Author Archives: KBarton10

It’s more expensive than a Gym membership, that’s my guess

It’s the other number I’m afraid to compute – the number of miles hiked versus pounds of fish caught, only this metric doesn’t require you to blush and stare at the ground when asked.

Between Saturday and Sunday I added another 10 miles to the boots, which are starting to look mighty worn. Every other usage winds up with one leg or the other full of water – it’s like a car that’s starting to show the cumulative wear and tear.

Saturday I fished with Singlebarbed reader, Scott V – who braved the Little Stinking bare-arsed without ill effect. The small fish remain aggressive and the larger fish are without the urge to cooperate, something we’ve all seen before.

Sunday I moved higher on the river and fiddled with a spey line and third phase trials of the crayfish fly. Olive is the go-to color, but I tied additional in brown, flamingo, black, purple, and orange – I’m still waiting for the shipment of Cardinal (red/black) to arrive.

Based on the below, “cardinal” may well prove to be as popular as the olive, it’s the other color combination I’ve seen in abundance in the native crayfish, bright red and black. This fellow was about 6 inches long, so I may increase the fly accordingly.

Red and Black may prove as productive as olive

I managed a half dozen nice fish on the brown fly Sunday, and got some half-hearted grabs on all the other colors, there’s no question the fish are suddenly aloof – content to watch the fly pass, rather than chase.

Pikeminnow continue to inhale the pattern with great relish, why they take it so much deeper than the bass is still a mystery. The brute below inhaled the entire fly, with only one leg visible in his gob.

Only the tip of one leg is visible in his mouth

The river continues to deepen – adding about 4 more inches since the week prior, and all the surrounding irrigation ditches were dry. Quail hunters are out in force – most are the older wiser types with dogs, I don’t mind sharing – but “the Young Guns” that roar up, dismount, and blow hell out of everything have to be watched carefully. Adrenaline is a heady drug, and most are uncaring about where their shot pattern is headed.

There’s little finer than watching a talented dog work a drainage, and I stopped to chat with a couple of old timers as I was leaving. They wanted to know how I’d done, and I was interested in their morning – so I jawboned while sneaking both dogs chunks of “hooter” bar.

I asked the fellow seated under the sign, “that sign says one meal a month for fish, so how’s them Quail taste?”

His buddy immediately chimes in, “yea, Bob – they’re all drinking the same crap, how do they taste?”

Apparently I’d uncovered a hunter’s metric, one where he blushes profusely and stares earthward, not sure which one it was though – it could be that he was quietly tossing Nature’s Bounty – hoping his buddy didn’t know.

Try Brownlining, your neighbors will like you more

It's quite the hatch, for some folks He certainly shows an enterprising bent, but I think he needs to get out more often. Trapped in an urban setting, there’s always some fishing venue that’ll draw less attention to yourself.

It’s unclear what the daily bag limit is – but being arrested by the authorities with 500 in possession is just a trifle much. It’s guaranteed to incur the wrath of us law-abiding anglers as wasteful is about the only sin that focuses our collective ire.

What trips poachers up is returning to the scene for another round of angling debauch, unfortunately with that many pairs of missing women’s underwear, the authorities are bound to be lying in wait.

I figure he fishes cane, as those fellows always were a bit “twitchy.”

Stalking the elusive Ultra Chenille, it’s Vernille in the Wild

I figure it’s a cross between Euell Gibbons and Basil Rathbone, a mixture of natural curiosity and dogged determinism; a personal quest, my ongoing War Against Six Dollar Items, where I delight in finding products “in the wild” – unfettered by middlemen, fly shops, and their obligatory markup..

I’ve been chasing down Ultra Chenille (Vernille, Velvet Chenille, Suede chenille) for almost a year. I thought I had it when I discovered a manufacturer in Turkey,  instead it was an interesting crop of fibers and yarns, all cheap as dirt and as yet undiscovered.

The good stuff, and it's cheap as dirt

Ultra chenille is a great material, tough as nails, low buildup, and has a variety of uses from traditional chenille flies to the nouveau dressings unique to the product.

At $2 for 9 feet, it’s also pricey.

I’d toss the old rayon stuff if the price was low enough to replace it – mainly because ultra chenille wears better and doesn’t come apart in your fingers if spun in the wrong direction. The fibers being so much shorter – it doesn’t mat or bleed, especially after the flies have been fished.

Tie is the blue strand, fly shop stuff is the flesh colored strand This fiber is made by a manufacturer called “Silk City Fibers” located back East, and is marketed under the “Tie” name, to distinguish it from the myriad of other yarns they make. It’s neither suede, rayon, or cotton, rather a synthetic nylon called “Polyamide.”

Acid dyes will dye nylon just fine – allowing the possibility of scoring a 2000 yard cone of white and making whatever color you fancy.

Chenille and yarn follow a number of sizing conventions and the “YPP” convention is commonplace. “YPP” is Yards Per Pound, and the higher the number the smaller the diameter of the material.

“Tie” is a 3800 YPP fiber which is about 15% smaller than the size sold in the fly shop. Also good, because we can use it on smaller hooks without making the fly too bulky – and it’s likely available in a variety of sizes – something else that’s missing from the fly shop selection.

100 yards in a neat little bundle for only five bucks A cone of ultra chenille is $90 from a reseller – and while only a commercial tyer will get excited – searching on eBay yields a vendor with 14 of the 16 colors available from the factory.

50g skeins for $5 is a steal, and she has plenty.

The top picture is her color selection, and contacting the vendor directly will score you enough of “the good stuff” to make it worth your while.

The smaller size is especially useful, as it’s diameter is small enough to make trout flies – expanding your use beyond  traditional steelhead flies and streamers.

The War Against Six Dollars Items continues, with you folks the beneficiary.

The Brownline ABEL

Fishing the brown water has always had a “Budweiser” mystique about it; the luxury of knowing you’re never going to meet someone, therefore bathing is optional, coupled with the social stigma – no clique, no secret handshakes, and the knowledge that Fly Fisherman magazine will never reveal your secret spot.

Abel Carp finish Now Abel reels has ruined it for us odiferous stalwarts – making a “Carp” finish on their latest line of reels.

I don’t mind too terrible much, but I know that reel and me have a date with destiny. I’ll never have the coin or moxie to buy one, I just know that the screaming angler I rescue from a couple feet of toxic sludge will have it – and I’ll come face to face with the knowledge that the “last odiferous frontier” has been tamed…

Then again, in one last paroxysm of outlaw – I could stake him out on an anthill or take his shoes and reel – then chase him through the flaming gravel beds of Death.

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Internet Outage, Part Deux

Once again I’m without Internet access at my home and unable to post or check email. It’s one of those special moments for a computer geek – calling Technical Support and listening to some gum-chewing SOB with skills much less than your own…

“Yes, Bob – it was working this morning, and then the light on the modem blinked off, and it hasn’t worked since. I can ping your modem, but can’t see anything past that – and I’m noticing the the DHCP service on your router isn’t issuing me an address.”

“Reboot your computer.”

“Done Bob, a “trace route” yields nothing past your modem, I still don’t have an IP address, and I’m getting kind of really pissed, Bob..”

“Did you try rebooting your computer?”

“Yes, Sweetpea – I kicked it several times, and when you get off shift tonight, it’s you and me in the parking lot doing the Tire Iron Dance, Moron… Now Bob, can I talk to your supervisor?”

“Uh, no. He’s rebooting his computer.”

Would Salmon lose their appeal if they were overweight?

That's a Big'Un, alright Will Salmon retain it’s place of nobility among fishermen if they all have big guts, too much cholesterol, and arses to match?

Science is many things, and some aren’t terribly pretty. Fish scientists have labored to find food to feed farmed fish that grows more “fish protein” than it takes to raise the feed..

It’s the same battle they’re facing with alternative energy.

Doctor’s have been warning us of the perils of McDonald’s fries for years, yet suddenly it’s a surprise to learn that feeding vegetable oil to penned fish grows more flab?

This is the first time we can refer to large-scale trials on fish over an entire generation, where we gain more fish protein in the form of salmon than we use to produce the fish feed.

Next time my girlfriend starts to scold me about my ample midsection she’ll get a scientific earful – “that’s human protein, dammit – now fork over more pie.”

They’re pen-raised but seals will ensure plenty escape, and with big guts, I’d like to see a female scape pea gravel into a nest – considering she hasn’t seen her tail in years.

… and you can forget jumping, sure – they’ll porpoise a few times when they’re rested, and the fast water will give them an assist – but is this still the same fishery when you have to wade out to unhook them?

I’ve handled plenty of unsavory fish, but can’t say I’d reach for some sweating silvery blimp that’d founder unless I held him upright.

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Big Water, Big fish, sore butt

Roughfisher and I have been jawing over the use of spey casts and switch rods for chasing prey through the dirty water, and both of us have decided to give it a shot.

That’s the easy part, now it’s gear evaluation and assimilation, and the begging that goes with the budget that has significant other’s demanding chores, feats of carpentry, electrical work, and sweat – something foreign to the both of us.

I was hoping I could remain the “Paris Hilton” of angling dilettantes, but with a three to four hundred dollar purchase pending, it ain’t going to happen.

Yesterday I found the “big water” where this kind of tackle would be useful, and the big bass that inhabit deep slots shielded by overhang, culminating in me swearing loudly after getting busted off on 4X tippet. The fish broke water afterwards to give me the finger, so we’re past dating and into the matrimony portion – he’s wearing one of my flies, and I’m wearing the sting of defeat.

No, I don’t consider it undermining the foundations of traditional marriage, but I’m still feeling rather cheap..

Today I’m doctoring the hook holes in body and waders, as yesterday’s bravado and adrenalin have been replaced by “old guy” mortality. I’m replacing the dozen flies lost yesterday, while groaning for sympathy. It never gets us out of the lawn responsibility, but it is good practice for later – when stuff really hurts, or an NFL championship game is close to airing.

I’ve got a bunch of oddities coming out of the vise, and I’ll share as soon as I rewire the kitchen.

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He was thinking it was Christmas until the other Crawdad bit back

I’m sure that fish was thinking, “Sweet, there’s two of them.”  – at least he was thinking that right up until I wadded the hook point through his gob..

I’m afraid he’s going to hold it against me, as he “arpy-chucked” half the meal when I grabbed him. On the one hand I could take this as the ultimate confirmation of “matching the hatch” – but it could just be a random happenstance.

Older Brother with a typical smallmouth Igneous Rock showed on the doorstep yesterday, ignoring the wind and blowing topsoil, insisting we stomp creekbed. I’d just finished another batch of LSO’s (Little Stinking Olives) and some other mid-sized nymphs and instead of all those empty compartments staring back at me, I had something visible in the flybox.

With wind-induced right angles, I would’ve been pleased with a tailing loop, it was classic “chuck and duck” weather, where the fly has about a fifty percent chance of hooking you as hitting the water.

We hiked down river to the stretch we’d sampled last week, a long slow bend that had carved the far bank, leaving an overhanging bank with enough height to break the wind slightly, although it was still difficult casting.

Hearing the crack of fly impacting fishing vest, I glanced at older brother’s hydration pack expecting to see a leak; it’s another layer of armor between sharp hook and tender flesh, a feature I hadn’t anticipated – but there’s some comfort in knowing you’ve got extra layers of protection.

A well munched crayfish, barfed up by a greedy smallmouth We started hitting Bass almost immediately, both of us are flinging LSO’s hoping we’re not the next victim, there’s a nice boil where my fly landed and I’ve got a smallmouth on – an 11″ fish that wished he was somewhere’s else.

I get him up close and reach down and he “yaks” a big reddish object out of his gob. I pull my crayfish out of his jaw and release the fish, lean down to inspect what he barfed up, and it’s what’s left of a real crayfish.

I’d love to think I’d “Cloned the Crawdad” – but it could be just an aggressive, greedy, fish with eyes as big as his stomach..

Matte finish faceted beads, so you can torment all your pals when they produce the store-bought flavor

I keep a small supply of the taper-drilled beads on hand for special circumstances, but the metal beads I use on flies are all from bead stores.

At $2.75 per 25, all I’m doing is adding another dime to a tree limb, and being a cheap SOB, that goes against the grain.

There are positives and negatives with the “bead store” product; they’re available in a bewildering assortment of shapes, colors, and metals, and they’re about 1/5 the price of your local fly shop. The downside is the holes are small, and for certain shapes of hook bend, just can’t slide over the sharp turns.

Model perfect bends are the exception, but Sproat and Limerick are chancy at best.

I just got an order of specialty beads from Beadaholique.com, with a matte finish that includes a faceted sparkle. It reduces the shine of the traditional beads and adds a sparkle that looks especially good.

I’ve often heard complaints from anglers who under bright conditions thought traditional bead head flies “too shiny” – and if you’re one of those fellows, you may want to eyeball the “matte” flavor.

 

Indoor Indirect Light

The facets give off a sparkle very much like seal fur in dubbing – a whitish wink of light that really looks attractive next to the dull matte finish. They’re available only in Gunmetal and Copper colors, 4mm size. The interior hole is 2mm, which is the minimum size you want to order (smaller holes can only fit 16-20 hooks.)

Next to the faceted beads are traditional 5mm copper beads from the same source – the holes on the 5mm look to be about 2.5-3mm, suitable for larger flies like stonefly nymphs, streamers, and the like.

For jewelry beads these are on the expensive side; the faceted bead is $3.99 per 144 beads, and the plain copper 5mm is $3.33 per 144, I’m assuming it’s the price of copper that makes these a dab more expensive than normal – usually I pay about $11.00 – $14.00 per thousand beads.

 

Outdoor Direct Light 

From the above outdoor photo you can see the additional glare off the traditional smooth bead, and how the matte finish is absent that extra gleam.

I can’t wait to give these a try – as I find myself using beaded flies much more often than I used to – it’s often the easiest way to weight them and you don’t need seventeen split shot to get them to hug the bottom in fast water.

Be cautious on your first order, you may be using a hook style that prevents their use. I use mostly Togen hooks that are unforged – that allows me to grab the point area with a pair of pliers and move it the 5-6 degrees necessary for the bead to pass the sproat “kink” portion. I would not try this on traditional forged hooks (those whose wire is flattened on the hook bend) – only round wire hooks can be deformed and returned to their original shape without inducing too much weakness.

Elastomeric sounds horribly sexy, but it’s still a rubber cap

I figured he was needling me because of my boundless generosity and acute business acumen. It’s a “no brainer” really, what with the decline in the stock market and all of us looking for that second job to make ends meet, I figured to leverage our fishing expertise into big coin…

“Caribou Barbie’s” husband leveraged his into a shot at Mr. Vice President, and his fishing could be from Marine-1 from now on, why should we aspire to less?

All I had in mind was utilizing them precious dirt water skills to go into the scrap metal salvage business – and with Daytripper, the Roughfisher, and myself – that’s three states, and in the current economic climate that’s a multinational conglomerate.

I’ve got more rusting metal in my watershed than the Coral Sea, and at current prices all it takes is a little elbow grease, a couple of conservation organizations to lure into our enterprise, and we can sit back and make like Sanford and Son’s.

Instead, Daytripper sends me a napkin when I need a crane … Microtrash? The smallest refuse in my creek … is me …

How many rusting Audi's will fit in one of these

Saving the environment from the perils of a six inch length of monofilament is a worthy gesture, but in a brownline fishery it’s the scale that’s all wrong.

I need something like Noah’s Ark where I can add rusting debris in pairs; first the Audi’s, then lawnmowers, water heaters, washing machines, tractors, bridge girders, and the small stuff like Volkswagens and Subaru Foresters…

That's a nine foot rod for comparison Think bigger guys, note the small sample to assist you in scoping the effort…

It’s not collecting aluminum beer cans to assist the school band in scoring uniforms, it’s heavy industry and enough income to score us each a couple of burritos.

Remember, after the first couple of million all our sins are forgiven, we’re the lions of the new-New Deal, and the cover of Time and the stony faces of a Senate sub-committee are only a heartbeat away.