Author Archives: KBarton10

Cell Phone Priest

Just smack 'em with it It’s guaranteed to take the fishing world by storm, a multipurpose gadget we’ll all find indispensable, combining the services of a “priest”, an agreed upon measuring standard, and a digital forum allowing you to torment the fellows back at the office.

…the Singlebarbed “Catch and Release” version substitutes a landing net for the weighted blunt end – not out of any sense of Purism, rather we catch so damn few fish we don’t need it.

Billed as the “longest cell phone in the world” – and just the kind of accouterment to redefine your angling experience. If the testosterone doesn’t flow ample enough simply just tuck it into your wader leg and vie for Alpha Male in the parking lot.

The handy digital display will verify fish length in centimeters, millimeters, or yards, and can snap that hero pose with the built in 7 mega-pixel camera.

Pollute your coworker’s email with a press of a button, but if you called in sick, remember to omit the boss’s address, else you’ve got some ‘splaining to do…

Mayflies responsible for Canary population explosion

The last of the brave birds It’s the burgeoning field of “BioMimicry” – the imitation of natural processes in a man made device. Mayfly gills and their movement appear to be the last great hope for canaries.

A tiny robotic replica of a mayflies gill is likely to replace the old “canary in a coal mine” – as its physical properties and size means it can move both airborne and waterborne particles over a sensor head without inducing a counter current with its movement.

The next step will be to construct a tiny artificial micro-robot that can reproduce the switchable gill action of the mayfly nymph. Such a mechanism could be installed in sensors intended to detect unhealthy air in otherwise stagnant areas, such as in subway stations or mines. If a miniature set of robotic mayfly gill plates can move air over a sensor, potentially harmful substances can be detected faster – and no canaries would be harmed in the process.

It’s a big deal because all manner of unhealthy items live in stagnant dank areas, and the speed the sensor registers means someone has a running start for the exit.

This may cause some consternation for us ardent fishing types, some fellow waving and yelling about BWO’s might be complaining about your Bad Wader Odor.

Oh, Hell – just throw a rock at Mr. CandyAss..

Jonah meets the Whale

The old “big fly, big fish” adage has been part and parcel of fly fishing lore for eons, now the same can be practiced with lure and plug fishermen.

For those rare opportunities when a foot long slab of broom handle festooned with yards of treble hooks just doesn’t cut it – GreatBigStuff.com has a partial solution…

Now even the whales aren't safe

Partial as I’m not quite sure what can throw it effectively, but 5 feet of wiggling fish death is likely to bring an appreciative whistle when you roar up to dockside.

I’d hang it off the arse-end of a boat tethered with water-ski hawser, at $447 each – pray you don’t snag it on a tree trunk.

The 20-inch spoon is no slouch, offering the angler a lethal change-up – or a spare anchor, depending on your mood..

To be on the careful side I’d toss in a couple extra jerry-cans of fuel – that’s a lot of drag to overcome.

Work first, play later, Mr. Wharton

Team USA I thought the biggest challenge for a CEO was making the company profitable, increasing market share, and ensuring their stockholders were rewarded by their investments.

Most of the news coming from Wall Street suggests otherwise, enormous compensation not tied to any real performance metric, declining stock prices and exposure to “Sub Prime” combining to earn them the boot.

In addition to focusing on the really important stuff, we’ve earned their attention via CEOchallenges.com – where the privileged “boy’s club” gets to flex their sporting muscle in the contest of their choosing.

I’m not bitter, just concerned that one of these sweet smelling types will break a fingernail is all …

On behalf of each CEO who registers for this event, 50 percent of net proceeds will be donated to Fly Fishing Team USA, which finished eighth in the 2008 World Championships in New Zealand in March. “For Challenge winners, accompanying Team USA in Scotland is a great opportunity to meet the greatest anglers on the planet as well as make connections for future fishing worldwide,” said Buchner. “Participants can join us for team meals, assist us with charting, team scouting, and fish with team members during unofficial practice sessions.”

I recognize the value of corporate sponsorship and how precious dollars are need to defray the costs to the talented fishermen that earn their berth, but it still gives me the “creeps.”

Having guided a lot of privileged corporate types in the “C-Class”, almost none could cast or tie on their fly without assistance. Team USA likely needs scouts and chart help, but not from a fellow that wakes up at 11:00 AM and insists on gluten-free wheat toast.

I’m guilty of a gross generalization, and am unashamed.

I’m looking for parity is all, you dabble in my beloved sport, distracting my anglers with company logos and gimcracks unrelated to the fishing, I want to run your company for six weekends a year …

That is a challenge worthy of your metal, Mr Wharton…

Note: Below is the graph of the stock prices of the larger companies participating in CEO Challenge. 

Going Down, Mr Wharton?

Thankfully they don’t allow CDO’s to participate, some of these companies have tons of those..

Technorati Tags: , , ,

Stren, wrapped around a pencil and aged would be my guess

It always takes a decade for us colonials to adopt what everyone else is doing; Spey casting is the latest in a long line of European imports that took us a couple hundred years to find a use for… The first hundred was spent claiming we invented it, and the second hundred we kept at arm’s length when proven we didn’t. 

The Coiled strike indicator

Anglers always drag their feet when faced with change, “Naw, we’ll never use that stuff ..”  then they adopt it with the ferocity of enraged wolverine on road kill. I’d always assumed that our reluctance was due to the “relaxing pastime” label for fishing, which eschews latest, greatest, and trendy.

I keep an eye cocked on angling sites in Europe, never knowing whether something they’re doing is going to dominate my fishing shortly. Fish and Fly has always been a favorite read, they seem to have a good feel for gadgets, tactics, and the oddball trend that fits neither.

They’ve got a series of articles on “Fishing the Frontier” – and the latest installment was about Spain, wherein the author participated in an angling tourney. The descriptions of the tackle used by the professionals caught my eye, as he’s bemoaning the 10′ #4 as being too short:

Bear in mind that a 10’ rod is short by modern standards among European competition river fishermen. 11’ is almost standard now, for a 3 weight line, and this affords much better control of the leaders up to 8 metres that are commonly used at this level.

That’ll galvanize the American rod makers into action, as there’s nothing  better than a trend that “forces” you into a new rod. I’ve always leaned toward long rods, but anything over  9.5′ has always been exceptional, never the norm. As described, these competition rods may be a reversal of the “20 billion modulus” fast tip  – as an 11′ #3 would be a very supple, slow action rod.

The article has some interesting notes on leader construction, and for the gadget freaks, meet the coiled strike indicator ..  It may be the perfect use for that spool of five year old Maxima you found under your desk..

It’s not a Kiss and Tell, more like a Curse and Tell

SMJ's Parachute Mayfly Singlebarbed’s Chief Correspondent of Harsh Language and Hard Luck Stories, “San Mateo Joe”, reports back from last week’s Upper Sacramento foray.

Joe tells it better than I ever could:

I had good luck and a good time on the Upper Sac, with one exception: day one, on my first trip down to the river, the dry felt on my wading boots came into contact with some dry pine needles that were covering the rocks, and down on my fat ass I went. I suffered no damage, but the Orvis fly rod I was carrying snapped neatly above the cork. (There’s no “R” on the cork, so Orvis has agreed to repair or replace it, free of charge.) I wasn’t carrying an extra rod, so I peeled a bunch of line off the reel, and after putting the reel into the top of my waders, I managed to do a decent job of covering the river with the long end of the stick. My brother then showed up and lent me his backup rod – a telescoping contraption he usually takes whenever he goes backpacking. I ended up catching lots of fish, all on a parachute mayfly pattern – probably the best evening I’ve ever had on the Upper Sac. 

Singlebarbed shakes up them snooty types

A few days later I headed over to the McCloud with a friend of mine. I’d never been there before, and I must say it’s a beautiful river. We camped at Ah Di Nah, and fished the river below the campground that night. There were large stoneflies everywhere, but I didn’t see any fish coming up for them, so I tied on a size 18 mayfly cripple. Hooked seven, landed four. My buddy who was fishing nymphs got skunked. The next morning we went down to the Nature Conservancy. It was a beautiful day, but tough fishing. I only managed five hookups; two to hand. Both took an ostrich herl soft hackle. My buddy’s a much better nymph fisherman than I am, and proved it by out-fishing me four to one. We checked the log at the end of the day, and most reported getting skunked, so I didn’t feel too bad.

Hope you enjoy the attached photo. The Conservancy looked like it could use a little class.

SMJ's Ostrich Herl Soft Hackle

Proof that Singlebarbed readers are of superior stock, not by birthright – merely ingenuity forged in the cold bosom of Mercury, adversity, and greasy filling station breakfasts. In our book, “SMJ” stands for “Suddenly MacGyver Junior” – but the scorch marks on the surrounding trees suggest his show is for mature audiences, or at least those episodes where he breaks another rod…

Joe was gracious enough to include the flies that worked, that little soft hackle caddis looks like a dandy.

The Lost Graveyard of Carp remains inviolate

“Big Yellow fish jumping out of the water” was all I needed to hear, I knew what A.Wannabe.TravelWriter had stumbled on – the Lost Carp Graveyard, a rumored oasis of gigantic and hungry fish aching to have someone fling something sharp at them.

I’d missed the “Creek Walk” last weekend with my tomato-induced ailment, TravelWriter had made the trek and mentioned seeing lots of big fish upstream of my normal haunts. This was uncharted territory somewhere in the vicinity of Capay Dam, near Esparto.

 

Capay Dam of Cache Creek

It’s largely private property, but the streambed afforded us the opportunity to stay below the high water mark, offering its usual thin veneer of legality.

The Little Stinking has little current this time of year, most of the water is being diverted into the crisscross of aqueducts spreading it throughout the county. The diversions were brim-full, leaving the creek bed a semi-stagnant, overly warm, trickle of water.

Travel writer's always poke the mattress “The Palisades” was about a mile above our access point, a manmade riprap of sofa pillows filled with concrete. It’s an awkward looking structure akin to a giant mattress, with metal pylons and heavy cargo net slung between – designed to slow debris or catch it, I’m not sure which.

Travel writers are always compelled to test the mattress, and while I’m alert to fish, he’s busy making notes on firmness and accoutrements. I took his scowl to mean the Proprietor was short sheeting the bed..

The lack of fish life was a bit unsettling, no sign of anything feeding, despite an ample Trico spinner fall – and no visible fish in either the main channel or in the slack water under the overhanging branches. I’d expected something akin to what I normally fish, a mixture of terrain and fish interspersed with burned out vehicles and abandoned lawn mowers.

It looked like Carp water – the kind of water that holds nothing else, no current and little cover means it’s likely oxygen starved and unable to support much invertebrates or a diverse population of fish.

The Hero pose But there was evidence enough – hard evidence that brooks little argument and gives the river its piquant bouquet.

I wanted to snag it and blur the picture enough to make it “live again” – but TravelWriter had both principles and scruples. That’s unconscionable in a real angler, but as it was only his third outing with a fly, I had to make allowances.

I figure he’s one complimentary trip away from sharing our “relaxed” sense of fair play, so we tucked the carcass in a safe spot in case we needed it next time.

Farther upstream the “big yellow fish” mystery was illuminated. The river was quite murky but shallow, and the silhouettes of fish were everywhere. Big pods of 8-15lb carp were alternating coming out of the water and raising big puffballs of mud.

Spawning behavior, and I was heartbroken.

I’d seen this on the reaches closer to town and knew they wouldn’t eat or respond to anything put in front of them. The big females would come out of the river headfirst making an enormous splash, and while I couldn’t see into the mud plume, I assumed she was using her tail to build a nest – and propelling herself out of the water in the process.

One big Scale imbedded on a #8 hook TravelWriter and I threw an assortment of flies and stinging insults, but other than getting splashed by hormonally challenged fish – we had no action. I stung one fish and had a brief lift of spirit – but an examination of the fly revealed it’d been foul hooked. Note the size of the scale, and  think about the bend that horse would’ve done to my anemic little 5 weight..

Capay Dam proved to be the Lost Graveyard of Carp, and the small impoundment below the dam had 50 large fish with no interest in flies whatsoever.

I’m really not sure what I would have done with 25 pounds of carp headed downstream, but blistered fingers would’ve been apropos with the pair forming on my feet.

It was another adventure, and we emerged from the underbrush like Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow, supplies non-existent, torn and beaten, feet bandaged, and ready for a nap.

Nope, you’d be working three jobs and resent everyone else with a smaller mortgage

Too large a mortgage for my comfort I was out the door before first light hoping to reacquaint myself with more Shad; I was laid up last week so I picked an access point at random hoping I could “slop” my way into fish…

“Slop fishing” is the time honored method of crystal ball gazing, wherein the angler takes a lottery-like chance at actually catching something – figuring “there’s water there, it’s got to hold fish.”

For resident fish it works swimmingly, for migratory fish it works not at all, part of the reason Old Guys stay in the truck and young guys don’t.

Through weakness or ardor, I failed to consult the river gauge while loading the vehicle – and gazing at the now swollen torrent Poppa’s words rang in my ear, “Kid, if you don’t use your head – you’ll have to use your back.”

He was off by a foot, and I was arse-deep after tip toeing only 20 feet from the bank, and waist deep after a step further. I dutifully sprayed a shooting head over the water ahead of me, but outside of the fervent hope that deeper water meant the fish were closer, it was a vain attempt.

I chewed on my lower lip and contemplated the “Great Unforgivable” – the mystery that all fishermen puzzle over throughout their angling career – why it is that people with palatial homes on the river, never use it …

Every fishermen faces this quandary, resolving that “if it were my house, I’d look over the terrace, grab a rod, and kick some butt.” The reality is that with a mortgage that size you have to work weekends, and fishing is something you’ll get back to after your second heart attack.

See you on the public side ..

Her sunburn matched the flame coming out of her nose, I knew it was destiny

No, you ...you can't use my Sage It was the title that seemed out of place, “Escape to Montana’s Firehole Ranch for a Romantic Fly Fishing Getaway.”

I sat and pondered, scratched my chin and still came up blank – romance and fly fishing just doesn’t fit in the same sentence, I get the same nagging discomfort as if I’d ended a sentence absent a preposition ..

Divorce and fly fishing rolls off the tongue as if made for one another, and while “romance of fly fishing” is lyrical – it’s still unsettling. I just can’t figure how two predators can make nice long enough for a second date.

Naturally I’m thinking of the neo-primitive-archaic flavor taught to us by Mom, who stressed all the old school pointers; hold the barbwire down so she can trespass easily, look attentive when she’s attempting to talk over the roar of the fast water, try to smooth the boot print off the beef jerky before offering her some, and for that special  moment – intertwine arms when lathering on bug repellant.

I’m hoping in-stream romance has been updated since Ma gave me the basics, as I’m at a loss whether to throw an elbow when racing her for the pocket water, and the proper epithet to hurl when she says her fish was this big, and I’m convinced she lying.

Any gal I’d want to date would have a vocabulary of a Longshoreman, would shower almost as often as I did, might get squeamish if a limb was missing, and have the ethics of lukewarm toothpaste – why else would I take them fishing?

Then it hit me …

I, like you, would’ve proposed after she said, “I love fly fishing” – and if she didn’t laugh outright – we’d be newlywed’s – I could throw elbows, call her an outright lying SOB, and toss rocks at fish in front of her.

The theory is sound but the reality could be a profit oriented gamble, the Firehole Ranch might be gearing up for same-sex marriage traffic, and as I’m unfamiliar with their courtship ritual, it could be a cash cow..

The Spinners in Spain fall mainly on the Plain

Fly tying under the Klieg Microscope It’ll be a spectacle akin to a Mafia Trial – dapper gentlemen holding the camera at bay with a folded newspaper or jacket pulled over the head to avoid embarrassment.

Fly tiers will become reticent and temperamental, shielding their work from the prying lens of HDTV, adopting large amorphous sunglasses to evade the paparazzi, and expounding the virtue of modesty.

A Pullman, Washington television studio has started filming a fly tying series in High Definition TV:

“The first time we worked in high definition, the show’s talent noticed the difference immediately,” said Don Peters, senior planning engineer for KWSU Media. “They couldn’t believe the detail they were seeing on the screen. We were able to show the individual fibers of the flies and really capture a richness of details that is so important to the avid fly fisherman.”

To the artist that means every misplaced rib, lumpy abdomen, anemic wing, and errant tuft of dander will be showcased prominently – they’ll be blushing profusely and backpedaling desperately to get out of the stark glare of the Kleig lights.

The rest of us will be completely ignorant of the artist’s inner turmoil, wondering why all the best tiers stutter so damn much… No more wiping your nose with a shirt sleeve, from now on it’s a speech coach and pancake makeup for you.

Technorati Tags: , ,