Author Archives: KBarton10

Fly fishing being a lot cheaper than most of us think

It was a nice enough thought, how to restore an aging libido who’d squandered his youth huffing aniline dyes and white wine vinegar. I’m not sure why the unsolicited advertisement suddenly put things in perspective, but figuring a $350 rod, a $60 reel, $200 worth of waders, and $500 dollars more in terminal tackle and flies, I’m thinking fly fishing is much cheaper than first thought.

Sure, we got roving gangs of middle aged civil servants stealing from our fly shops, and smashing our windows at pull-out points near the river, but when you compare fly fishing to some of those seminal moments of your life … kicking the kids out of your house, a Smithfield Ham, your first parking ticket, or the first time you used your medical marijuana card and scored something other than billy club … erection_pack

… it still worked out to be less than $7.50 per …

Whether it was Old School or New Age dating; $350 for the clothes, one or more pricey two-person dinners, $200 in gas and Pepsi, and $500 so the cleaning lady found and hid all your porn beforehand …

… all this so your average marriage can last eight years.

Figure the first half is “constantly” and the second half being “occasionally”, your lifetime batting average (with half your belongings paid out every 11 years) renders a “10 Pack” completely useless.

Like beer, when you’re young a 10 pack is half an hour, and in your dotage becomes an ambition, never realized.

As you fish between 9-12 outings per year, and assuming them to be weekends, you’re afield nearly 24 days per year, with a precision rod lasting a decade or more, figure four fish per day, that’s nearly one thousand fish for an $1100 buy in, pretty cheap for “the best entertainment you can have upright lying down, depending where you are in the cycle.”

Ripped lips won’t make a big enough hole

I remember reading a Flyfisherman magazine back in the Eighties that attributed the exceptional size and growth rate of the trout in some Pennsylvania creek to an upstream cheese factory, whose rich effluents imbued the entire waterway with curds and whey.

Sure, it was white and unsightly, probably adding a little foam to the fast water, and stank like sour milk in summer – but who wouldn’t overlook any indignity if it grew bigger trout.

We were young and gullible then, and assumed that occasionally fish could win an industrial-age lottery, and while most creeks were imbued with things that rhymed with curds, somewhere we’d achieve symbiosis, where the fish received something from us that assisted their growth, instead of retarding it.

fish_drugs

Now I’m questioning whether our UK brethren had it right all this time, that trout once stung by the hook will never take the artificial again. The only reason catch & release was ever successful is because the industrial age guaranteed both wastewater-borne and factory flushed – and we’d addicted a couple of generations of trout to painkillers, which neatly explained why they took our flies multiple times.

Pharmaceuticals turning up in streams and rivers have made headlines in recent years. Now for the first time in the U.S., researchers have shown that such drugs may come directly from plants that manufacture them. Research published in Environmental Science & Technology (DOI 10.1021/es100356f) documents that treated sewage effluent from drug makers can deliver to streams concentrations of painkillers that are as much as 1,000 times higher than levels in effluent from other sewage plants.

– via Chemical & Engineering News

Now that I’m aware of the issue, I’m not so sure I won’t lead with a couple of large rocks followed by a fleshy cannonball, it’s plain I’ll have to get down there and fight for my chemical teat, as them lazy arsed fish are deep and serene while huffing on leaky pipes.

… it’s either that or leave the barb up, once them mandibles are like a sieve it’ll be more for the rest of us.

Do German trout streams really smell like that?

It may explain why your child is less than interested, after all, exposure to the woods for 12 minutes means the sensational odors are no longer distinguishable from your average alpine slum.

It’s possible that all those high priced woodsy accommodations are only a welcome sight to those whose youth was spent in the woods before they started smelling bad …

Now we’re so used to pre-pasteurized and sterile air from the conditioner, it’s possible we’ve been unable to smell the true countryside for the last decade.

Canned Cow Fart, is that what the woods smell like now?

Canned cow farts have been a hot seller in Germany, giving the suddenly frugal Deutsche the ability to bring the scent of his favorite trout stream to the doorstep, rather than drive his precision 12 cylinder gas hog to the creek.

Suddenly frugal so long as the banks of Greece, Ireland, and Portugal need another infusion of Euros …

And the Oscar for Fastest Thinker Caught Red-Handed goes to

Smallest_fishIt remains the “fatal flaw” of a slotted catch & release regulation, and as I clawed my way out of the water and hustled up the bank, I realized the warden had only to flick ash from his cigar and motion to his “boys” to cart me away – and I would be sharing the same bed as Bernie Madoff and his ilk …

My sin was fishing a catch and release venue that allowed fish bigger than 18” to be kept, everything else had to be released. These slot-style regulations are fairly common, given that trout over 18” are no longer considered the best breeders, and fish & game didn’t mind you pulling the occasional cannibalistic fatty out of the creek for bragging rights.

Unfortunately my delicate little #16 pheasant tail had lawful knowledge of a four inch trout, and when I set the hook, I sent the child skyward with great force to land in  the Star Thistle behind me.

Knowing a big fine and a cavity search would be in the offing, I did my best to salvage the fish, but the tall grass meant he gasped out his life somewhere in my general vicinity…

… with me checking the high ground for the tell-tale glint of binoculars.

Thankfully It was a vertical set, and I didn’t try something clever like “completing the circle” or roll casting it:

Regardless of size or how obtained, it is illegal to use any sport fish for bait. (Sport fish species listed on page 5). Minnows are defined as all fish, except sport fish species, less than 6 inches long.

… that’s illegal as well …

What I didn’t know is how close I came to setting another world record:

Lawrence Co., KY, USA — Fishing with a rod and reel (a fishing pole), angler Andy Pelphrey, 28, caught a Blacknose Dace measuring 2.4 in. long. and 0.9 in. round, weighing in at o.oo8 lbs. (3.5 grams) – which sets the world record for the Smallest fish caught on rod and reel.

A quick glance at the Kentucky Fish & Game laws suggest Mr. Pelphrey may have been sweating it as much as I did:

Sport anglers cannot use blackside dace, palezone shiners or relict darters for bait.

Which was likely what he was gasping frantically to the warden when they clapped manacles on him, “ … wor .. world record ..”

Damned quick thinking if you ask me.

Sure Titanium is expensive, but is it even capable of a patina?

Your balky recalcitrant gate is merely prolonging the suffering. You took the easy path last weekend opting to ignore chores and familial responsibilities in favor of the NFL Pro Bowl – or worse yet the NFL Combine, and now the missus has your elbow clenched tightly to her as she strolls the flea market gushing over damask tablecloths and window treatments …

… which she really doesn’t care for, but knows it tortures you horribly …

Suddenly your practiced eye seizes on the top of half of a split cane something-or-other, and as your gaze follows the carefully spaced thread windings to the table, you see that aging Hardy Perfect next to a few other reels – most adorned with the patina of the last century.

Naturally your spouse is pulled clean out of her shoes while you hustle over to the kid manning the booth, and while his mom empties the arse-end of an aging station wagon onto the table, you’re left hefting a Pre-War Perfect and some level wind contraption called a “Ustonson Original Multiplying Winch” …

With only a sawbuck to your name, the quick glance at your spouse confirms you’re no longer on speaking terms, and when she starts boxing your ears later – it’ll sure seem like she’s a multiplying-wench, so do you lay down for the Perfect knowing that it’s enormous value should console her briefly even though you’d never sell it?

Ustonson_reel

-via the Angling Times

While a 3 5/8” Perfect would nicely appoint a Spey rod, you just missed purchasing what many consider to be the most expensive reel in the world, valued at about $50,000.

… assuming you ever found out what you’d passed up, just keep it to yourself. Confessing to the Missus would merely require you to serve both sentences consecutively, instead of at the same time.

Free Scissors to club fly tying classes, Inquire Within

Sixthfinger Part of selling all those Sixth Finger scissors is the quality control each set recieves prior to shipment. I’ve got a fairly consistent failure rate of nearly 10% on every shipment of scissors I receive.

Which makes for a lot of functional scissors that are destined for my closet.

After checking with the tax man it appears I can give them away to casting clubs for their fly tying classes without incurring harm or obligation to either party. If you know that your club could use some freebie scissors, drop me a note.

It will be our understanding that you’ll not market them as the real product, rather what they are, “free defective samples so you can learn to tie flies for less cash.”

The defects that make these unworthy of sale include; uneven tips, too blunt of tip, uneven blades (width), rough closure, visible defect, or won’t cut at all. Only the last issue renders the scissors unusable, so I’ll remove those from the mix.

The scissors may be a mixture of sizes and metals (some tungsten and some stainless) and all will be usable.

I’ll need your request for quantity on club stationary or what passes for same, and a link to your club website for verification.

My email address is in the “about” page at the top of the screen, just drop me a note to reserve your space in the queue.

About those moths, Madam

feat Never having seen an issue with as much bitter vitriol, that undoes 60 years of woman’s suffrage, polarizing the fly fishing community with tempers flaring in a frenzy of miscommunication and righteous anger …

… and all because some poor gal dares add a dab of genetic saddle hackle to her flowing mane …

Last week you were hoping she was around the next bend, and that she’d stalk you like a lioness in heat, now that’s all changed.

While this issue has been covered with great vigor in other venues, I thought you might want to read a darned good, dispassionate view of the fad, part of Angling Trade magazine and Kirk Deeter.

Make sure you read the comments to get some straight facts from Tom Whiting (of Whiting Hackle) – it’ll add some scope to the issue and outline what it all means for us anglers and coming seasons.

Us hoarders have stocked up on a couple seasons worth of the goodie, and can withstand a little scrutiny from Fashion Week and the couture crowd.

It’s nearly as much fun as eating sofa as a breakfast food

After three or four months you look down at the handkerchief and the sodden remnant of flaming pink raccoon tail you just sneezed up, and your first thought is about the fly tying “15 minute rule” and whether you’re allowed to recover and rebag it once dry …

Thirteen “pillows” of fur isn’t much to show for four months work, given the nearly 20 additional colors completed in theory, yet lack any physical manifestation.

14 actually, I started “Dreamy Mint Julep Caddis Carapace” this morning.

It’s the sum of every rainy weekend, all the frosty winter mornings, evenings after work, and why you should have listened to Poppa when he mentioned college – and how if you were as smart as claimed you’d be using head instead of back …

WMD

In the current economic environment, especially since both Tripoli and Wisconsin have fallen to revolutionaries, it’s a bit of a comfort knowing that I won’t be pressed into service as a short order cook, given my second career and the vast potential it holds.

Making little ones from big ones being a cornerstone of the US penal code, so I’ll have plenty of company with a single misstep.

Many of you participated in this experiment, and I owed you an update. Some picked colors and offered feedback, some fiddled with textures, most experimented with it, and at some point it will be available. My initial attempts at automation have failed miserably, so everything above has been made by hand.

Looking at all that dubbing makes me think of Edwin Teller, and the amount of suffering a handful of raccoon’s backside could mean to most of the major watersheds in North America …

… and how easy it’ll be to sleep at night, given the circumstances.

Perhaps we should insist on a waiting period to purchase trout

Idaho Total dollar value for all farmed trout sold by United States growers was $71.3 million dollars, at an average price of $1.39 a pound, down 5% from 2009’s total.

Idaho is the largest grower of commercial trout in the US, accounting for 50% of the nationwide total.

For trout 12 inches or longer, 64 percent were sold to processors and 17 percent were sold for recreational stocking.

Surely it sounds boring and innocent enough, but if trout farms sell 17% of their fish as recreational stockers, it suggests that all manner of genetically manipulated lumpy genomes will be plying our waterways in short order.

Twice the muscle mass and half the brains would be a formidable temptation for some angling enthusiast with a small pond, who wants something other than a traditional warm water fishery in his backyard.

Fast forward to the Asian Carp and a flooded farm pond, whose sudden presence in the Mississippi is liable to rewrite what’s native to North America for the next millennia.

Both trout farmers and salmon growers have insisted genetically modified fish would be grown inland, in restrictive ponds that wouldn’t allow release into the wild, and while much of the recreational stocking is likely state hatcheries purchasing fingerling fish to offset unforeseen calamity at one or more of their facilities, it sets the stage for the accidental towing of the wrong semi to the wrong destination, and suddenly that airtight glove of security is so very porous…