Author Archives: KBarton10

Victory was short lived and I am forced to help a Carp cross the street

The Brownliner DrinkFlush with recent success, I took my new “Carp Death Physics flies” down to Starbuck’s… That really wasn’t the plan, but someone mistakenly ordered a Mocha Cappuccino Frappe instead of my beloved creek.

Note to self: Record the date of success, as some farmer upstream obviously turned something off to make the water so clear.

Now I am looking at a rich brown mess that supposedly has fish in it.

A quick test of my special Neutral/Dark Food fly yields visibility of 4 inches, after that the fly was just some afterthought you toss out with your empty cup.

Back to the drawing board. I need whirling propeller blades coupled with “Scent of 1000 Nightcrawlers” to make anything find and eat these flies.

I am not at all surprised as it’s a rule of angling that all great chest pounding successes are met with your demise on the next sortie. The only solace was that I hadn’t called all my buddies and promised them, ” a fish a cast, call in sick.”

I’m surveying the area looking for something to prevent me from walking back to the car, and I see some small movement on a fork of the stream. It’s a large carp tail, giving me the “Bonefish Flats – I’m Eating” sign.

I replace my bug with a #8 florescent red bead chain eyed shad dart, it gives me all of 6 inches visibility.. I crouch into my best Mark Sosin posture and fling this unwieldy mixture near the carp..

I figure a couple of tugs as it nears the fish ought to do it, and on the second I feel resistance and set hook. Yep, fish on – only something isn’t quite right as the fish moves 4 feet and stops cold. I see the tail occasionally and its a big fish, but other than the initial movement – nothing. It’s still there but something just isn’t right..

I realize what the problem is and I can’t help but laugh. First, I have the fish foul hooked somewhere near the tail, but the reason the fish isn’t moving – is he can’t see any better than I can.

Nope, there will be no scorching runs today, 6 inches of visibility isn’t enough to avoid slamming into whatever is in your way.

I wade out to where the fish is, reach down and grab the tail remove the fly – and call it a day. I just hope I didn’t step on any of them enroute.

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Yo bg gddmn Fsh nxt 2 U

Coming to a stream near youGet with the program – now that you have the cell phone on your hip, isn’t it time to embrace text messaging?

Yes, I’m joking.

I’m just thinking past our generation’s quaint respect for the sport to see the tools the next crowd of anglers will deem essential. The combination of Internet gaming English coupled with the omission of vowels should make instream communication much easier and more verbose.

Tired of waving frantically to an angling buddy because your voice is drowned out by fast water?

“Bg fsh nxt 2 me, g3t y3r Btt dwn h3r3”

The guys that love Latin may be resistant, can’t say I fault them much as “Paraleptophlebia” should translate to “Prl3pt0phl3b14,” which should slow them on both the reading and comprehension tests. I expect them to figure out, “lttl3 brwn 16” is quicker to type and easier to read.

Phone on vibrate tucked into a strategic location, and you’re the portrait of the New Age predator.

C U on the fone line..

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Maybe I was a tad hasty leaving the Cell Phone in the car

sonar Cell phones are like credit cards, loyalty lasts as long as the bonus reward, by then some canny competitor has a cheaper plan and a new gadget that goes with it.

While all eyes are on the Trout Underground to come up with next year’s “must have” angling gadget, we’re quietly going to lay some smack down, I didn’t get any free beer or sore feet, I just found the glaring weakness in your wardrobe…

Sonar for your cell phone.

SK, South Korea’s largest telecom provider began selling a waterproof transmitter when attached to a  fishing line, will send signals of fish density back to your cellular earpiece.

Now you can march confidently up to streamside, throw one cast and  begin the “Hunt for Red October”. The article fails to mention whether the device is wireless, otherwise you’ll throw one cast and spend the next two hours untangling the transmitter from the fly line, it’s certain I will..

One Hundred bucks, software to display where the fish are on the cell phone is five bucks additional. Brownliner’s are out of luck as the sonar is absorbed by sunken tires, lawnmower engines, and toilet paper, we’ll have to stick to the low tech method of throwing rocks.

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Eco-Terrorists have me Surrounded, If I hook Grandma in the Arse, I’m a Dead Man

Out of the sack at the crack of dawn, the weather is cooperating as it has dropped nearly 20 degrees since last week, I’m in the mood to spoil someone’s breakfast… I meant besides the neighbor seeing me in my skivvies.

I’m headed for the Bridge Pool of the Little Stinking, that’s where the Carp sleep at night and my ongoing struggle with them is giving rise to an angling complex, I can get to the Superbowl, I just can’t ever win the damn thing.

This is just the close ones..Happy Dance commences

I sneak my head over the bridge railing and immediately scream really quietly. Below me is about 100 big carp milling about looking for chow.

The smallest is about 6 lbs, the largest appears closer to 17lb, and I am doing a happy dance all the way back the vehicle.

This won’t be easy, but the volume of fish suggests something stupid is present – besides me. These fish weren’t here last week and where they’ve come from is a mystery, but I am not examining the teeth on this gift horse.

I sneak down to the creek and move about 50 yards upstream from the bridge, staying in the bushes – keeping a good 30 yards between me and the water. Walking on cobble is noisy, and usually these fish know about me before I get within range – so I’m ensuring they don’t get the chance this time.

The upstream side is all in shade, it’s early morning and the sun isn’t high enough to give me away. I’m going to fish down to the pool assuming that anything spooked will head downstream to where the other fish are already feeding.

I walked into a full bore mayfly spinner fall, last week I was lucky to find a single mayfly, now they are all over the place – more importantly, the fish are eating them. Not heavily, just an occasional gallon sized dimple appears in the line of foam downstream.

A #14 Black AP Nymph is my first choice and I start quartering down and swinging it across the current. The AP is a fast sinking nymph, a slim silhouette with little to impede its sink rate, and from the bridge view – most of the fish were on or near the bottom.

I have carp moving by me constantly, all looking for something and schooled nicely, they are moving as a group sticking to the deeper water and moving up and downstream continuously. This appears to be a feeding pattern, as I’m only 30 feet away and they’re unconcerned.

Big fish in shallow water

I get a bump and set hook, 30 yards of stream erupts all at once – I have carp headed north, carp headed south, mud flying, and me standing there with mouth agape, nearly soiling myself. Something big is on the end of the line and it’s scared every fish around. The suddenly skinny 8’6″ fly rod with the #5 line is very much outclassed, but rather than melt the reel the fish is hanging in cover, with me attached. I’m seeing color as the fish heads for downed timber, but it’s not carp colors, I lay the thumb onto the exposed reel rim and bear down, I have 5X tippet and it’s time to check my knots…

I have a bass hooked solidly, not a carp, the knots hold and I steer the beast clear of the branches. I am able to work the fish in close and finally get to see clearly what I hooked, it’s a really big Largemouth and it likely owns this stretch of the river.

A really Unexpected thrill 16 inches of largemouth

Nothing is more fun than being surprised and finding a nice fish when you are expecting his smaller cousin, it’s like winning the lottery and not having to share the proceeds. I light a cigar and wait for the ruckus to die down. The bass had fought right through the carp and they were all on Defcon 4, alert and suspicious.

I ease down nearly to the pool, fishing the bend and slot it made in the far bank, the carp have returned to their earlier patrol and I am still obscured by bridge shadow and unnoticed.

I’m caught wool gathering, but set hook anyway, two head shakes and I am wearing the fly. The V-wakes headed away from me are testimony to something sizeable. I quarter down with the next cast and get thumped softly, another couple of head shakes and the fly and tippet are snapped clean.

They’re eating what I’m offering and that’s the hard part, but the disturbance of hooked fish has driven the bulk of the school into the pool proper. The sun is high enough to illuminate the entire area and I have to move below the bridge to get within range. No longer cloaked in shadow, I will be in full view of the fish, as will the rod and line.

I make a wide loop away from the water and regain the shore behind a large clump of tule rushes. Hoping they mask my presence enough to get some casts at the fish…

A lot of logs laying on the bottom, but those are fish

I get a dozen casts at the fish and nothing. There is at least 50 fish visible and suddenly they’re not interested in what I am throwing. I was fishing in shade before, now I am in bright sunlight. I swap flies to a Pheasant Tail nymph with a pearl flashabou line down each side, just enough flash to offer visibility, yet not so gaudy that it might spook the entire area.

The fish suddenly go on alert and voices from upstream start filtering to me,  before I can curse I am surrounded by  four dozen eco-terrorists. Zealots are never too pleasant,  I’m usually one of them, but this time I’m the odd man out and the horde descends on me oblivious to my fishing. It’s a good cause, they were the Cache Creek Conservancy folks picking up streamside litter. I can’t protest too much as the area sorely needs cleaning and outside of the small amount I can pack out, deserves some environmental love.

“Grandma” standing behind me wasn’t so good, I’m trying desperately to remain cordial and good natured, and Grandma’s bottom is in mortal peril of an errant backcast. I’m thinking, “Check the Physics, Grandma – the line is in front of me, then it’s behind me – and if you are slow in announcing yourself, I am likely to bury a beadhead where the sun don’t shine much…”

Tire removal courtesy of Putah Creek Conservancy

It’s one thing to think that, but I am seriously outnumbered here. Eco-terrorists are always squeamish at the sight of their own blood, I figure I can take at least two dozen of them wielding a hemostat and line nippers, but as they’re now on both sides of the creek and the high ground, I’ll just nod pleasantly and out wait Grandma.

The Trout Underground had mentioned something about an Upper Sacramento cleanup, likely I was callously in the middle of some national event – being suddenly self conscious, I put the cigar butt in my vest.

The crowd began to thin but the kids were fascinated by me fishing in the effluent. I figured the little girl for no more than 6, and her brother posed some intelligible remark that had her valiantly come to my defense. “No, he’s FLY FISHING, and he uses insects and the fish jump out and eat them.” I was facing the other way grinning from ear to ear, I didn’t need to add to her older brother’s quandary – but he just got owned…

I can see the last of them headed downstream and sent the next cast up by the bridge abutment. I am strumming the line with an index finger as it passes through a pod of fish, I get a gentle thump and set hook. My old System 7 reel starts screaming, the rod is doubled over, and I am grinning the “Who me?” idiot grin…

A mighty small fly stuck in a mighty big fish, note the second fish underneath

Now I’m back in “5 weight hell,” woefully under-gunned, 5X tippet and attached to a train headed north. The fish blows past the bridge and is sawing my floating line against the concrete in a painful way. I’m unconcerned about the fly line and really concerned about what I am going to do next; I can’t move upstream to follow, can’t move out far enough to get the line away from the bridge, and can’t do anything rational except cackle gleefully as I watch the fly line vanish and the backing start.

Thankfully the fish stops somewhere upstream, and I start the slow process of convincing him he needs to head my direction. What would really be useful is a couple of noisy environmentalists grabbing trash near where it’s come to rest, no such luck.

I have the “suddenly spineless” rod parallel to the water on my left side, hoping he’ll swim in the “easy” direction – away from the bridge and out into the open water. As the fish comes into view he does just that, and the line is no longer being tortured against the concrete. I can see three other big carp following my fish in squadron formation. I have about 40 yards of open water below me and I catch a break – my fish wants to fight me south of the bridge. I am guessing the weight as “larger than my tippet” so I can’t horse this cow too much, it blows water violently at every run – a big fish in shallow water and me holding on for dear life.

Brownline Tarpon - and they eat flies like kids inhaling Twinkies

The down side of a 5 weight rod is the lack of power when you need it most, that last 30 feet, he finally sees you and wants no part in coming closer – with you lacking anything to convince him otherwise. That little nymph looked mighty fragile in the maw of this tuna, the small gape doesn’t allow for much purchase. Each time I head the fish and turn it back towards me I have the vision of it coming loose. (I would see that happen later on a second fish)

These fish are stunning when caught, large golden scales prominently displayed during battle, mixed with a bit of iridescence as they get closer. They are mortal now, not the cunning and shy beasts that tormented me during my vacation. A great adversary, giving the angler as much nail biting agony as anything I’ve caught in the past.

I expect tomorrow morning will find me here again, I may want to try a shot at a Fly Fisherman cover story:

“I hastily switched to 7X and presented the gossamer #20 upstream to the slimy Polaris Class submersible rooting about the sunken tire… it was a smutting rise, and I nearly lost my grip on my crumpet..

I got to go get my teeth whitened for the cover shot, one of you lads take my place on the foam line.

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Imitation & Impressionism, now let’s introduce Physics

It surely doesn't look like much, the test is tomorrow I am whipping together some flies for tomorrow’s Brownline Tarpon session, still giddy from today’s success. I left four flies in bull rushes or fish and realized I was getting low on the physical properties needed.

Huh? Just tie more of what worked and be done with it, right?

If I had been fishing a hatch of specific insects that’s precisely what I would do, but instead of fish feeding selectively – they were feeding period.

A cigarette butt that sank fast enough would’ve worked just as well. I would love to say that a #4 Olive Wooly Bugger is the pre-nuptial form of the Giganticus Ephemerella Sativa, but it’s not – and I’m no genius for getting a hungry fish to eat either.

I scared you from tying with the road-kill piece, now let me explain why tying pays off:

  • I need a fly that sinks fast, but not too fast as the maximum depth is about 5 feet.
  • I need it to look like food
  • I need to oversize the hook relative to the fly size, so that I get a solid chunk of fish mouth, and a heavier wire hook. A 10lb fish on a trout hook is asking for trouble, these fish go up to 15-17lbs.

You’ll be able to find something suitable at the store, but nothing beats the ability to customize flies for a specific situation. Of the above, the oversized hook is the most important, it will pay for itself every time you turn the fish and see that little tiny hook in that really big mouth. The only time you’ll pray more fervently is the Dentist’s Office – just as soon as the high pitched whine of his drill filters into the reception area…

The pictures depict what I tied; neutral/dark buggy looking critter with a flashabou rib and a copper bead.

A half dozen should handle a quick outing

A slender profile assists the sink rate, as does the oversized hook and copper bead. A light flashabou rib (3 turns) gives a little sparkle. Guard hairs from the black rabbit offer a hint of movement, but most important is the wider gape and stronger steel offered by the #12 hook. The fly body is tied to be a #14 fly.

Tailoring the flies sink rate allows me to use the cast to determine what depth the fly reaches when it passes near the target fish. Casting close to the target yields shallow, casting further away allows the fly to get much deeper.

I don’t think the fly pattern matters at all, but the fish has the final say, and unlike the magazines they’re always right.

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Flavored Head Cement Joins Other Really Good Ideas ahead of their time

Great Ideas are always resisted I was embroiled in the patent research for my salty-sweet lard enhanced head cement, and stumbled across numerous fly fishing patents.

A live bait hook for dry fly anglers is the first of many really stunning ideas, but it would be wise to know which bugs had stingers before reaching for that big wasp pictured in the patent illustration.

I can only assume a fly box patent is forthcoming from the same fellow, as traditional boxes would make winged critters very smashed.

Another “must have” is the fishing blow gun, slap a Pheasant tail into the breach and blow it into the feeding lane. Every fisherman I’ve met is a blowhard gifted with extraordinary lung capacity, I can’t see why this isn’t a million seller.

The float tube urinal is way overdue, but I was hoping we would get NASA astronaut underwear, I hear they don’t chafe much. Unrelated to the urinal is the float tube propulsion system, featuring a large car battery attached to your leg. I sure hope that lanyard severs easily, otherwise you are anchored to the lake floor quite securely.

Moot testimony to angling genius – these gentlemen walked the path less traveled, and were driven from the sport by villagers with torches and pitchforks.

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The War on Six Dollar Items continues: Dry Fly Desiccants

Little Spheres of Drying Power One of the rare fortunes of a computer geek is a life time supply of drying agents called “desiccants.” These packets come in nearly all of the computer shipping containers and every time I see one I toss it in my drawer.

Most are anhydrous silica gel, “gel” being a misleading term for crystal beads of varying dimensions. They are a real boon to the dry fly fisherman, as a soaked fly can be dried in seconds.

Never content to pay the retail price, I accumulate it and then pass it to fishing buddies so they have one less $6.00 purchase to make.

It’s a mystery to coworkers why I never sweat under pressure, the real reason is the 40lbs of desiccant in my bottom drawer, spend more than seven minutes in my cubicle and they’ll need to deliver liquids to you intravenously…

I never thought to see where to buy the stuff, the latest armload I brought home reminded me to check. Sorb-It is the brand most commonly encountered, I don’t recommend the bulk 50lb pail as it will give you dry mouth if you break the 100 yd perimeter. 10 gram packets (and smaller) can be purchased for about 65 cents each. That’s a remarkable savings compared to the $5.50 retail price advertised at the shops I browsed.

A simple film canister is enough to contain it, fill it half way so you can give it a vigorous shake. The powder works faster than the crystal spheres, just take a hammer to the packet to reduce them to the powder form.

Bentonite Clay is used by some vendors – often mixed with the Silica Gel spheres. I grabbed a picture of the Loon Outdoors product, it has both opaque and clear spheres – likely that is the mixture they are using. Bentonite Clay is a naturally occurring substance that is mined. Both Sorb-It and Bentonite are non-toxic and used for moisture wicking (preservation) of food and medicine.

What you may not know is that both are reusable. Desiccant dryers are sold for large users, but you can use simpler methods like microwave ovens. The material needs to attain 150 Celsius to dry completely.

…and if you get caught by the spouse drying your desiccant, remember the SingleBarbed mantra, “I saved six bucks…”

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If a Salmon could birth a Trout, wouldn’t it be a deviant of some kind?

Better living through scienceRemember the furor associated with the Trout Underground’s question whether a 43 lb triploid should be considered the new world’s record? That was an easy genealogy question compared to what’s coming.

Today’s Sacramento Bee has an article about the Japanese efforts to increase the Bluefin Tuna, and how they are experimenting on Salmonids to get some insight into a new process using other fish as hosts.

How it’s doneMature Stem Cells are harvested from trout, injected into the sterile Asian Masu Salmon, which upon maturity give birth to Rainbow Trout (eggs and milt of the trout, not live fish). Confusing? You bet – as they are using a live surrogate host of a different species to yield more trout spawn.

I’ll leave the question of “New World’s Record” alone, but was I you I would start preparing for some really twisted DNA. Is a trout born of salmon a trout? Yep, this technique does not commingle DNA from the host fish to the offspring.

The scientists are using salmonids only as a first step towards increasing tuna stocks, once perfected they will find additional hosts for bluefin egg production.

It leaves an interesting unanswered question; could they possibly mix just a dab of the DNA? How about the 60mph swim speed and the 1400 lb max size genetic sequence … Imagine setting hook on a 12″ trout that melts your pawl and ratchet Hardy reel, oh my…

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Dump the Head Cement, I’m using Doughnut Glaze and Sprinkles

My penchant for twisted is well known, and there’s nothing like a bacon filled, transfat laden, gut bomb in one hand, and a greasy handful of sodium-impregnated french fries in the other, while reading about the perils of both on the Internet.

So I am absorbed in “We’re all Fat, and gonna die” when I espy the following:

Fast food appeals to humans’ primordial taste preferences for sugar, fat and salt, the preferences that an infant is born with.

Low Sodium DressingHold the phone, are humans the only animals so afflicted? Do trout have the same built-in appetites?

A fish in a typical freestone stream is somewhat stationary, the water traveling by at a reasonable clip, somewhere between 1 and 20 MPH. If a nymph were to dislodge itself and tumble through the water column, likely it would move at the same speed as the current.

To the trout behind the rock, that is fast food.

If scientists are correct, and salt, sweet and fat are neon signs saying “EAT ME” – then we’re missing the boat completely.

It gets way better.

“If you take a child who has been subjected to endless advertising for fast food, to peer pressure from friends who frequent fast-food restaurants and to the presence of fast food in schools, it’s not a big surprise that when given a choice between a plate of French fries or a bowl of blueberries, that child would choose the fries,”

Land O' Lakes Gordon I flip a Pheasant Tail nymph to a likely looking lie and no response. If I cast the same nymph 100 times it’s now “endless advertising for fast food” – and the other schooled trout will nudge the biggest fellow, “Dude, you gonna eat that, or what?”

Match the Hatch is yesterday’s news, “Supersize My Flies” is the new paradigm.

But wait there’s more, this revolution of angling theory is sweetened  considerably;

There may be another factor at work as well. Animal studies have shown that foods with poor nutritional quality can lead to nutritional deficiencies that might in turn lead to overeating. “If the diet doesn’t allow access to key nutrients,” Ludwig explains, “it’s possible that in an attempt to solve the nutrient deficiency, the body begins increased eating of everything.”

There isn’t much nutrition in a sparsely dressed Brassie, so if we cast at the fish enough times, it’ll be unable to resist and eat it. While loving the salty taste, there are no nutrients other than head cement, which compels it to eat everything in the vicinity.

As a gentleman, you let your buddy fish through the run, then you wade in and reap the benefits.

Science, you just have to think outside the bun.

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I Write 100 and then you Write one, that’s fair isn’t it?

Go Ahead and take a swing I promised myself that after 100 posts I would draw a breath and see what was memorable, what worked, and attempt to restore order to the carnage in my wake.

Memorable was tough, as most of the parts I remember are the glaring misspellings, the missing punctuation, and the pedantic oratory of a fellow used to sniping from the sidelines, not featured center stage.

What worked is a mystery, I giggled at a couple of things after re-reading them, but mostly I blushed, violating every rule in Strunk and White, and then flailing about, with the Collected Works of William Shakespeare in no jeopardy of being unseated anytime soon.

Here’s what I know about you; most of your browsing occurs at work, you live in the US, and you don’t say much.

Here’s what I have found out; writing is bloody hard work, and pulling creativity out of thin air is the hardest of all. It is more fun to pull the author’s chin whiskers, than be the author.

I’ve attempted to throw a wide loop and cover as many fly fishing topics as I could to see what sparked interest. The results are standard Brownliner fare, muddy and unclear.

Here is your opportunity to stand up and be counted; what did you like, what didn’t you like, what do you want to see more of…grab a big handful of whiskers and yank – help me mold the next 100 posts.