Author Archives: KBarton10

Let’s hear it for the "unsung" hero, as he needs some "love" as well

2008 World Fly Fishing Championship

Fips-Mouche is over and Team USA concludes this year’s World Fly Fishing Championship with a best ever eighth place finish . Overall winner was the Czech Team, with New Zealand and France as the 2nd and 3rd place finishers.

But it’s the “unsung hero” of the US Team that needs the love, some nameless fellow sitting in a stuffy hotel room tieing flies for everyone else. All them heroic anglers popping champagne corks, and the fly tyer is left to toil in obscurity. I sure hope one of them stalwarts brought him a cheese sandwich from the buffet.

It’s an old story – “Jocks take the Prom Queen to the dance”, but the bespectacled guy that helped with the Chemistry final is dateless and forgotten.

In 2005 Loren Williams from New York was chosen as the first fly tier on Team USA. He traveled to Sweden to participate. Prior to leaving he tied over 1,000 flies based on intensive research on what his team members would need. Weather conditions just prior to contest demanded all new patterns which had to be identified, designed and tied…

…Loren has subsequently decided to try out for the team as an angler for the 2006 Championship in Portugal.

I can’t find any mention of this year’s tyer but imagine his predicament; a weeklong trip to the finest trout water on Earth, and if he reaches for a rod, his hand gets slapped…

I couldn’t do it – and I love my country more’n most…

If some fellow burst into my hotel room exclaiming, “Bob says the Wooly Buggers have a tiny bit too much yellow, needs more lead, and wants 3 dozen right away!” I would pull on my vest and retort, “Tell Bob he’s a prima donna and him and his tailing loop can park it where the Sun don’t shine..”

Indentured servitude always was a contract for seven years dozen – and once on the water it’s always been Everyman-for-hisself, no?

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Maybe the kids homework can wait

Daddy will be out when he feels like it It’s not about sitting down to crank out some flies, it’s about sitting down unmolested to crank some flies.

The machined equivalent of Superman’s Fortress of Solitude, and the only approved locking arrangement for your Mancave.

The “Defendius” door security has only one caveat – don’t install it unless your bathroom is part of the secure area.

Mazes are a bad thing when you’re in a panic.

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The "Shrek Trout" a merit badge for the adventurous

The Asfar (Yellow) troutAnother exotic venue to add to your list as the rarest of all trout will debut next year in Dubai.  Genetically engineered to thrive in higher water temperatures, the “Asfar Trout” (Yellow Trout) will be featured on the two community islands of The World, and also the freshwater lagoon of the new Dreamworks theme park, which broke ground earlier this year.

Strict angling regulations have been adopted to preserve the resident fish – and “no take” permits are only available to residents of the The World and vacationers staying in the penthouse suite of the theme park hotel.

The product of extensive genetic manipulation, the Asfar Trout gains it’s tolerance for warm water from the “Hamour” – a local grouper found only in salt water. Hamour and Rainbow trout make up the bulk of the genetic variant and tendencies from both species have been noted.

Fisheries biologists are keenly interested as this variant retains some of the migratory instincts of the steelhead trout, yet laboratory tests shows the “Ham-Trout” variant infertile. With ready access to salt water – the real  question is where will it migrate..

“Opening Day” will be April 2009, and if you’re staying at the hotel, you’d be a fool not to take advantage.

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There’s fish, bait, and hundred dollar bills

Like licking the glass of an empty aquarium I always thought there were only two kinds of fish, those worth throwing flies at  – and bait. “Bait” is a slim category as us hardened Californians pride ourselves on being culinary “shock troops” – we gleefully ingest gastronomic foibles, delicacies, and taboo, which doesn’t leave much in the way of undesirable chow.

I’ve tried the cheap stuff and it’s bait. Despite the clever little cracker, cracked ice, and delicate silver spoon, it just didn’t muster any reaction from me other than “empty an aquarium, butter it, then lick the glass.”

We’re talking caviar, a delicacy foisted on us by folks that fermented potatoes for liquor.

Them same lads are proposing a 5 year moratorium on Black Sea sturgeon fishing to preserve the nearly extinct remnants of the Beluga Sturgeon. The US banned importation in 2005, although a lively Black Market still exists.

Poaching of sturgeon has become a $1 billion-a-year business largely in the hands of organized crime. As a result, the fish faces extinction in the Caspian Sea, home to 90 percent of the world’s sturgeon. Russian sturgeon farms in major Caspian ports such as Astrakhan have tried to revive the fish’s population, but the massive amount of overfishing in the Caspian has made replenishment a losing battle.

At nearly $5000 dollars per pound, the Black Sea’s sturgeon are among the most lucrative poaching targets in the world. Now that the Russian government is looking at a worldwide moratorium, the price will become higher.

Is this the same fate we’ll endure with the paltry remnants of the pacific salmon stocks? Next month yields the initial closure and many suggest may be of two year’s duration.

A thriving Black Market will result, led by all those fancy restaurateurs who insist Wild fish are some much more flavorful than farmed. It’s a double whammy to the Dept of Fish and Game as they’re woefully understaffed and now both sturgeon and salmon will be prized poaching targets.

It may be a test of your ethics as so many fish will be hooked fishing for something else. In poor economic times in a depressed community, that’s a hundred dollar bill on the end of your line.

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Explain "Catch and Release" to the Judge

Do your explaining here It’s absence is glaring and with all the hand wringing over the decline in hunters and fisherman, no mention that less of us may help things, after all, we’re the barbarians putting pressure on declining populations – why no uptick in critters?

Politicians and the Captains of Industry may like our dwindling numbers – as we’re one of those gadfly groups that complain bitterly about exploitation of natural assets, and have upset the applecart on many occasions.

The Eco-fringe has insisted repeatedly that we’re the root of all evils, but they too are silent. Statistics on the decline of licenses have existed for the last decade – and if there’s less of us, why no small restorative effect?

I can only conclude that we’re not the reason for much of this mess, and despite the blood on our hands, we’re among the least offensive of the predatory groups.

We all know our license dollars assist in wildlife management and fund wardens, most of these agencies are “on the ropes” – as their funding has been hammered twice; they’re the first to take cuts in bad economic times, and there’s less of us to make up that gap.

The Fish Geek points out that less of us means less conservation dollars, less restorative projects, and states are scrambling to unlink wildlife budgets from license sales. Gasoline tariffs, sales taxes, and speeding tickets are being contemplated as a replacement.

I’m thinking the silver lining in all this is everyone else that swears we’re beasts now gets to put their money where their mouth’s been.

We’ll still buy our licenses and contribute more than anyone else, but “85 in a 65” means more trout, and that might be worth it.

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Seems innocent enough until you try to breathe

Hexagenia Limbata Car Cover I remember seeing a documentary on this years ago, where they left on the overhead lights of a gas station to observe a Mississippi river Hex hatch.

So many bugs were attracted it took half a day  to clear the parking lot using bulldozers.

Fishing would be out of the question, as I’m not sure you could draw a breath of air in the crush of mating mayflies. A short loop of the National Weather Service radar shows a 90 minute hatch – and the airborne phenomenon the Mississippi can produce.

“Some roads across the Mississippi River in and around La Crosse were covered with bugs, piling into ‘drifts’ on bridges over the Mississippi River and its tributaries,” the National Weather Service reported. “Local businesses with high intensity lighting soon found large piles of dead mayflies accumulating under the lights by midnight.”

I see two dozen adults and get excited, my guess is you see the first couple drift by and you’re yelling for your buddy to run for his life.

All you’d need is Tippy Hedron running by headed for a phone booth…

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I just wanted to share the suffering equitably

The battle between Man and Fish It started innocently enough, a brief piece on Carp fishing on the Monument water in the UK. The proprietor has banned the use of maggots as they provide little nourishment to the trophy fish that inhabit the impoundment.

Boilies and pellets will now be the only two baits allowed at the fishery, as they are known to contain far more weight-gaining proteins than any other anglers’ baits.

It’s Singlebarbed custom to pounce on anything worthy of a giggle – and a lot of stuff that’s unworthy, but I was a little put off that I have to watch what I eat and fish don’t? 

This coming opener half of you will be fishing over planted fish, and with all of the medical community conspiring to deny us everything that feels or tastes good, why wouldn’t we look at what fish are eating to maximize the angling experience?

Excluding their surroundings and everything else up to the hook set, what part of the fish-Man battle is the best part?

I’d figure some anglers love the sound of the reel screaming, some prefer an aerial display, many like the bulldog tug of war of a fish headed for deeper water, perhaps a sick bastard even loves the head shakes that reverb up the line from a fish below you – knowing that fly is perilously close to being dislodged..

Our license fees pay for much of the hatchery program, and specific species are selected to ensure a hardy strain of planted trout, but is that going far enough? “Trout Chow” is something swept off the floor at the granary, mixed with leftover vitamin supplements from Cheerios and Wonder bread, I’m thinking a couple extra bucks might yield tenacious whippets that smash tackle, demean fishermen, and cause Mom to pull her dumpling back from the water’s edge.

We’ve got all that Human Growth Hormone confiscated from the cyclists and baseball players, and since you’ve no plans to eat any of this brood – why not add a couple gallons to the pond?

Plenty of science remains and you can help; we’ll leave the precise mixture to the folks that know best, but we’ll  need to tell them what fighting property to enhance – unless you want to go the dementia route, in which case “fat fish in their 40’s” will do…

{democracy:3}

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Are you really that good or was your guide wearing a whistle?

Science gone awry, now it’s torch and pitchfork time…

I yawned at the stem cell debate and didn’t blink at the prospect of genetic manipulation of crops, but Pavlovian fish sounds like something worth firebombing a clinic or two. Fish taught to swim into a net when a tone is sounded – it’s every guide’s dream and our worst nightmare rolled into one.

What’s next, teaching them to coat themselves in batter and hop inside a fryer?

The theory is simple throw farm fish into the ocean and have them swim back to be fed, while they’re not looking smack some with a hammer and wrap them in plastic.

The bigger goal is to defray the costs of fish farming, an increasingly important source of the world’s seafood. If fish can be trained to return to the farmer after feeding in the open ocean for several days, farms could save money on feed and reduce the amount of fish waste released in concentrated areas.

If this catches on – what canny guide wouldn’t start planting fish in his home water? Tough day with clients and drop the iPod earpiece overboard playing “the secret Tone.”

Why stop there? If you can get them to come to the boat, you might as well get them to rise a lot and jump periodically for added attraction. Imagine how clients will revere you when you glance at the water, stroke your chin, and pronounce, “..that weedbed at 9:00 has a ton of large fish..” – who could resist abusing that much raw power…

He also expects large numbers of released fish to be lost to predators.

This is like everyone on the block using the same frequency on their garage door opener, if I hear you humming while chumming – I’m likely to harvest your entire crop..

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8e-vgQSqNtA[/youtube] 

Sorry this tone’s taken …

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It’s a good clean sport, must be all that 409 were using

Bush meets Bassmaster winners Now that professional BASS fishermen have gained audience with the President, can the Rapala lobby be far behind?

I’m just not sure any branch of government is ready for campaign contributions from rubber worm and smokeless chaw manufacturers, the Fly Fishing lobby is Old School – legislators are used to fine meals, finer wines, and envelopes slipped across the table in napkins.

Good Old Boys don’t play fair.

They neither look nor act like the Beltway crowd. Homespun wit is a better sound bite, and a firm sweaty grip on the handshake coupled with the use of two first names sure lacks sinister.

Bush pronounced it “a good, clean sport . . . that requires good conservation in order to make sure our fisheries are good.”

More power to ’em. I’m guessing that a guided trip on Lake Okeechobee will not even make the radar of an auditor, and compared to a chartered Parisian junket to foster better relations, will cost the taxpayers less to boot.

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That lean whippet was last year, Butterball

Spring is like Christmas, before you know it the Redbud starts to pop and you realize Trout season is here and all the chores you promised you’d do remain unfinished. It’s a horrific marathon of nailing, mowing, plumbing, and painting, supplemented by moaning and Ben Gay. All this to avoid the “lump of coal” in your stocking when you announce your pending absence and trout pilgrimage.

That’s why they call it Redbud

Like you I learn the hard way and when you’re at altitude that lean whippet shows itself false as your legs wobble and your wind starts to sputter.

I ran the Little Stinking this weekend to see what changes the floods had wrought. Fish are starting to appear, the weeds are starting to grow on the newly scoured bottom, and every mile I crunch through means additional freeboard on the float tube.

That’s the part you forget each year – and you’re reminded of mortality on Opening Day. All them rainy Sunday’s watching football took last season’s lean predator and softened him up. Add a 3000 feet of elevation and waist high current and you’ll find out how soft, them Cheetos and dip you pounded during the Superbowl come back to haunt you.

I prep with the Little Stinking’s StairMaster, a 300 yard stretch of 30″ deep water, and if you can take the entire run midstream without pausing, you’re getting close to the shape needed for your Blueline creek.

Mr Sore Mouthed Bass lives here

I had a pocketful of streamers from the Gunfire Lake adventure, my little 5 weight groaned in protest but I managed to get all that lead airborne.

This is the Big Bass stretch, and the clay formations in midstream offer plenty of ambush points and shadow.

4X tippet and 20 turns of 2amp fuse wire is a really poor idea, I knew it was trouble when a large shadow detached itself from the clay bank and inhaled the “Angry Sunfish” I was twitching.

Two head shakes and the tippet parts – and while I curse myself for a fool, a five pound largemouth comes clear out of the water with Angelina fibers glittering in its jaw.

Both of us had forgotten all the painful lessons of last season; he hadn’t gnawed on “fake minnows” in six months – and I’d forgotten the hinge that develops with too fine a leader and too big a hook.

This Angry Sunfish vanished on the next cast

The sting of failure was shortlived, and while I was snapping my fly rod into 47 pieces and chewing my protruding lower lip – I realized that was a damp dollar bill circling slowly in the eddy with my running line.

Will wonders never cease?

I didn’t argue, I slipped the good fortune into a dry pocket and resolved to bring more flies next time.

Every trip is a worthy experience, even if you learn only what not to do. Most of the lessons and hard knocks of last season are forgotten, and that calf-searing-at-altitude hike you’re remembering fondly is because you forgot the numerous stops to blow…

You got about a month to get into fighting shape, Sluggo – now drop and give me twenty!

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