Author Archives: KBarton10

That’s OK, we slept since then

It's We ate all the big stuff, most of the medium sized stuff, and we’re working on the small stuff now. Next comes the really small stuff, those critters so important to the food chain that their absence upsets the entire apple cart.

West coast salmon virtually collapsed this year despite our best lip service, we said we were conserving them like a sumbitch – and industry estimates backed our play. Then the bottom fell out – and everyone shrugs their shoulder and points at “not enough krill” – we were managing the take just fine.

Now they’re suctioning Krill – mostly because of the health benefits associated with Omega 3 fatty acids; you take a couple tons of the fundamental building block of the entire saltwater food chain, mash it up and add some Yellow Dye #3 – puke that into capsule form and serve it up to an aging overweight population as a miracle cure for what ails them.

Naturally the estimates of Krill populations vary depending on whether your livelihood is derived from their capture; scientists estimate 100 million tonnes, and the fishing industry claims there’s five times that amount.

Me, I see it as simple genetic manipulation, akin to the same stuff various organizations protest most violently. In the one case, we’re tinkering in an area best left to Divinities, and in the other – screw them, they’re just  salt water insects nobody’s exploiting yet.

It’s a kind of unknowing hypocrisy, what they really fear is we’ll unleash a biological atom bomb that’ll destroy the Earth in a couple of weeks, whereas destroying the Earth in a couple of decades is just fine.

I don’t get it.

Egghead scientists and eco-radicals get on the Telly – and once they start frothing the rest of us turn the channel. Normal folks are excluded from the same exposure because they don’t froth at the mouth, and make poor sound bites.

That leaves me, a semi-literate SOB wading up a polluted creek thrilled to catch 3″ fish that no one else wants, knowing that next year they’ll be 2″ – and fewer.

Just remember, Soylent Green is made from People…

3:10 to Yolo

It was “The Last Train to Gunfire Lake” yesterday, with me and the  “Wiggletail Kid” for backup.

The Local Militia can be had for JuJubee's and a Baby Ruth

The howitzer was a new twist, but the Kid and I bartered our safe passage; a battered Baby Ruth and a handful of Juju-bees for a day’s fishing.

The lake was murky but airless, and while I’m pumping up my ancient float tube, Kelvin (Wiggletail Kid) is doing pirouettes complemented by Force Fins, and underwater fish finding gear. He’s out of rock range, and there’s little I can do but make threatening gestures.

I see his net come out and a 14″ Kokanee falls victim to an Olive J.Fair Wiggletail nymph. I was hoping to wean him off the fly (as it’s the only fly he carries) but he’s thumbing his nose at me  – knowing the wake of his passing is enough to cause me consternation.

I’m one Oreo cookie away from being the Edmund Fitzgerald; the combination of lard arsed angler, old style tube, and gear has made my freeboard less than optimal.

The gut I was working on already, but I resolved to get a new float tube – mine was the original Mountain Trader circa 1988, and it’s time to let the Old Girl pass peacefully.

The Kokanee proved a fluke, the cocoa colored water was impenetrable, and despite our best efforts nothing else showed. I lost a couple streamers to underwater branches, and Kelvin donated similar.

The Creek arm was clear and blue

The wind hit at 10:00AM, and with waves breaking over the windward side of the tube – I lost no time getting to shore.

I had a chance to speak to some other anglers that inquired how we did, and found the southern access had been restored – but the water was as murky there as it was on the northern arm. No one seems to know what’s causing the discoloration, and fishing has been poor all Spring.

I took Kelvin on a quick tour of the North Fork, which won’t open until the end of April, and as the creek arm was clear, we fiddled around for a bit. Kelvin caught a 12″ Rainbow Trout on the Wiggletail – and I’m keeping an eye on a fire building on the eastern rim of the lake, no air tankers showed so I assumed it a BLM controlled burn.

The east ridge was our way out – and brush burns fast and hot even in Spring. The idea of meeting a strike team of wildland engines on that narrow canyon road was a bit daunting, and as the fishing was slow we beat a hasty retreat.

Getting outfished isn’t as painful as it sounds, I’ll have to recount the deeds at work and invent a few superlatives, but focusing on his fish will be less painful than drawing attention to my gut…

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At least he tried, that’s more than I can say for the Tooth Fairy

While fishing I always am eyeballing “sign” – bird tracks, beaver tail drag marks, cloven hoof prints, you name it. It’s all part of the outdoors mystique, and occasionally might alert you to something worth knowing.

The Easter Bunny made the attempt, knowing my passion for jellybeans, but like usual I was waist deep in some toxic brew completely oblivious to its presence.

The Easter Bunny done crappled here

…but he left ample sign, and now some undeserving, angelic, rug-rat is scarfing my candy.

Ah well, at least it was thinking of me..

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I own a piece of history – albeit a dirty little piece

My little piece of historyThere’s not much I can say other than “..at least mine’s natural.”

I’ve been researching maps on creeks and impoundments in my area, looking for those less traveled places that may hold something special. I’ve found a brown trout stream and a couple small lakes off the beaten path – but the most persistent thread through all of this landscape is Mercury.

Lots and lots of it – and I’m sitting on the motherlode.

The Clear Lake / Cache Creek drainage has been mined for Mercury for more than a century, in fact, during the California Gold Rush – much of the Mercury used to extract the gold ore was garnered from my little crick and it’s surrounding watershed.

A toxic Superfund site still exists in the Oak Creek arm of Clear Lake, the source of the heavy water I’ve mentioned in the last couple of months, it was responsible for 150 tons of Mercury leaching into that impoundment – and each winter is released into the Little Stinking, stirring up the streambed in the process.

The mine was closed in 1957, leaving a hole
that began filling with water from creeks and
geothermal springs. Dubbed the Herman
Impoundment, the “lake” covers 23 acres
amid 120 acres of mine tailings and waste
rock. Because it sits higher than the level of
Clear Lake, contaminated waters from the
impoundment leach into the Lake.

During the 1970s and 1980s, it was discovered
that catfish and bass in Clear Lake had
elevated levels of mercury, and fish advisories
were put into effect. In 1990 the property
was designated an EPA Superfund Site, and
it is currently the largest mercury Superfund
site in the nation.

Abandoned Mercury mines dot each of the local tributaries adding to the ecological burden, as runoff sluices multiple sources into one large slug of “yummy” that ends up in San Francisco Bay.

“Brownlining” may not appropriate any longer, now that I discovered the silver lining of my creek.

I may take a look at Herman Impoundment as it’s likely to host great dry fly fishing, 30 turns of 2-Amp lead wire would skitter across the surface without even getting damp.

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Long on waders and short on boats

Mussel encrusted pipe In a surprise move for Southern California anglers, water agencies have closed a number of local lakes to boat use. Fearing the spread of Quagga mussels and concerned about the liability of clearing pumps and intakes, authorities in four counties have banned all boat traffic from  lakes Casitas, Westlake, Wolford, and Cachuma.

They consume so much plant life that the water turns clear, allowing sunlight to stimulate the growth of a blue-green algae that can cause taste and odor problems in drinking water..

We’re not overly surprised, it’s a foregone conclusion that reliable drinking water will beat out anglers or migratory fish, it may put a crimp in boat sales over the long term.

“My water district customers are not going to feel good about paying for something that is introduced by recreational activities over which they have no control,” Charles Hamilton, general manager of the Carpinteria Valley Water District, told Santa Barbara County officials.

We think of “aquatic hitchhikers” as a nuisance, requiring a pungent yet brief dose of Formula 409 or bleach, but the inability to remove them once entrenched may hold larger ramifications in the future.

While it’s not likely to include a cavity search in the parking lot by sterile technicians wielding canisters of Agent Orange, most of the foreign hosts have been “friendly” – at some point that may not be the case.

Some large arsed toothy sumbitch laying on the bottom waiting for you to take your sweater off – because it likes emergers ..

How heroic would the pose be if he knew it was dinner?

Grip and Grin, hunter-gatherer style It’s the “Great Unmentionable” the tacit understanding between sporting gentlemen that masks the awful truth, you don’t like the slimy, wriggly, bastards – and would never consider them table fare.

Watching a documentary on the human brain the other night, and it recounts the tale of a fellow that survived 89 days at sea, how he ate his way to good health (from near starvation) on a diet of raw fish liver and eyeballs.

“The liver’s were like dessert.”

I’m stuffing my gut with dinner while hanging on every word, knowing that tales of starvation always go better with a hearty meal, and the thought comes unbidden that this is where we went wrong.

This is why the fly fishing zealots  clash horribly with the gentile participants, why Donny Beaver covets our water, and why the mainstream media panders to the Starbuck and Croissant crowd.

We need to eat our prey, maybe stomp life out of it midcurrent, with horrified tourists shielding the eyes of their children. We need to resurrect the “Bloodsport” label.

The only thing keeping this from being the best fish I’ve ever had,” he said, “is that I didn’t catch it.”

I eat fish – lots of them, it helps build my immunity to Mercury, lowers my IQ, and by all medical accounts, will proof me against heart disease, halitosis, and unsightly blemishes. It was the reason we went fishing as kids, to get out – to catch fish and eat them.

This urbane bloodless sport portrayed in contemporary fly fishing literature was never the intent, and when your Dad taught you – he never intended you to remain aloof and fish only dry flies, he was passing on the Hunter-Gatherer ethic – when you too had a family, you could provide…

In recent memory the only reference to fish as food, was from Buster Wants to Fish, wherein the most egregious of all crimes was committed – the posting of a recipe..  Fly fishing journalism, old and new – and only one stalwart willing to break with tradition.

Unconventional to be sure, but the release of endorphins that result from sheathing your Buck knife in the vitals of some hapless salmonid – may prevent you from seeking the same rush from the office, compliments of Mr. Kalashnikov, and his stamped metal wonder…

This type of stuff still sounds like an awful good time to me.

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Strange place, stranger flies, and the honor of your country at stake

Waimakariri River The 2008 World Fly Fishing Championships will be held next week in New Zealand. One of those events we find out after the fact, as no media stateside appears to be covering the proceedings.

Despite our insistence the sport shouldn’t be made competitive, the rest of Europe has had fly fishing competitions for many years. It’s our amateurs against their “Dream Team” – and last year’s 11th place finish was our best showing to date. Considering all of the forces arrayed against a competitor, it’s amazing that they can assimilate everything foreign and catch fish in the same week.

Probably half the field has never fished there before, the flies are new,  as is the stalk, tactics, and presentation – all of which are assisted by a couple of Time Zone changes and unfamiliar everything.

A good outing is preceded by frying your razor in an international socket, the shower draining in the opposite direction, driving on the wrong side of the road, and night when they’re shouldn’t be any. All this and asked to produce more fish than any other angler?

I sure hope they’ve guides and assistants to figure out all the exchange rate, local customs, and to assist in the driving – because with everything else to worry about, you sure won’t have much time to tie flies.

Fips-Mouche is three phases, the Waihou (spring creek), the Waimakariri, and the final stage, the Otamangakau and Rotoaira lakes. All fish must be greater than 18cm (7 inches) to be counted.

Luck to our fellows, they’ll surely need it.

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I would have loved to see a "Grip and Grin" of that Purple sucker

Now TC has me doing it I’m reminded of some of the unexpected fish I’ve landed after seeing this bit on a wildlife biologist that caught a fish he’d stocked nearly 25 years earlier.

Surprised is a better word, like the 12″ trout I caught out of Hat Creek that had three flies stuck in his face. To add insult to injury, two of them were the same size and pattern – a Copper John variation. It was six bucks worth of trout if you’re counting, and nice of him to tell me what pattern was completely irresistible.

I hooked a fish on another outing that gave up much too quickly, after landing it I found the reason, an Osprey had hit him sometime back and it was missing a silver dollar size chunk of flesh below the dorsal fin. It was healed over, but the spine was visible. Trout may be vulnerable to pollutants but they can still take a licking.

My best work was the fish I landed without a hook, starting with “the impossible lie” – one of those casts you dream of making, you know it’ll cost $20 worth of flies to attempt. Fifteen dollars later I made the cast and a fish ate it. With half the line downstream in a belly, there was no way I could set the hook. Somehow I managed,  and when I got the fish close I saw what happened, the fish had rose over the leader and my slow strike caused the fly to catch the leader on the other side – a neat lasso that slid into the gill plate and stayed as long as  the fish stayed below me.

But the all time favorite was something witnessed during El Nino. My buddies and I were fishing for rock fish in the San Francisco Bay. The fellow next to us hooked a fish and reeled it in – we saw him lift it out of the water by the hook snell. He turned to us and says, “Weird, it’s a purple Stingray thing..” then collapsed as if poleaxed.

We pull him out of the water, and he’s able to stutter, “E-e-electrified.”

We never did figure out what he’d caught, but we weren’t about to grip anything we hadn’t eaten before, especially Purple..

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There’s no solution other than someone will have to suffer

A lot of folks will be needing some of this It’s a tough issue and likely one we’ll be debating on the West Coast due to the collapse of the Salmon fishery. Europe isn’t immune, only the fish species changes with European Cod fishermen suffering a like fate.

Senators Kerry and Kennedy secured $13.4 million in funds to assist local fishermen, and are incensed that the agency charged with disbursement may want to buy back some commercial licenses with half – and pay the balance out to the affected fisher folk.

“In his letter to Paul Diodati, director of the Massachusetts Division of Marine Fisheries, Oliver recommended that just half of the $13.4 million go toward fishermen’s subsidies. Oliver also recommended that 40 to 60 percent of the funds be used to buy back some of the 700 federal groundfish permits held by Massachusetts fishermen.”

“Capacity reduction, such as buyouts, is at the core of transitioning to a more stable fishing environment,” Oliver wrote.

Outside of the obvious emotional issues, there’s sound logic in both camps. A lot of livelihoods are at stake, and at the same time there may be too many fishermen to sustain the fishery were it to be restored.

Fish populations have been on the decline for years, for dozens of reasons – among them the increase in demand, and the increased mortality of mechanized harvest (an issue hotly debated in Europe).

For salmon fishermen this bears watching, as it may be a precursor to what you’re offered in assistance.

I see it as more of a “truth in advertising” issue

Alistair of the Urban Fly Fisher caught my attention with his unveiling of yet another collection of ladies giving their all for a fly fishing calendar. It’s a known angling weakness, starting with Ulysses and the Sirens, you fellows keep thinking around the next bend is a bevy of panting nubiles intent on portly, middle aged men wearing rubber.

Of all angling fantasy – this is the least possible, and despite council to the contrary you persist in perpetuating falsehood.

It’s about time you were rewarded.

It’s all true, it’s just beyond the next page – countless taut, bronzed and passionate beauties, aching for a real man! Like all “pay-for-Pr0n” sites I’m only allowed to show you a teaser or two, you’ll have to subscribe for unfettered access to the Hotties…

You’re a Dead Man Walking

It’s up to me to add a measure of reality, and GirlsGoneFlyFishing.com is sapping you of your vigor. They’re nice, but can’t hold a candle to the bevy of Hotties I’ve got under contract.

That’s why she insisted you go, honest

This is the real deal guys, the AFTMA Nymphets, “Anglers by day and Soiled Doves by night” – domestic Ninjas, skilled in fishing, credit card abuse, and thrown crockery.  The kind of gal that adjusts your priorities, whilst gazing adoringly from the wall of your Mancave.

The whole “girls gone wild” thing is REAL, ignore the fact Joe Francis was convicted of a morals beef and only recently has seen daylight – in reality he was saving the “good stuff” for you …

She’s without flaw, but she doesn’t speak your language

Fly fishermen are notoriously slow on the uptake, like “tight lines” – “Gone Wild” has already seen its best days, but it’ll take a couple of decades for it to run it’s course with the fishing crowd. It’s that hellish optimism thing we’re imbued with – leading to cold feet, colder dinners, and fishless fishing trips.

You can’t speak their language and you don’t know the business end of a Jello Shooter, just unlimber plastic and I’ll show you what you’re missing.

See you in line for the Webcam.

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