Category Archives: commentary

Beware white vans carrying Skinheads

I’ve often wondered what a fly fisherman does when they’re 80 years old and joints aren’t as limber, reflexes likewise, and they yank your driver’s license as you’re unsafe at any speed.

I saw myself as one of the “past their prime” old bastards sunning themselves at the casting pond, throwing an occasional word of encouragement at the fellow prying a dry fly out of his forearm. Mostly I’d be watching all the strolling females a third my age trying to straight face lecherous intent.

I’m allowed that as I can aspire to a dirty minded SOB as well as an ex-fishermen.

Now I know better. Me and the “Over the Hill” gang will be slapping knee and laughing at all the legal manifestations of water rights and cloned fish, and how the IGFA will be slapping asterisks on positively everything.

Young guys will shrug and dine at “sustainable” eateries, like us they never cared for the fish eating – it was the catching that made fishing fun. The middle aged fellows who got the last taste of wild fish when they were kids will be protesting asterisks and whether a salmon that tastes like a potato is still a salmon or no …

We’ll have little choice other than acknowledge our part in pillaging the watershed; how we didn’t know our feet was spreading pestilence, and the taint of urban runoff made our hook wounds turn into flesh eating disease – dooming Carp and Sticklebacks into a lengthy and painful demise. We had the best of intentions with Catch & Release, and how were we to know?

The Past became the Future when fish farmers mapped the Atlantic Salmon genome.

We applauded knowing that they could build a wild fish out of spare Cytosine from junkyard hubcaps, Guanine from lawn clippings … it was a bold new world and soon the streams would be teeming with real gamefish.

Only their interest was commercial, and we hadn’t figured on them fiddling with the DNA pairings. Instead of silver Chinook we got pen raised Kentucky Colonel Salmon, in Lethargic and Extra Risky, and while they could spawn in sewers, each time they did so, white vans would pull up spilling skinheads in tactical outfits and how they’d point at the copyright logo on the gill plate and repossess them all.

As salmon flesh possesses so many essential Omega-3 fatty acids, those canny “anglers” at the home office eventually found it cheaper to grow just the ass of the fish rather than the front. It silenced the environmentalists who were rallying support to ban Krill harvests, and solved the dilemma of feeding fish to fish to make fish. Consultation with a consortium of Sushi chefs and Plastic Veterinarians taught them the fillet work needed to make the “export” side of the salmon indistinguishable from the “import” side, especially when saran wrapped with a brightly colored sale sticker over the pucker.

Same thing happened to the leases and beats across the pond. Owning river or land doesn’t count when fish genetics show interbreeding with a corporate trademark. The conservation organizations puffed up their chest and tried the legal angle – but they’d never heard of the case law surrounding Monsanto and their lock on genetic seeds – and they got smoked.

The judgment along with previous ones upon which it was built has been interpreted by many to mean that if any Roundup Ready® crop is found on agricultural land wherein it was not specifically purchased even if it found its way there through entirely natural means such as wind or insect pollination, the farmer is liable to Monsanto for “theft” of its property.

But best of all will be the demise of the IGFA and world records as we know them. They’ll wield the asterisk firmly until offered the big money by Long John Silvers who’s engaged in a bitter war with Colonel Saunders over whose fillet of fishlike substance has a higher percentage of Wild.

The largest salmon in the world has never been caught – and doesn’t swim. It’s an amorphous blob of test tube fed flesh in the Gorton’s Clean Room, kept under 24 hour guard and completely sterile conditions.

… and each day the conveyor belt spins up and that white light from the carbon dioxide laser begins cutting thousands of identical Gorton’s “Copper River Spring Chinook” fillets.

“… flash frozen for freshness.”

Meanwhile “Bob” and I take turns passing the National Enquirer around the bench, old eyes straining to identify the make and model of the broken fly rod pictured next to the sobbing child as Poppa is hauled away …

Brave New World, and another Epsilon Semi Boron in manacles.

Tags: Mapping the Atlantic Salmon genome, Monsanto Roundup Ready Genetic crops, Brave New World, Epsilon Semi Moron, lecherous old guys, retired fly fisherman, environmental lobby smoked, krill ban, it takes fish to make fish, casting club, Carp

You might be a fishing wienie if

… sure it’s the season of friendship, hope, and orgy of consumerism, yet buried way down deep is still a hint of Christianity … hard to see, but baby Jesus is sandwiched somewheres between that Lexus commercial and all the reasons I need a 54” flat screen …

… absent the three wise men, whose star led them to Best Buy, where they’re poring over red and blue maps and the merits of Droid versus iPhone.

Yet, in all this I find Hope. Not that I’ve changed spots any. I’m still the opinionated antisocial prick of Posts Past – only there’s an item common to all fly shop clearance sales – suggesting you astute lads aren’t buying any. Simms Special Edition Wader mat

The Simms “Special Edition” wader mat. I’ve scratched my chin and after considerable thought decided if you own one of these, you’re a complete wienie.

Strong words from a fellow that takes pride in offending everyone, wades in crap, and thinks the purity of decay is the new wilderness.

I recognize the object and its function, freely admit that twenty bucks isn’t likely to break anyone, yet I just can’t find a single worthwhile reason to own one.

… and based on recent sales data and the canny shopping of a spouse navigating the unfamiliar waters of the local fly shop, Simm’s may have invented the fly fishing equivalent of Soap On A Rope.

Why? Gals know dirt.

They’re tired of stumbling over your wet wading boots on the floor of the garage, the mud caked waders flung over the dryer as your anti-invasive strategy, and would just as soon fix all that.

… and there in the sale bin is their instrument of Truth. Precisely the same length as a four-piece rod tube – and when wrapped will fool you into visions of Sage, Scott, and she shouldn’t have … A carat and a half later (which you can ill afford) and the glee of Christmas morn shattered by a drip mat.

… and that’s the best case.

If we look at the raw physics, you used to have two wet boots, one set of wet waders (inside and out), a dripping hollow wading staff, and all of that gear wadded into the same area containing sleeping bag, half eaten loaf of Wonderbread, and room temperature Bologna – left opened in the trunk when you elected to dine afield.

Now there’s another wet, dirty object to taint your precious supplies, or leak into your sleeping bag …

Sherlockian deduction suggests it may be the car that is of greatest concern. Waders and wet boots stashed in finely tailored gear bags emblazoned with vendor label, crest of arms, or both – and while all else is neatly compartmentalized this will be draining into your cashmere interior – while you search the backroads for a rare steak.

… and the fact that you drove such a car down a pitted track to set gleaming next to mine, means you’re a wienie.

Volumes of literature and roadside signs warn you against invasive species. Tanks of chemicals allow you to sprits wading gear back to the sterile pristine, yet there’s a goodly compliment of passengers lining your “drip mat” – and while you and your gear are chaste, that mat is now host to everything you stepped in.

… which makes you a wienie.

Or it could be that you don’t want to get any on you, environment-wise. Slithering into a high priced prophylactic is done to curry favor with the outdoor clique at work, or perhaps it was the Boss – who thought this whole adventure thing would be a great team exercise. He’s self-made and only agreed to the boardroom suggestion of “off site” because he loves to fish.

If so, Mother Nature is likely to bust a cap in your arse and expose you as a wienie.

Try as I might I cannot come up with any desirable characteristics not furnished by an old Playboy or dog-eared newspaper, scrap of carpet, or extra floormat.

“Simms” brooks little argument and looks tastefully sexy in moonlight, but so does my tailgate. I remove dripping garments high above the taint of soil – where they’ll drain fetchingly next to the “4WD” accent.

… any fool can get a high-priced, low-slung euro-roadster down the hill, it’s getting up that grows the Iron Cross …

Unnecessary gear. Another item to forget on the day of departure, another excuse for a high pitched tirade by the car. It’s easier to move the loaf of bread aside, grab your buddy’s down jacket and use that …

… that only costs you dinner.

Tags: Simms Special Edition wading mat, fly fishing wienie, unnecessary bulk, waders, wading boots, invasive species, fly shop, baby Jesus, antisocial prick, IMHO

The “woodsy” self versus the thin veneer of civilization

Last night was a flurry of pots and pans, screaming cooks with blistered fingers, slopped sugary icing, and my complete abandonment of the angling world.

This time of year similar scenes are playing out in kitchens everywhere – and most anglers are smart enough to make themselves scarce, go fishing, or nurse barked knuckles after being repulsed in their attempt to lick spoons.

In stark contrast to their fishing personae, I’m left wondering how the women I’ve fished with transition from “did you wash your hands” to complete killers …

‘Because up here in Alaska, well, one, we — a lot of us, you know, we smell like salmon’

… and how is it that some vestige of the woodlands variant doesn’t mix with the civilized version.

As a guy “cook” I’m obliged to lay my offerings at the coffee pot along with the rest of the assemblage. Despite hours of painstaking preparation the Lemon Bars are housed in Taco Bell salad containers – and the Christmas Stollen lays astride a greasy cardboard box.

Surrounded by platters of carefully arranged and immaculately presented baked goods, moot evidence of my male insensitivity, lack of artistic merit, and unsanitary kitchen – while the female version looks twice as good as they taste.

Why is it my feminine side is only on display when fly fishing?

Perfect presentations and artistic sensibilities abound when tying or fishing, yet food is “.. it’s got sugar in it, shuddup.”

… and the converse is just as true. Safely ensconced within civilization gals are concerned with artistry and hygiene, and in the woods can’t hit the broadside of a barn with a spatula, yet mix fish guts and sandwiches with the best of us.

The fingerprints in the icing don’t slow the “vanish rate” any – as stern looks surrender to the beatific smiles of sugary satiation. But that’s proof of subconscious lust – conscious thought being suspended.

… and I can go on all day about the proper accompaniment for a bronze dun hackle to assist its contrast with an olive thorax, then scuttle away horrified if the subject shifts to curtains ..

Busy calling the kettle black – I may have answered my own question.

Tags:woodsy self, unwashed hands, chief cook and bottle washer, fly fishing, unsanitary Renaissance Man, shuddup

The Privatization of Fish will be a by product

I’ve been keenly watching water policy over the last couple of years. Much of that ground plowed to find compelling items for posting – yet has me brushing up against water usage and the building water crisis facing every state.

… and it’s going to be every lawyer’s wet dream …

Using EPA estimates, communities will need an estimated $300 billion to $1 trillion over the next 20 years to repair, replace, or upgrade aging drinking water and wastewater facilities; accommodate a growing population; and meet new water quality standards.[5] EPA projects a $650 billion shortfall between current spending levels and money that will be needed over the next 15 years. The Water Infrastructure Network claims spending will need to increase by $23 billion a year for the next 20 years in order to meet the growing water/wastewater treatment needs. Also, in May 2002, the Congressional Budget Office estimated that the cost of drinking water and wastewater infrastructure over the next 20 years would be $492 billion under a low-cost scenario and $820 billion under a high-cost scenario.

Charles Duhigg’s six-part series on drinking water for the New York Times is the latest in a series of exposes on how large farming and industrial interests get to operate with impunity, ignoring The Clean Water Act, as most states are strapped for staff or lack the desire to enforce clean water standards.

Fresh potable water is going to be as expensive as gold, and that puts you and I squarely in the cross-hairs of those same powerful lobbies – and with our puny conservation efforts and tiny organizations, we’re going to suffer considerably more than the rest of the population.

It’s likely we’ll be barred from fishing in public water – as it won’t be public much longer.

The root issue is infrastructure. Cities and states both lack the billions of dollars to address burgeoning populations concentrated in cities. Drinking water isn’t close by – so billions must be spent to ditch, pipe, and canal water from where it “lives” to where it’s needed.

Politicians are reluctant to raise taxes (albeit not at all reluctant to blow the proceeds) and privatization of the water supply is thought as a method to remove local government’s responsibility for pipes and infrastructure onto a for-profit company with deep pockets.

Naturally your rates will climb as the new owner recoups the millions spent on replacing earthen dikes, rotting pipes, Quagga mussel infested pumps, and the brick canals built in the 1800’s that are still supplying critical freshwater to our expanding cities.

You can expect “No Trespassing” as a result. Boaters and anglers are know vectors for invasives that damage the water infrastructure – and felt soles be damned – they’ll bar you from the waterway entirely.

… ditto for duck hunters and ski barges …

Atlanta tried it, now Chicago is thinking about it.

Considering that all of the hallowed Catskill streams of fly fishing fame are sent through mountains and brick-lined tunnels to slake New York City’s thirst, if you’re thinking those geographic barriers will save you – they won’t.

If you’re lucky you live near the coast, making desalinization an option. Eventually someone will figure out how to dispose of the salt, so toxic it rivals nuclear waste, but some canny fellow will figure out a way to cleanse it and sell it to you at the supermarket.

The lawsuits that result from Spanish Land Grants, international treaties with both Canada and Mexico, imminent domain, and all the cities dependent on the same river – yet further downstream, will likely bottle up significant movement for the next couple of decades.

In the meantime about all that’s left is investing in the next conglomerate that will own Southern California’s water supply – hoping that the proceeds will allow you to retire somewhere’s else.

Just one of the reasons why the brown water is so compelling. Little crappy creeks that no one drinks (yet) with inferior-mouthed fish that no one protects (yet) – that may afford you a spot to teach your kids to fly fish.

Tags: Chicago’s water supply, privatizing drinking water, desalination, Spanish land grant, agribusiness lobby, Charles Duhigg, New York Times, No trespassing, brownlining

Red with Beef, White with Fish, Ripple with a Twinkie

It’s the spark that ignited open warfare in my household. Pots and Pans hurled with much force and even greater accuracy – while I backpedal giving the kitchen door a couple of measured three second bursts …

I always figured our relationship would end bloody. She’d discover her favorite dish towels dyed florescent Puce, wadded under the sink out of sight … or the carpet would yield another 3/0 O’Shaughnessy – buried to the bend in either her hindquarter or big toe.

Fishermen can’t help but strain the boundaries of domesticity with our early morning departures, bleeding gut-stomped prey, or the many sharp accessories we toss around while unpacking.

… toss around and fail to pick up …

We wept during the highly charged, romantic segments of “Rivers of a Lost Coast” – up until they mentioned the Russian River was depopulated compliments of the wine industry. I could feel her stiffen in protest – but took her mind off of “those obscene lies” with chocolate.

… wine being her most favorite thing, more favorite than me …

Then I had the audacity to perpetuate “another heinous liberal myth, like Global Warming” – by posting this piece, and ever since only the fourth kind of sex is available, where you pass each other in the hallway and say “f**k you.”

Unfortunately the Santa Rosa Press Democrat made mention of the phenom, so I’m duty-bound to pass it on.

“We’re here to protect fish as well, but it can’t be done by eliminating the viticulture industry in Mendocino and Sonoma County,” said Devon Jones, executive director of the Mendocino County Farm Bureau.”

To which I’d reply, “Nuts.”

The Napa wineries have spilled over a couple of valleys and into a half dozen watersheds – and all the jug wines are now grown in the Central Valley proper. Many thousands of acres of tomatoes and almonds uprooted to mass produce cheap Chardonnay, Burgundy, and lesser grapes.

I’ve enjoyed wine (jug or otherwise) for many years – but this talk of “absolutes” is starting to become overly burdensome.

… perhaps you’ll have to keep 20,000 acres fallow – to ensure a half dozen sickly Salmon can gasp their way to former haunts – there to expire. Keeping those fish will not extinct the Napa Valley or anything close to it – vintners are objecting at having to share.

“It is really critical that all growers get involved with this,” said Nick Frey, president of the 1,800-member Sonoma County Wine Grape Commission.

This spring “there’s a risk of not everyone having water for frost protection,” Frey said.”

I’ll make you a deal. As some of the founding fathers and “Johnny-come-lately’s” will have to surrender some of the most fertile soil (to ensure salmon survive) …

… we’ll allow you to grow dope in Mendocino.

As you’d have money coming out of your ears – and a lock on the medical marijuana market, you can uproot your restored turn-of-the-century farmhouse – complete with clinking glassware and Marin-gentrified lifestyle – and move North.

As pure sewage can only improve your end product (and may even improve its taste) we’ll let you have an equivalent amount of lukewarm brown water from whatever impoundment is nearby.

… you won’t need to worry about frost, as you’ll harvest all that bud in September …

… and your spendthrift wastrel kids will have the chance to appreciate the richness of your Chardonnay, as they’ll have something to eat with it besides a Twinkie …

Tags: Santa Rosa Press Democrat, Rivers of a Lost Coast, domestic bliss, Napa Valley wineries, Russian River, salmon, medical marijuana, open warfare, think outside the box

FTC requires Bloggers daylight vendor relationships and pay for post practices

In light of Federal Trade Commission ruling, I need to confess that Singlebarbed.com did in fact give me a set of the Precious (Sixth Finger scissors) and that I did willfully foist said device on the unsuspecting eyes of my readers.

Scissor_Payment To rectify this heinous breach of confidence, witness the left hand (of the author) paying the right hand (of the author) the full and complete purchase price of the aforementioned bloody awesome scissors.

Now that I’m a reformed whore – I get to throw big rocks at everyone else…

The Federal Trade Commission has ruled that as of December 31, 2009, bloggers will be required to list their relationships with any vendors, and whether the product they’ve reviewed was paid for – or provided free by the manufacturer.

Rather, in analyzing statements made via these new media, the
fundamental question is whether, viewed objectively, the relationship between the advertiser and the speaker is such that the speaker’s statement can be considered “sponsored” by the advertiser and therefore an “advertising message.” In other words, in disseminating positive statements about a product or service, is the speaker: (1) acting solely independently, in which case there is no endorsement, or (2) acting on behalf of the advertiser or its agent, such that the speaker’s statement is an “endorsement” that is part of an overall marketing campaign? The facts and circumstances that will determine the answer to this question are extremely varied and cannot be fully enumerated here, but would include: whether the speaker is compensated by the advertiser or its agent; whether the product or service in question was provided for free by the advertiser; the terms of any agreement; the length of the relationship; the previous receipt of products or services from the same or similar advertisers, or the likelihood of future receipt of such products or services; and the value of the items or services received.

This isn’t a really big deal as most blogs are personal and therefore exempt, but there’s plenty of grey area to stumble over. Many blogs are supported by the manufacturers (especially those that give favorable reviews) and a great deal of “loot” is dispensed through all the various angling mediums; magazines, blogs, forums, and the like.

In industries unrelated to fishing, manufacturers have commissioned “independent” blogs as a source of free word-of-mouth advertising and the FTC wants to shutter these “surrogate mouthpiece” sites.

Assume now that the consumer joins a network marketing program under which she periodically receives various products about which she can write reviews if she wants to do so. If she receives a free bag of the new dog food through this program, her positive review would be considered an endorsement under the Guides.

Individual authors lack the funds to buy multiple $700 rods each year – and may lack the desire even if the fundage was forthcoming. Manufacturers queue themselves willingly for the chance to reach your precious eyeballs, and the larger for-profit sites will now have to spill all the sordid details.

… and lest you think I’m pointing fingers, “for-profit” describes any site with Google’s AdSense advertisements – the irritating little ads to the right of this column that you never click on anyways.

I think this is a great idea and long overdue.

Popular blogs are besieged by unrelated vendors who will pay just for a link to their site. Something as innocuous as the word “shoes” can be worth money to a high traffic site. Vendors don’t care whose eyes they capture as long as there’s lots of them.

Product reviews have always been a sore spot – even amongst the magazine crowd. Fly fishing is such a personal issue that one fellow’s idea of a great rod may not be shared by others. Numerous articles on the topic have surfaced on this and other blogs about these “rock and a hard place” pressures.

If you play the game well, applying the lips to whichever hindquarters are presented – you get more free stuff, and advertisement revenue. If you don’t – well, you don’t get anything.

… and that’s fine too… only the FTC no longer sees it that way.

I’m not a legal mind, but if Sage is paying you a monthly stipend to host their banner and you review one of their rods, are you on their retainer?

Example 5: A skin care products advertiser participates in a blog advertising service. The service matches up advertisers with bloggers who will promote the advertiser’s products on their personal blogs. The advertiser requests that a blogger try a new body lotion and write a review of the product on her blog. Although the advertiser does not make any specific claims about the lotion’s ability to cure skin conditions and the blogger does not ask the advertiser whether there is substantiation for the claim, in her review the blogger writes that the lotion cures eczema and recommends the product to her blog readers who suffer from this condition. The advertiser is subject to liability for
misleading or unsubstantiated representations made through the blogger’s endorsement.

So how does it all work? The Redington RS4 review that TC and I did came with the requirement that we link back to the Redington site twice. The rod and reel we reviewed was donated by the vendor to our collective bosom with the understanding we’d both review the product.

The Trout Underground thought it a sturdy serviceable rod, and my opinion was that it was sturdy … too damn sturdy for my taste. That’s the gamble the vendor takes when putting his “best foot forward” – loose cannons like myself may not like the product and have the affront to say so.

The manufacturer is gambling on a favorable review and the topic (plus links) to bring your precious eyeballs back to their site for ritual exploitation.

Our combined (Underground/Singlebarbed) loot policy requires us to donate the rod and reel to the readers. I’m guessing this will happen after TC becomes more skilled in whip finishing his new daughter’s diapers …

The Modified Singlebarbed Loot Policy:

I own more tackle than a fully equipped fly shop. I’ve got more reels, rods, fly tying materials, books, hooks, waders, boots, and vest-based errata than I care to admit.

… the fact that my brother has borrowed or broken half of it is immaterial.

I will tell my girlfriend that any item she claims is new – was provided free by a vendor – and I’m counting on you not to spill the beans.

In the case of a product review I will outline the requirements the vendor has saddled me with – and whether I paid for the beast. As Singlebarbed does not kiss vendor buttocks, we’re considered “a loose cannon” by that community and I expect I will continue to pay for all products reviewed.

Tags: FTC endorsement rules change, FTC guides on endorsements and testimonials, Redington, trout underground, Google AdSense, bloggers, blogging ethics, schwag

Wherein we apply the boots to her watery midsection

I’m on unfamiliar turf, unsure whether to be melancholy, maudlin, or go with chest thumping bravado. Guys are always conflicted that way as we aren’t allowed to “tear up” when Old Yeller gets lead out behind the barn, nor are we supposed to get melancholy when we see our home water laying there with bones exposed and buzzards her only companion.

On May 9th my beloved Little Stinking had the stopper pulled and ran bone dry. A couple months ago I wandered the lower stretch and saw the only water remaining was four large beaver ponds. This morning I had the nerve to go up to the big fish stretch to see what remained – as the gauge read that water had been restored.

The creek was dead, completely dewatered and dry as a bone.

As it was early still and heat wasn’t an issue I elected to hold a wake. I’d wander down through the normal jaunt and see how deep each hole was and collect a few lost flies.

I must have made quite the spectacle as even the ATV crowd gave me a wide berth. I’m fully geared with hip boots, vest, and rod – and crunching through dry creek bed like I was expecting to fish sometime soon.

My already dubious reputation was lowered a couple of notches, I suppose I’m the “Wild Man of Crap Creek”, “tetched” in the head by too much sun. Mothers no longer wave back – they gather their kids close as I pass …

Wally, where's the Beaver? Dead and desiccated beaver were scattered near their burrows. While agile underwater they’re clumsy prey on dry land, easy pickings for coyotes or someone’s Rottweiler.

The pelts were too far gone for my road kill honed reflexes, and I left them for the buzzards.

Even the deep stretches were dry, at best with a bit of dampened mud at the bottom. No fish carcasses were evident but they would’ve been picked clean and skeletal.

It’s a complete wipe. Bugs dead, fish dead, and the wildlife in the area foraging for water as best they can. I found a couple muddy traces that had an inch of water remaining, and the volume of animal tracks nearby were moot testimony to the deer, coyotes, and birds having to make do.

It was science at this point. What happens when fish detect lowering water and the temperature rises to unacceptable? Do they slide downstream until blocked – there to die, or can they sense the calamity and migrate before the inter-pool riffles dry and block passage?

At the end of my downstream leg and after tromping nearly two miles I found the last pool of water remaining. A family of four mink (might have been otter) were swimming in four feet of of clear water in a pond I could nearly cast across.

The last oasis

In the past this had been the home of all the really large smallmouth, with the far bank a deep slot nearly ten feet deep. Now it was a large swimming pool of half that depth.

I’d never seen mink on the creek – even in her final moments the Old Gal was still full of surprises. I sat on the gravel bar above and watched them swim around a bit. The water was full of fish, everything that could swim downstream had done so – now marooned by shrinking water and likely will be eaten by the four mink in residence.

Not much a fellow could do other than remember the big fish landed or lost on the same stretch.

… but Singlebarbed ethics require me to add my boot heels to the watery bitch’s midsection and I strung the rod for one last go. We’d make this an “Irish” wake and dispel melancholy with a few fingers of adrenaline.

The Little Stinking had one last surprise in store – surrendering my first Black Crappie. It was a bit bittersweet, but I’ve now landed every fish on the “Lethal Mercury – Do Not Eat” sign posted on every bridge crossing.

…most would consider it a dubious honor, but I was thrilled.

The Black Crappie

Say hello to my little friends, they’ve entertained both you and I these last couple of years …

The Sacramento Pikeminnow – the lateral line moves upward as it approaches the gill plate, about the only distinguishing feature separating it from the equally common, Sacramento Sucker.

Sacramento Pikeminnow

The Hardhead – nearly indistinguishable from the Pikeminnow except in the larger sizes, where it’s entire belly becomes an orange-yellow. (whereas the pikeminnow remains white)

Sacramento Sucker

I landed fifty fish in about an hour; bluegill, sunfish, pikeminnow, suckers, smallmouth bass, and crappie. Each displayed its unique characteristics that I’ve memorized over time. Pikeminnow adore the large fly stripped fast (as do the suckers), and Bass love to inhale flies as they sink.

It was a great way to part company with an old friend – and while Winter’s rain will replenish the water it will take longer to refurbish the food sources and fish.

If the creek had invasives, they’ll be dead too.

I’d like to be really angry about the demise of this fishery, but it’s merely a symptom of a larger problem. Drought to be sure – as California has been suffering for the last three years, but the more painful thought is the realization that water is bought and sold for profit rather than metered for efficiency or environmental concerns.

Recently outfitted with a water meter, it’s plain that even the rural communities will be paying for water by the gallon, while the big agricultural interests resell their water back to cities for enormous profit.

Yesterday, the Hanford Sentinel broke the news that Sandridge Partners, a Westside “family farm”, was planning on selling 14,000 acre-feet of Sacramento San Joaquin Delta water a year to the Mojave Water Agency, San Bernardino County, for a mind boggling 5,500 dollars an acre-foot.
Who wants to be a millionaire? This deal will yield 77 million dollars to, wait for it, multimillionaires. Sandridge Partners is owned by the Vidovich family of Silicon Valley, who already amassed a considerable fortune turning Silicon Valley orchards into housing tracts. More recently, according to the Environmental Working Group, as detailed in an article in the San Francisco Chronicle, Sandridge Partners were the biggest 2008 recipients in the entire nation for federal subsidies for thirsty cotton, wheat, and peanuts for their farms in three San Joaquin Valley counties. Think of them as Kern County’s Welfare Kings.

(via The Trout Underground)

Equip your house with solar panels and you can resell energy back to the grid, so why aren’t you credited with money for the water you conserve?

Drinking water is fast becoming the world’s most precious commodity. While many have giggled at the crappy brown mess I fish in – they aren’t laughing when I name the communities that are drinking it – and my cigar butts.

When water reaches four bucks a gallon some type of reform will resurface the issue of salmon versus watery tomatoes – and which we want to eat for ten cents a pound more …

Until then be content that despite the iron grip of a third consecutive year of drought, California tomatoes shrugged it off with alacrity:

It’s shaping up to be a record year for California’s processing tomato contracted production with a forecast of 13.5 million tons, 13 percent above the previous record year of 1990.

Planted and harvest acres are forecast at 308,000 and 307,000, respectively, according to statistics from the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Acreage drifted from areas where there wasn’t adequate water supplies, with acreage up significantly in Kern and San Joaquin counties.

Fresno still leads the state with the most 2009 contracted production with 102,000 acres. San Joaquin County is second with 44,000 acres and Yolo County rounds out the top-3 with 34,000 acres.

… and then they sue the state because we cut back water to save a few hundred salmon.

Dry creekbed and a few posies are all that's left

Something stinks, and it’s not the corpse of my creek. She smells of hot rock and a few posies … all that remains.

Tags: California tomatoes, little stinking, pikeminnow, sucker, crappie, bluegill, wake, smallmouth bass, California drought, water politics, potable water, drinking water

Hisself admits frailty, acknowledges the ravages of Time and resolves to be meaner

I remember calling the announcer a “know-nothing boob” when he claimed Jerry Rice had “lost a step.” Those were fighting words, inferring the world’s greatest wide receiver from the world’s best-est NFL team was somehow mortal…

Forgive my obvious “homer-ism” – there are other NFL franchises, but with the home team employing both Joe Montana and Jerry Rice the late 80’s and early 90’s were mostly a coronation rather than a contest.

Fly anglers are athletes only most of us don’t see it that way. Our contracts cover “love and cherish” and a lifetime of lawn mowing, and when the “head coach” tells us to come off the couch – we do so with all haste and don’t twitter our distaste for her play calling …

I’ve been wrestling with this notion all season, coming to grips with the fact that I’ve lost a step. It’s painful to admit and I’ve blamed all manner of external entities, but the plain truth is age is starting to show itself.

Mortality is a rude awakening, some find it early via cataclysmic event – but the rest of us feel like we’re in high school for forty years and then suddenly we’re not.

At 46 my lifelong 20-20 vision started to deteriorate. A visit to the ophthalmologist yielded a gleeful diagnosis of “old guy” Presbyopia, and nothing to be done about it. It meant reading glasses for fly tying, as I had trouble resolving small flies and hackles, and it meant glasses for knot tying while fishing – as I could no longer thread monofilament through the eye.

It meant that if the glasses were lost or broken, my fishing was done. The last 45 minutes of dusk – the Holy Time – when fish get careless and bugs grew dense – was now 35 minutes of swearing while trying to tie on the right fly, then finding I could no longer see it when it landed.

… and Shad meant healing between trips. All those broken fingers suffered in youth, and both thumbs broken while salt water fishing, have reawakened like some dormant volcano – reminding me of every youthful lapse in judgment.

The heavy rods with Ultra-fine, Half wells, Cigar, or Reverse half Wells, now are passed over in favor of the Full Wells grip, which seems to give better purchase and requires less finger pressure to keep the rod from rotating.

Throwing a Type VI head is always arduous. One or more roll casts to get it onto the surface, one or more false casts to position the running knot outside the guides, and then flung with great vigor.

Pop calls it “economy of motion” – where you start to favor a body part and refine the casting stroke to minimize repetition. I can still go all day, but this season taught me to use one roll cast, one positioning cast, and toss. Distance is unaffected, this is the cast you should have been using all along, the cast the rod’s taper was designed to deliver and only youthful ardor and invulnerability prevented you from learning it.

In addition to the reading glasses, we’ve added water and sugar. I’ve always been in good walking shape and trips start at the parking lot, with multiple miles of upstream or downstream before thinking of returning.

A couple liters of water and a snack bar have replaced the beer and a sandwich. Most of my local watershed is blazing hot and the refractive heat from sandy stretches coupled with the humidity of the creek can take the starch out of your stride long before the car is visible.

The forced march through the burning sands has been tempered by wisdom. We can still do the full frontal assault, but a spot of shade and some water makes it much more comfortable.

A Park Bench in our future? We’ve added glasses, hydration, and a fart bar to the vest – three more items we can forget in the pre-dawn flurry of fly boxes, tippet and other essentials.

But it’s the melancholy that makes “losing a step” so difficult. You know that another decade and you may not be fishing alone anymore, the decade after, fishing may be limited to the parking area, and in the decade that follows fishing may be a sunny park bench at the casting club – where you rub aching stuff and tell fish stories with other fellows in similar circumstance.

… all the while keeping a fatherly eye on the youthful know-nothings unable to keep a defined loop aloft, knowing your impatience with their casting stems from your inability to wade steadily, or rock-hop some small creek to show the lad how it’s really done.

You shake your head when he applies additional force to the cast which makes the tailing loop worse, and unable to suffer further you straighten off the bench to walk out to the fellow – enduring his glare of resentment when you offer to assist.

I suppose I was the same way when those old guys approached me. I knew everything already, despite only being 12.

I can dump a few extra pounds to regain a short burst of squandered youth, but a couple years later even that won’t be enough and I’ll submit reluctantly to the ravages of Time.

The silver lining has to be passing on all that knowledge – learned painfully at the cost of self – to some scowling young prick that will only learn its value a couple decades later when he faces what I faced.

Those that tie flies will blink through thickening spectacles and continue their craft with renewed passion, as it preserves the connection to the sport despite age or frailty.

… and pressing six or seven flies into the hands of some youngster – whose eyes grow as big as silver dollars may be a suitable surrogate for using them yourself.

I’m toying with going out messy like Brett Favre. I’ll be the bane of the orthopedic surgeon insisting he replace stiffened tendons with sheep embryo injections or stem cells.

Some innocent fellow will be tromping through the woods and stumble across my prone form at water’s edge, and when he checks for a pulse I’ll startle him by croaking out a string of obscenities, “get your goddamn hands off’n me you lummox, and tell me whether that big Brown is still there despite your big assed feet …”

That’s the Gold Lining, being a mean old SOB for the last couple of fortnights …

Tags: Old guys, fly fishing, lost a step, mortality, Brett Favre, Jerry Rice, Joe Montana, mean SOB, casting club, impatient youth, economy of motion, retired athlete, sheep embryo, hydration pack,

Singlebarbed’s Gear Review, the Redington RS4 – Rise 5/6

I’ve had the luxury of testing a Redington RS4 9′ #6 the last couple of weeks, complimented by a matching Redington Rise 5/6 reel. I managed to paint some algae on it from a half dozen tepid backwaters, including the Little Stinking and Sporting Creek.

Redington RS4 9' #6

Now with the rod shiny and scrubbed with anti-invasive bleach, I’ll have to return it.

… but not before passing on some commentary.

Action:

“Crisp” covers the first two sections, and immovable describes the last two. It’s a six weight rod in name only – as the rear half is nearly inflexible. It casts a WF7F with equal ease, and a WF8 doesn’t even flex the third segment.

RS4 reel seat detail Fast action rods have the bulk of the flex contained in the top third or top half of the blank, but the RS4 is an extreme case typified by a club-like lower half. All rods should demonstrate some flex regardless of action type, and the RS4 was much too stiff in the lower two sections to see real deflection. As a result, it delivers the line with great authority, too much for delicate work – it’s bestial characteristic better suited for slamming deer hair bass bugs or waterlogged streamers into a stiff breeze.

Which was ideal for the creeks I subjected it to …

Bead head nymphs hit the water with terrific force – a reminder to back off the delivery stroke for fear of the ensuing fountain of water and suddenly empty creek …

Outfitted with a ST7S it can deliver a bead chain enhanced shad fly in excess of 110 feet, yet I still couldn’t confirm whether the third section was participating in all that double hauling frenzy.

I like fast, but this taper ended after the top half – yielding a wading staff from the bottom two segments.

RS4 Finish Detail

Spline Test:

Peering under the hood reveals the engineering detail of rod construction, and I was disappointed in the results of the spline test.

Simply put, a graphite rod is built by wrapping a fixed length of graphite scrim (fabric) onto a steel mandrel. When the appropriate number of layers are applied, the material is trimmed lengthwise, wrapped and baked into the final blank.

The start of the wraps and the end of the wrap create two points with an extra layer of graphite compared to the rest of the blank – these are called the major and minor spline(s).

The major spline is typically the outside wrap – the last wind of fabric before it was cut, and the minor spline is the first wrap of fabric – but it’s buried deep in the blank so it appears less pronounced.

Laying a rod section onto a flat table, you can roll the edge of your hand in the middle of the rod to feel both splines – the rod actually “jumps” in your hand as the two “edges” of extra material roll underneath.

All wrapped fabric rods have this phenomenon, both fiberglass and graphite, bamboo rods usually lack a spline, as they’re constructed of (usually) six hexagonal strips glued together, therefore lacking any “extra” turns of material.

Guides are traditionally mounted opposite the major spline. This makes the “top” of the rod contain the spline, and as it’s the stiffest section of the rod, and the “outside” of a rod bends further than the inside when flexed, it’s the side with the most resistance to bending.

It provides power.

Cheap mass produced rods pay no attention to spline alignment, mounting the guides wherever they feel like – or however the rod segment lands in the wrapping harness. First tier rod makers typically align the spline and guides to ensure a predictable action.

Redington’s guides are mounted without regard to the spline of each rod segment, and each of the four sections has the guides mounted in a different angle to the spline.

When casting the rod you’d be hard pressed to feel the difference of spline alignment and guides. Mechanically, the rod is reacting differently on each segment and is twisting to compensate for the poor alignment robbing the casting stroke of energy.

A fast action #6 with reserve power – mounted properly with the spline of all four sections on the top, would make this rod a true #7, as the spline adds additional reserve power and resistance to flexing.

Finish and Fittings:

Black finished dual foot guides complemented by a single carbide stripping guide, offered a traditional look and feel. Sturdy reel seat hardware accented with the neo-standard graphite spacer – and a nice broad rounded thread to tighten the reel seat. The wide thread resists grit from causing the reel to bind on dismount – a nice “fishing” touch – as we excel at putting reels in harsh environments.

Outstanding cork with little filler – a rarity in today’s rods. eight 3/4″ rings used versus the traditional thirteen 1/2″ cork segments.

The finish was applied thickly, with all decals imbedded under a blanket of epoxy. Small dots marked on the blank for guide alignment got additional coats – and the male end of each ferrule has epoxy extending down the blank for an additional two inches, a bit of overkill considering.

This “decal” coat was abrupt and noticeable on each rod segment, almost giving the notion of a sag in the finish. It’ll be a “”turn off” to those that delight in a rod’s appearance – and assists in stiffening an already unyielding rod.

Rise 5/6 Front

Reel:

The Rise reel was absolutely delightful. Solid construction and good craftsmanship on both tolerances and finish. The drag knob was large and accessible and turned easily even with muddy or damp fingers.

It’s a mid arbor reel with both sides ventilated for weight reduction.

The holes on the rear of the reel are small preventing dangling vest attachments from getting into the mechanism once the reel is brought into your chest, and the backplane thick enough to avoid the “cheese grater” effect should a finger get into the wrong area on a hot fish.

Disc drag with easy access for lubrication and maintenance, and a pleasing muted click to alert you to line paying out.

Suggested retail is $156.00 (Spool $80).

RS4 Case with visible reel

Case:

It’s a clever case design allowing for the reel to stay attached when stored away. It makes for one less item to forget in pre-trip planning – as the mylar window plainly displays the reel attached to the rod.

Summary:

This is a clubby workhorse rod – not some gossamer reed that will assist your posing in the parking lot. Fit and finish are acceptable, with the notable exceptions of superb reel seat and quality cork, but finish and engineering (spline mismatch) are not Tier 1 quality.

Considering that I fish with rods whose trim is painted on the blank, that shouldn’t give you much pause ..

It’s a beastial fast rod whose action is limited to the first two segments, the butt sections are inflexible and clubby. You’ll treat the rod accordingly – no wincing when you yank a stuck dry fly from an overhanging branch, it’s the kind of rod you loan an in-law without regard for its safety, whose butt is perched in sand and water while wolfing a sandwich.

You’ll toss it into the truck bed fully rigged, and if it bangs the bottom of the boat when you shift your weight, you won’t worry about any nick or blemish.

Crisp action bordering on the insensitive, quality accessories yet only average finish quality, it’s a yeoman’s rod – something to learn with and loan to a friend once you upgrade.

TC’s test of the same rod offers additional insight.

Tags: Redington RS4 Review, Redington rod, Redington Rise 5/6, fly rod, fly reel, cork, round threaded reel seat, scrim, epoxy finish, rod spline, mass produced fly rods, Chinese fly rod

Can you spare some Kleenex, Bro?

Unfortunately the prognosis is full recovery. Brain function is currently limited to the non-artistic centers of the right lobe, while the playful and color conscious left hemisphere is still plugged with unmentionables.

Red Eyed Nose Blow

The desire to torment readers has resurfaced – which is a good sign, but I’m still leaving the bulk of my skills in discarded Kleenex.

The rest I’m husbanding for some new local waters which I’m determined to visit this weekend – where I can throw the above self portrait without censure…

Technorati Tags: brown water, flu recovery, fly fishing, self portrait