Author Archives: KBarton10

Six hundred things edited out of Fly Fisherman because the Zip Code wasn’t exotic enough – No.335

I’ve always assumed that questions about the mechanics of dubbing stem from the preponderance of fly tiers that attempt to learn the craft from books, Youtube, or blog posts like this one.

Most of us contract the fly fishing bug from someone else, and while casting and simple tasks like knots are shared from one angler to the next, fly tying and its legacy of dead animals parts is an individual journey for most.

I feel the mechanical ritual described to apply fur to thread is made overly complex in most books, and seeing someone else do it is much more enlightening, especially if you can ask questions.

The neophyte usually peers from an audience at some dignitary tying at a club dinner, who’s so enraptured by a future step as to scrub a mass of fur across thread without really describing much other than what preparation is needed for the feather he’s mounting next.

It’s a step glossed over not so much out of meanness or ill temper, so much as the journey fly tyer assumes dubbing is a simplicity shared by all watching, which is not always true.

Like all things, there is a right way and many wrong ways to attempt the fur on thread nightmare.

  1. Dubbing isn’t applied by cutting an enormous gout of fur from the hide and dipping your fingers in pancake batter to make it stick.
  2. Dubbing isn’t scrubbing fingers together in both directions, it’s scrubbing fingers together in one direction only. Tiers scrubbing fingers in both directions are attempting to make the hole the hook made hurt less.
  3. Commercial waxed thread offers no advantage getting fur to stick to thread, that’s because the wax used by Danville and other vendors is meant to plug bobbin barrels, and is much too hard to be tacky.
  4. Dubbing isn’t applied, nor can it be tamed, by attacking the middle of the fur with freshly licked fingers dripping with training saliva. Training saliva is only available after drinking milk, the rest of us use mousse.

Most of your trouble starts with your dependence on packaged dubbing. Grabbing a bag of fur allow you to pull an ounce or two as easily as the merest hint of color. Mirroring your drive-thru habits, you insist on supersizing your helping – whose bulk will fight you at each and every subsequent step.

Seen_Through

The proper amount should be transparent to the eye, and objects can be seen through the dubbing over its entire bulk.

The second portion is understanding that dubbing cannot be wrapped around thread until it is anchored to the thread at the top, with the balance of the fur then spun around the thread as the fingers move down the fur.

top_anchored

You can’t spin a rubber band tight, or anything tight, unless one end is “immovable” first, dubbing is no different.

It’s a devilishly simple and completely deceptive task, something that even video cannot impart completely, given that sub-steps of “hint of fur” and “anchored” are unknown to the novice, making the overall process simple yet completely foreign.

We’ll call it the “stutter rise” two takes from the same fish

twoheaded_trout Occasionally it’s all a bit much, the six o’clock hour stuffed with stories of disfiguring blight unleashed by Science and avaricious Capitalism on the environment, and as you snap the Telly off in favor of the Wisdom of the InterTubes, you wonder whether selling your tackle isn’t the best way to jumpstart your comic book collection, given that fragile newsprint has more of future than fishing …

… and as you search for precious lifegiving moments of angling clarity, you mistake my wit for safe harbor, only to get both boots in your ample midsection as I lean in and whisper, “ … you’re right, we’re all doomed.”

But that’s later …

Now, it’s time to make Lemonade from all those Lemons, and if the lessons of Kesterson Refuge and all that stolen water, irrigation-induced selenium poisoning has got you concerned, fear not …

… if all the trout from this day forth are born with two heads, doesn’t that mean we’re twice as likely to get ate, they’ll eat twice as much and grow doubly big in half the time?

But when other federal scientists and some environmentalists learned of the two-headed brown trout, they raised a ruckus, which resulted in further scientific review that found the company’s research wanting.

– via the New York Times

I’m reminded of the time I spoke with that elderly couple bait fishing Rancho Seco’s former wastewater treatment area. Big signs proclaimed how Nature and Atomic Energy were like two peas in the same pod …

… and as I asked the elderly fellow would he eat his catch, he nodded sagely and said it was perfectly safe – just as a mallard swam by with a big growth on its head …

Where we call everything by its Glitterati name

I’d planned to watch a little glitz last night, mostly because of Billy Crystal, who manages to make sport of Hollywood’s reigning elite, yet gets invited back as his humor somehow skirts lasting injury.

The Oscars are actually a couple of shows in one; the first where they award gleaming statuary for popularity in acting and immenseness of box office, and the second watching all the folks you grew up watching, how they’ve spread wider in their seats. Once lean, hungry, and fit – now well fed, botoxed and ill at ease wearing a girdle.

Thoughts of that spectacle came unbidden while tromping through the Little Stinking’s lower marshes … where past pools and deep runs had widened or filled with sand, now a caricature of their former selves.

Everything winds up in the creek

I found myself naming them with the actor or actress they resembled. The “Meryl Streep Pool”, wide and holding few fish, but doing so with dignity …

… or the “Jack Nicholsen”, stuffed with silt and lifeless, faint resemblance to any past greatness …

I’m sure sometime tonight I’ll see the rows of directors, producers, and the up and coming starlets. Young and vibrant, bodices layered in jewels and sequins sitting next to a director or their parents –  hoping their aging and 50-something airbrushed leading man doesn’t embarrass them further by asking them out.

Saving critical watersheds … a quarter at a time

WhacAMussel While ecologists lament the uninspiring, “Clean, Dry, and Inspect” message, and its inability to keep us awake, they’ve commissioned something more to the tastes of us natural born killers by opting for a video game to deliver that critical rush of adrenaline, that “them or us” message …

I’d always thought there were too many syllables in the “clean and dry” part to resonate with real sportsmen.

Figure the published mean for fly fishermen being 51, the only real risk is us having to surrender our driver’s license soon – video games and adrenaline sports being something we gave up with our real teeth.

With the power of damn lies and statistics on our side, it suggests we are guiltless in the spread of invasive anything, as only boat owners still have reflexes, and therefore must be the guilty party …

"Invasive species education is critical," said Teeg Stouffer, Recycled Fish Executive Director. "But it can be kind of dry and boring. Just say the words ‘Invasive Species Education’ to people and watch their eyes glaze over. This is a learning tool that is fun, dynamic, engaging and interactive – it cuts through the clutter. We’re excited to introduce Whac-A-Mussel at the BASSMASTER Classic!"

– via the Fishing Wire

… proving all them massively overpowered bass lunatics with their blown V-8’s done it, as everyone knows that protruding Lucite lip on their crankbaits are a mating hotbed for invasives …

Guys that know bugs, scarce supply, large demand

You getting it right and me getting it all wrong, followed by a profuse apology on my part, is getting to be a painful habit around here. Naturally, I’ll admit to nothing other than you’ve been incredibly lucky to date – and society is backing your horse only by purest chance.

This time I was a bit hasty suggesting that hotties of the sub-25 ilk that adore draping themselves semi-clad on a hot rock in mid trout stream, think of sweaty, balding, or portly fly fishermen intruding upon their private and super-sweaty sunbathing sessions – regard us with the same loathing as cellulite …

… I was wrong.

Girls, especially the bronzed and toned super-hawtn3ss, adore men that know bugs. Especially those that can count after running out of fingers, are willing to exploit acres of taut and heaving – made vulnerable by male pheromones of those able to quote Latin or Shakespeare, assuming it was Shakespeare that invented Mountain Dew …

The tarantula lucite, perfect outer wear for today's outdoorsy tomboy

… and assuming your lack of shower and preponderance of bug spray you’ve slathered on yourself as a substitute for hygiene, allows those self same pheromones to exude themselves …

Too many Saturday cartoons for me to trust Wile E. Coyote and his contribution to water quality

Burning_Sands_ODeath On my way back from Fresno I was surprised to see California poppies spreading their bright orange petals amid the litter and grit of the center divider.

Poppies being an April phenomenon and suggests this is likely to be a season full of the unexpected.

Not that any season is ever predictable, but this one appears uncharacteristically so.

Should the bugs take their cue from the wildflowers, then our much beloved Stonefly Grab will be finished long before the Opener, and we’ll be vying over the Doldrums of August, versus the traditional cornucopia that is Opening Day.

What little rain we’ve had coupled with morning’s chill has the local fish on the run, so I’m stumping through newer and drier sections of the creek while the weather remains unseasonably warm. I’m unwilling to venture into the “Burning Sands of Death” areas, between Capay Valley and Hwy 505, during the Summer as the reflected heat off the sand and cobble makes trespass a real agony, regardless of how much water is carried.

As I feared, all the springtime fare are out, along with the few “Early Black” stoneflies only seen during Spring. Many are the larger bugs, #14’s and 16’s, that only come out of the underbrush when early morning gives way to midday warmth.

There are 55 miles of the Little Stinking between Clear Lake and the Sacramento marshes, and with my latest trek I’ve covered almost 20 miles via public access, landowner invitation, or outright sneak-age.

While heat keeps me out of this area most of the year, the water is simply too shallow to support anything but frogs. I did find the occasional scour pool, but most of the drainage is host to a wide and shallow trickle, making the creek 4 inches deep and a hundred yards wide.

Frog water

One such pool was nearly nine feet deep, crystal clear, and had a welcome chill, and given that I was already beginning to perspire profusely I contemplated stopping and shucking off them duds to make like a beached whale …

… it was one small moment of weakness, it would have been miles from any known human habitation, out of sight of any sputtering land owner, or open-mouthed old biddy blinded by my vast expanse of alabaster  …

I figured my pear shaped frame could do with a little sunshine and my exposure to agricultural toxins would be short-lived and assist me in building a robust immune system.

Wile E. Coyote Everyone knows it’s those big fish that live in the ocean for years that have all the Mercury, and like the Corvair, are unsafe regardless of helping size. Tasty little sardines that only live long enough to get their fins damp, and then seek the safety of tins, being safe as all hell …

I set the rod down and glanced downstream … then upstream, and blinked in disbelief at some ill mannered dog in the middle of the river grunting in the Pose Unmistakable.

A well placed rock revealed the interloper to be a coyote, who took flight in a panic …

Yet it cooled my ardor enough. All those manmade toxins just made the story worth the retelling, simply keep your mouth closed and splash about in the coolness of the deep water.

Yet as I splashed a little cool water on my brow, I reflected that if Wile E. Coyote equipped with a nose thousands of times more sensitive than mine own – paused in mid crossing to unleash last night’s dinner, I’d be well advised to remain chaste in my waders.

Options in the face of legislative unrest, or how to avoid becoming an unwilling economic patriot

soles After a couple of decades on studded Weinbrenner’s, the felt sole started slipping off. Disappointing but understandable given I had used the boots hard over many seasons.

With laces and uppers intact the thought of resoling the boots crossed my mind, but getting new felts alone wouldn’t have worked, everything below the instep needed replacing.

Some time later, and quite by accident, I stumbled across a company that resoles wading shoes (all makes and models) and refits felt soled boots with Vibram’s Streamtread sole, should you wish to get additional use out of the uppers.

That led to a search of other companies that perform the same work, which also took me to the Simm’s website that lists additional cobblers, and I got an quick education on the subject.

I would think that those states that legislate rubber soles would find many thousands of anglers with relatively new felts that would prefer to convert than buy new …

… and then there’s those economic patriots that would rather pay full retail a second time …

Nice to know an option exists.

Is this going to be a stand up fight or another bug hunt

I’ve always claimed foul on much of the environmental sciences simply because the message is so often co-opted as to be meaningless. This being an election year and with “rightsizing” re-entering the economic vocabulary, and every candidate eager to claim credit, it’s about time science was devolved into something we could all understand …

Like mixing blown V-8’s, tow ropes, massive quantities of alcohol, and pump shotguns so we can denude both banks of the watershed of buildings and citizenry.

Obama’s Czar didn’t accomplish much beyond obfuscation of the issue, making impatient Illinois lawmakers plot to remove Big Government from natural resource protection, insisting us outdoorsy few can hold the breach into the Great Lakes via an impenetrable barrier of beer cans, dove loads, and cordite smoke …

Last week, Illinois Rep. Dave Winters (R-Shirland) introduced a bill that would amend the Fish and Aquatic Life Code, allowing registered gun owners in the state to shoot Asian carp "with a shotgun off of a motorboat in the Illinois River beginning with the 2013 licensing year."

– via The Huffington Post

Just Add more beer and full auto to the picture

While wrinkling my lips at bullshit science, I’ve always applauded Darwinism, and can only wait with great excitement as Youtube boils over with videos of screaming water-skiers, holes blown in boats and passengers, and bumper-to-bumper bridge traffic sprayed with all those leftover lead #8’s …

We interrupt our normal drivel to remind you that your season depends on a wee bit of courtesy

Singlebarbed’s role as consciousness for the greater good is simply too much hypocrisy to bear without giggling, yet I’ll wear this ill fitting garment long enough to remind you today is Valentine’s Day, and how most of your season depends on some small courtesy shown Them as Waits at Home …

Scientists agree there aren’t that many fish in the sea, and the Human Race depends on your ability to think outside your own miserable existence and set things right …

Today, all the B-Grade trash bloggers will be featuring acres of taut flesh whose boyfriends are scared of losing them, therefore will be shown courtesy and tokens of esteem. Reminding them how a little leniency regarding; abandonment of home, responsibilities, and children – not to mention coveting bamboo, barbless hooks, or the Out Of Doors, is always repaid with interest …

morethanwife To hell with hard-bodies, we know all the best gals hate fishing, mostly because we made them so.

Valentine’s Day is like a Full Dress Atlantic Salmon fly. You lack most of the materials and rarely practice their techniques, but recognize that each step builds to a larger chorus, and each mistake, however small, can never be hidden by any subsequent step.

Which, after considerable effort, yields a fly worthy of framing and ensures many pleasant hours afield without fear of the axe handle upon your return.

She has raised your kids and seen the skid marks in your undergarments, it’s time to give the poor lass her due.

A towering bouquet of posies at her work can be augmented with a small card from “Raoul”, or “Esteban”, even better  … “Thor”, mentioning how last night was life altering and how the discarded pieces of her wardrobe have been left with the guard at the front desk  …

She’ll have the card snatched from her grip and will suffer interrogation at the hands of her pals, be forced to reveal every last detail of imagined indiscretion, which will elevate her stature to “bad girl” – the envy of the homebody biddies.

She’ll smile knowingly and claim, “ … why I never, there must be some mistake …” – and you get the next month free to chase steelhead … after you buy her dinner and wince through two seasons of The Bachelor …

… don’t yawn, not .. even .. once.

All they’ll remember is the flash of the bulb and your fresh breath

While you were giggling at my Wintergreen-Spearmint fly floatant and head cement, making me the butt of parking lot humor, you may want to know why – so you can backpedal frantically …

There are a number of compounds that can be used to effectively sedate fishes, including compounds commonly found in human foods (e.g., eugenol and similar compounds found in clove, wintergreen, spearmint and other essential oils) and over-the-counter oral pain relievers (e.g., benzocaine).

-via the American Fisheries Society

The first couple of casts disperses precious oils into the current above my quarry, soothing that rush of “fight or flight” endorphins my pear shaped shadow and thunderous feet have invoked.  Depending on size and depth, a couple lifesavers plunked into the fast water above ensures everything below enjoys complete serenity as they lift off the bottom to inhale my artificial with obvious relish …

Doublemint

Over time recreational use gives way to addiction, and a stick of Doublemint and the saliva lingering on your clinch knot brings anything of heft upstream at a fast trot.

Just don’t mention it to your kid, he’s still willing to smoke anything.