Author Archives: KBarton10

Even the Holy Water is suffering mightily

I was considering a pilgrimage to California’s Carp Mecca when my brother gleefully informed me that Clear Lake is suffering from some unknown malady and carp are dying by the bushel.

Great.

I was hoping it was some hunger strike wherein I could render assistance with Darth Clam or some such gaudy worm-based substance, wind up with blisters on my “palming” hand, and rescue the environment in the same breath.

Apparently it’s plant decomposition robbing the water of oxygen, an as yet unidentified virus, or pesticides – and Lake County is digging trenches for disposal of numerous carcasses, hoping to minimize the bouquet. It’s enough to make a brownliner cry – first the local fish serve up a extra helping of extended digit, followed by mass depopulation of the Holy Water…

This year’s Clear Lake Bow Fishing Tournament killed 5 tons of Carp (10,104 pounds), and all I was looking for was a couple confirmed nibbles, it don’t seem hardly fair.

I suppose I could fish for trout, but there’s not enough frustration involved…

Live Bacon excretions prove fatal to Mayflies

The nymphal form of Bacon Based on my own experiences I’ve often wondered how long it’d be until somebody sued someone over farm effluent.

Considering that potable water supplies are a finite resource coveted by land developers and big cities alike, “that little brown creek” will be worth something to someone soon. Environmentalists and fishermen don’t count – they’re the fringe electorate whose predictable foaming of the mouth can be dismissed out of hand…

A PIG farm which polluted a stream with waste so badly that nothing could live in the water other than fungus and worms has been ordered to pay out almost £7,000 by a Suffolk court.

I found myself asking whether I was fungus or the worm ..

With the well documented illnesses spread by farm produce, and unfiltered pumping for irrigation, it also wouldn’t surprise me that some of these outbreaks weren’t caused by surface water – crapped in by all manner of agriculture, warmed to a lethal temperature, and then sprinkled into your evening meal as spinach, tomatoes, or bell peppers.

The thought of my unsavory boots tromping through your side salad should send an average person screaming in terror – fortunately you’re made of sterner stuff, or only eat meat n’ taters..

It’s fast, durable, light sensitive, and fish love them

It’s more of a preoccupation with efficiency, cheap materials, fast tying, and desirable physics.

Fast sinking flies allow me to cast at the target, and with low water and the increase in algae – it usually means I’m dragging less debris when the fly enters the “eat” zone. “Keeling” the fly so the point rides upwards gives me a slim chance at avoiding the bottom – giving the fly the ability to make contact without being hung or gathering debris and increasing the size of the fly.

 

Me, I just like the color. It’s consistent with my preference for blended dubbing – with multiple component colors present to present fish whatever color he likes best. These are 10/0 Mauve beads with an oily iridescent sheen, presenting multiple colors to a hungry fish, and hopefully inducing him to grab.

I was using these much of yesterday – one of those flies you can tie two dozen an hour; perfect for gifting pals and aggressive casting, where adorning a tree branch means you’re dry eyed and vengeful.

 

I call them “Jelly Bellies” as they’ve got that squishy-translucent, worm look to them. It’s a nice searching pattern with plenty of color – and reacts differently to direct sunlight or indirect lighting. The photo at top is indirect indoor lights, and the above is direct sunlight, note the pronounced rose tint to the glass. The foreground three are tied with a few fibers of aurora blaze Angelina over the top, adding some flash akin to Gary Lafontaine’s Sparkle Pupa.

You could go the “green” route and claim they’re lead free, or please your PETA buddies because everything on the fly is synthetic, but the real value is banging out 3-4 dozen while watching listening to the pundits describe the earthbound spiral of your retirement fund.

I scored these at Joann’s Fabrics, about a buck for a lifetime supply, and trout love them.

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You can have one, but you must renounce your ancestral claim to lands and castle

There’s nothing like the plaintive howl of a youngest son to turn Ma into a baking dynamo, and likely she made older brother eat a bar of Ivory Snow for high-grading the baked goods.

It’s the same rush of adrenalin that allows Mom to lift a car off a child, trifling details like “he’s round as a butterball and could afford to lose 20 pounds,” is lost in the rattle of pans and flurry of baking powder.

The least I could do was take older bro fishing, now that I’d ratted him out, an opportunity to torment him further – dancing just out to fist range – chanting “Ma loves me more’n she loves you..”

Little brothers are pricks even in their dotage.

New water was in order as I was still smarting from Saturday’s outing. We moved upriver to a stretch neither of us had seen, sandwiched between two gravel quarries.

I don’t think the fish had seen a fly before and we had our hands full; smallmouth, largemouth, sunfish, hardhead, and pikeminnow assaulted us in large numbers, mostly smaller fish – and the action was brisk.

“Igneous Rock” was fishing a Manhattan Leech and I started off using a similar fly I call a Jelly Belly, it’s another glass beaded monstrosity using oily rose colored glass beads.

 

The above fish is a Sacramento Sucker in pretty stressed condition, note the copepods attached to the lower extremities. He’s wearing a Jelly Belly, making him a double sucker.

Almost identical to the Pikeminnow, Sacramento suckers are distinguished by a bit more yellow pigmentation, and the lateral line is straight; Pikeminnow have an upward slant to the lateral line at the rear of the gill plate.

 

This time of year water is both low, and extra warm – making fish vulnerable to parasites.

I swapped out the smaller fly for the Little Stinking Olive – I’d had time to produce some variants that had double the lead of the earlier flavor, and added 4 strands of soft crimp Aurora Blaze Angelina to the tail. It’s the dredging version, fast sinking and with a bit of flash to assist in deeper, darker water.

Everything ate it, including bluegill and sunfish.

Older Bro busted off his leech and I palmed a Little Stinking Olive, it was time for some horsetrading. “OK, I’ll give you one of these, but you must renounce all claim to my Lemon cake, there’ll be no ‘tithing’ – no ancestral blood right, no imminent domain issue with the goodies, deal?”

I glanced back his way and saw him with a fish on, “See, I told you!” He paused long enough to call back, “hell, this ain’t the first one, this is the fourth fish..”

It was the scene from “Dances with Wolves” – two fellows separated by an insurmountable gulf of sugary citrus infused plunder, thinking, “Good Trade.”

That little voice we shrug off is always right

There are always warning signs that we choose to ignore, in part due to boundless enthusiasm, in part raw courage. Non fisher types cannot understand our premonitions, as it’s counter to everything they’ve experienced.

We wake up to a traditional western dawn and appreciate the riot of colors and hue, but it starts that unsettling little voice that whispers, “fishless” …

sunrise It’s not that we can’t appreciate beauty, it’s only that we’ve been here so many times – knowing that if everything falls into place, the fish will be absent.

I’d rather wake up in a torrential downpour, or forget my reel, needing something bad at trip’s start to build the karma for something good to happen later.

I peered over the railing of the bridge and the little voice started clamoring – in the absence of all the crap from the horse stable, the water was gin clear and the fish were visible.

Too good to be true, often is just that – and I’m attempting to temper my enthusiasm with unwelcome reality.

No horse crap means clear water and visible fish I tossed everything I had, every oddball experimental and all the proven patterns; weighted, unweighted, dead drift, and stripped, and there was naught to show for my industry.

It was yet another reminder of the perverse nature of fishing, dealing me all aces up until the other fellow caught his flush.

The fish weren’t feeding and likely were on high alert. Without the protective blanket of horse crap from the stable upstream, they weren’t interested in anything thrown their way.

Tomorrow I’ll start by launching my old water heater over the bridge, flies are for sissies.

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Me and my muddy puddle aren’t a demographic

2009 Sage rod It’s all surmisal, but I always blamed BMW for the fetish over the lower case “i”. Rod makers are nearly indistinguishable due to exponential numbers and consonants. “Herd Beasts” as first one, then all of them engage in the practice – not to be outdone.

I’m sure hundreds of slides and dozens of Powerpoint presentations (replete with dancing frogs) show unequivocally that naming a new Sage line, “Bludgeon” lacks the proper fit to the demographic of married women – older than 30, with 2 children, whose median family income was $150,000 and above.

We used to call them “yuppies” in the old days – anyone who gravitated to shiny mechanical objects containing a lower case “i” … BMW was the culprit – and I’m sure marketing genius’s have some telltale statistic proving well-to-do males consider it a pheromone.

If it was that compelling we would have rewritten sizing on women’s underwear, losing the “DD” and adding the “i” – but I don’t ply their craft, so I’m hot air…

I’m Old School, where poetry should rhyme and the letters should mean something. I’ve always been leery of the “Beamer” naming convention, as it’s too close to software versions, “Windows 7 is buggy as hell, but we’ll get it right in Windows 8, trust us…”

At $800 per – I don’t have the luxury of “fool me once” – it’s safer to take a flyer on the Bludgeon 906 (9′ for AFTMA #6) – nomenclature we can feel and understand.

Most of us skipped Math class intentionally, opting for grades less than optimum, yet retaining some small dignity. It could be they’re attempting to confuse us thinking we’ve forgotten the laws governing additive or distributive mathematics.

They’re not far wrong, as asking a fisherman how much his fish cost per pound results in a panic look and vapor lock.

As even the vendors don’t know what their naming convention means, a decision made by some bespectacled fellow from Madison Avenue, here’s a reference guide to aid you in rod selection:

Xi2 (Sage) =  “Xi” is the roman numeral for eleven, times 2 = the age of the advertising executive’s girlfriend. That way he can offer the romantic gesture of gifting her a rod rather than a diamond.

It could also mean “excessive interest” – which is what you’re paying on the card used to purchase it.

VT2 (Sage) = Stands for Vermont, where Sage refiled it’s articles of incorporation. Vermont companies can better resist hostile takeovers via “poison pill” codicles, preventing Shakespeare from eating Sage like a tea crumpet.

IImx (Winston) = (sexual content) not suitable for this site. Gross.

X(raised to the power of)2s (Scott) = (pornographic content). Gross.

T(raised to the power of)2h (Scott) = Stuttering T-t-t-t-aper. Great rod, but the engineer has an outlandish speech impediment.

A(raised to the power of)2 (Scott) = Functioning Alcoholic, on Step 4 of the 12 Step program, likely his sponsor is at wit’s end. The rod lacks taper, as it’s only used as a prop to get out from under the watchful eye of spouse and dependants.

We’ve broached exponents, subscripts, roman numerals, and imaginary numbers, so what’s left other than scientific notation?

The price is certainly worth a second look

Those of you who’ve resisted the Spey phenomenon and are looking for that first rod or subtle nudge to tip you over the precipice, avert your eyes – quickly…

Loop of Sweden

The Loop Rod Company (of Sweden) is one of many rod companies blowing their excess inventory onto eBay, no subterfuge in all of this as they’re actively marketing rod sales via this outlet.

What drew my attention is the Loop Adventure Spey Rod, 13′ 2″, 3 piece, for an AFTMA #9 line. The price is $119, with 154 of them available.

I can’t resist a really good price – and those that are dangling on the edge – unsure of whether the style is suitable for their fishing, and don’t wish to make a multi-thousand dollar commitment – this may be a good way to get your toe in the water.

The rods are mailed directly from the Loop factory in Sweden, and the postage will run you about $30, so the total outlay will be about $150.

I’m sure there are plenty of rods better, this is an overstock of a discontinued model and the price suggests it may be worthy of a second look – something you can smuggle onto your credit card without too much guilt.

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Let’s beard us some prophet, shall we

Tawdry is part of our nature, I suppose it’s because most of last year’s fashion hangs in tree limbs at the high water mark. Trout are supposed to flop out of a snagged rubber boot – yet the updated version prefers stressed Levi’s to cast off vinyl.

Click here for a message from Mr. Trout

Click the above for a subliminal message from Mr. Trout, hisself.

We suspected that wild fish were growing restless, what with all the attention thrown at their coarse cousins in brown water. A steady diet of dry flies quartered upstream is apparently losing it’s appeal. Too much “extended pinkie” to suit wild fish, they all want to go Brownline – where the creative types congregate amid rusting cars and old lawn furniture.

A desperate cry from the clean water, wild fish want out, so the hatchery trash may inherit.

I had no idea female hormones and heavy metal could be so damn compelling.

Thanks, Steve.

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My nomination for the Angling Hall of Fame, and he doesn’t even fish

My new hero It was one of those “Casper Milquetoast” guys, flinging me a magazine across the break room, “You fish, eat Salmon, lose weight.”

I swallowed the urge to squeeze his head until he screamed, figuring I’d get in trouble – and as he beat a pale skinned and hasty retreat, I glanced at the article in question…

It may be divine inspiration, but the deity gifting me is below ground, not above…

Even Oprah has sung the praises of this pink-orange fish on her talk show. What’s the reason for the popularity of the so-called salmon diet? Simple: it works.

Almost every couple has at least one member seeking miracle weight loss, and many consider Oprah to be as great a scientist as Sir Isaac Newton or Stephen Hawking…

Make salmon (or other fatty fish) a regular part of your meal plan. Aim to have fish about 10 times per week, whether in the form of a morning omelet, a lunchtime salad, or a dinnertime fish filet.

Consider the volume of fish necessary for 10 meals a week, and the exhausting effort you’ll have to put forth to provide a steady stream of fresh fish to the premises. Like canned vegetables, store-bought fish are minus all those important vitamins due to freezing and pasteurization …

(wink.) Which means you’ll have to go fishing to catch more. (wink.)

Hell, you might be forced to ignore the lawn, skip the visit from the in-laws, and forswear your afternoon nap.

Heavy, painful, sigh.

I’d salt the premises with unobtrusive yet strategically placed salmon-diet clippings, that way you can’t be accused of leading the mark witness.

I tried it at my house and it worked perfectly, hopefully my girlfriend gets back from fishing soon, I’m almost out of Salmon ..

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With an extra dime on the plate we could switch careers

The vote was fast and unanimous on this bailout With all the hubbub over the bailout plan and diminishing fortunes of our 401K, Congress and the agencies involved may want sage input from outside the Beltway.

I figure all of us are working an additional five years due to current issues; naturally that’ll qualify us to hit the Social Security insolvency right about the time we’ve regained our footing – advancing our retirement age yet another five years …

So, with an additional “dime” added to your sentence, I figure they owe us a couple minutes near the microphone and may want to hear from the angling contingent.

All they’re looking for is the first 700 Billion, and I’m figuring the angling crowd could fix the entire debacle with about ten simple pledges:

I’m willing to give up two of the ferrules on my four piece rod, it’ll make the action smoother, make rod building less expensive, and will bitch-slap the guy that insisted a nine foot rod should fall apart regularly.

I’m willing to tie my flies one size smaller than they should be, allowing me to conserve fur bearing animals, limit my lust for exotic chickens, and will allow me to accumulate cash reserves for economy stimulating large screen TV’s made offshore.

I’m willing to donate the barb from all my hooks, allowing us to restore dilapidated infrastructure, like bridges – saving what wildlands that remains from onerous strip mines and the inevitable federal cleanup funds that follow their creation.

I’m willing to tax my fishing buddies with the resale of intellectual property,  as the sumbitch couldn’t have ever found the spot without my invite;  rather than take only the blame, I’ll want my share in the proceeds as well. This new revenue can augment my damaged 401K to make my retirement a complete crapshoot.

I will work unless I’m sick, and the presence of large ravenous migratory salmonids will no longer hold my health hostage. Figure 1.5 million fly fishermen, 12 days a year minimum, 18 million additional work days devoted to the production of goods and services … Game over.

I foreswear the use of offshore cane, thereby reducing subsidies to foreign warlords and encouraging the domestic hemp industry to grow bigger stems and more seeds. Someone will make a hybrid big enough to plane – until then elitist’s can join the rest of us in suffering.

I will eat what I catch, lowering my subsistence costs, exposing my offspring to the raw purity of hunter-gatherer woodsmanship, and reducing energy costs to my neighbor (and his groaning freezer) as he’s no longer the recipient of my catch.

I will no longer supersize, opting for mid arbor rather than large, or maybe cutting costs and opting for small arbor. My sacrifice will restore precious raw materials to the industrial complex, stimulating native products and restoring their competitiveness in world markets. Arbor size has never really mattered, it’s always been how it’s used..

Just so it’s completely fair – with both us and the government adjusting our combined largesse; make a sweep of the financial district, gather up anyone ordering steak or salmon tartar, carrying a partially filled Starbucks container, or uses the word “play” to describe a stock transaction, hand them a shovel, and point them at New Orleans or South Texas ….