” equals a Spirit River pack of rubberlegs, about 24 strands. I don’t mind so much if an enterprising fellow doubles or triples his money, but 11 times is enough to make me wince – only because he’s making 11 times the retail price of the rubber, he’s making double that if he buys it wholesale.
The standard skirt material from Living Rubber is what Spirit River describes as their “medium” size, and it’s rectangular rather than round. If memory serves, the Spirit River “fish scale” rubber is also rectangular. Living Rubber sells the round rubber in 15 foot lengths for $8.00 – these are simple one-color bands of ~50 strands each. They don’t yet sell the printed pattern round fibers on their web site.
I haven’t contacted the company for the availability of round imprinted rubber, but if they’re selling it wholesale to jobbers, they’ll certainly sell it to you.
Shown in the photographs are “25 skirt packs” of “Green Pumpkin” (the olive and black metal flake) and dark green/black and the orange/black varieties.
Take advantage of the vendor for a change, see how it feels – it’s another sawbuck saved for your next big purchase …
I’d certainly make enough to keep me in rods and Whiting hackle
Fear may be outselling sex of late, what with elections so close and a significant block of voters needing to be scared into voting. We’ve covered the Red Menace, the Yellow Horde, the Scourge of the Sahara, and what’s needed to galvinate public opinion is a good old threat close to home.
When they finish eating all the baby salmon, it’s house pets and your angelic daughter that’s next – not to mention they pee indiscriminately in your drinking water.
I’d like to think of myself as a modern day Willard – King of the Pest fish with legions of ravenous piscine torpedoes willing to do my bidding, but I can’t even get them to eat my flies regular, much less attack fellow anglers and devour them upon command.
The Pied Piper of Pikeminnow’s is one Nikolay Zaremskiy whose currently in the top spot for bounty claimed in Oregon’s ongoing war with the Pikeminnow.
In the first five months of the season, he hauled in 6,453 pikeminnows, earning a bounty of more than $52,292 — far outpacing his closest competitor, David Vasilchuk of Vancouver, Wash.
If I lived in the area, retired or otherwise I’d be all over this – $10,000 per month to fish all day with Madam’s blessing, she’d likely pack me a lunch and buss me on the cheek – provided I showered.
With all the Pentagon’s wunder-toys you’d think they’d have a Predator Submarine with a line of 11 year olds itching to fry a Pikeminnow with a particle beam. It doesn’t necessarily promote the finest elements of fishing – but if you charged a quarter for a couple minutes at the controls it’d pay for the R&D program in a weekend.
If your Mom’s throw rug was made of Golden Bird of Paradise would you steal it?
The mailman is starting to back away so I should cool my ardor a bit. Little padded envelopes keep showing up at my doorstep from Bernice, Julie, Deborah, Nancy, and Janice – and while I was hoping he’d think I was part of a Columbian cartel – the gals keep perfuming the packages.
One look at my gut precludes there being a romantic angle, and I’m afraid the last perfumed kilo gave me away.
It’s knitting yarn.
The shrinks would have a field day dealing with fly tiers, there’s 240 crayfish in a single skein of Bernat boa, but how many skeins will be needed over a lifetime?
… and is that just my lifetime, or do I need to include my brother, his buddy, my fly-less fishing buddies and their friends as well?
Hoarding is the equivalent of gathering up a mound of sand on the beach and if anyone looks perplexed, just point and exclaim, “this is infinite sand grains, exactly.”
It’s why your math teacher didn’t give you credit if you didn’t show your work – as both math aficionados and psychiatrists love to pore over your hoard-reasoning, similar to siphoning a trout’s gut to see what he ate – only mental.
Each of us has a imprecise system of amassing feather dander, because we’ve been caught short multiple times on common-turned-rare materials. These being the halcyon days of fly tying – with real materials from real animals, and as each one is pressured into oblivion based on its fur, taste, habitat, or simply steel belted radials – we wish we’d had the foresight to stock up.
Yea, you’re right – it’s never going to happen to you.
What funny is we’re still in the 80-20 phase, 80% of the materials we use for flies are natural, 20% are synthetic – and a couple generations from now that may be drastically changed. Will subsequent tyers hoard synthetics as we do vanishing species? I think so, partly due to the packrat nature of the hobby, and partly due to the lure of “better” – as originals are always better than substitutes.
For every tyer that used Swan for his Royal Coachman, there was an old guy looking askance at some younger tyer’s work, exclaiming, “.. close, but it won’t work as good as Swan, too stiff…”
Now I’m salting away skeins of synthetics – snapping up colors that says “crayfish” to me – while the rest of you shake your head in wonderment. Flamingo, Phoenix, Cardinal, or Hawk, may yield a better fly and none of these colors are currently being made. That’s no surprise as what’s fashionable is over in the blink of an eye, then it’s “last year’s” model – like bell bottoms or double knits.
Synthetics, especially those from the fashion industry, may have a shorter production life than natural materials, and we may have to purchase them accordingly to ensure a steady supply.
Better yet, do I hoard what I can find, then sell pinches for exorbitant amounts, akin to Polar Bear, Baby Seal, or Golden Bird of Paradise? You never thought “Aunt Lydia’s Rug Yarn” would be on par with Blue Chatterer – and will you be man enough to abscond with your parent’s bathroom throw rug when you discover its value?
Old guys learn to accumulate, young learn the hard way by missing the boat and wishing it were otherwise. Genius can lie in pawing through some box of forgotten treasure, searching for Puce rabbit and finding a pound of something no longer available – sparking the creative process.
Somewhere between the moths getting it all and your kids tossing it after your demise, these flights of fancy will yield umpteen flies any of which could be the next Light Cahill, Adams, or Pheasant Tail nymph.
Amassing all this is just one of many excessive habits, justifying the drawer space consumed requires imagination and immersion, ferreting out the obvious and unexpected uses in an orgy of creativity.
With 500 yards of Dark Olive Ultra chenille, and 1000 yards of perfumed Mallard Bernat Boa, something that fish eat should result. It may not be the next Zug Bug, but it’s the fastest stonefly nymph I’ve tied. A couple of whacks of the scissor to shorten the top fibers into wingcases, a couple cuts to clean the bottom of fiber and you’re done…
It’s knitting yarn, a synthetic hackle, a Matuka streamer wing, a rabbit strip imitation, and a nymph style … so far … and it’s in short supply.