Category Archives: current events

It’s well knows that world’s records have a weakness for bacon rind

I’d come across them many times, and while always cognizant of their presence, I’d always considered landlocked salmon more of a novelty fishery rather than something you spent a lot of time pursuing. Naturally that all changed if I was camped on the bank, in which case its bright red meat was a delicacy, and I’d make plans to include the piney woods version of surf and turf wherever possible …
In most of the venues I’ve caught them it was evident that it was a put and take fishery with most of the fish schooled to a size, somewhere between 12” and 14”, which makes a great pan sized meal but fails to invoke images of smoke filled pine lodges and leaping silver fish.
Just up the road from me is a lake filled with Kokanee, and while it was rumored the next state record was imminent, they were still talking a fish under five pounds …
While I wondered just how big some of these fish would get – and could they resemble real salmon in size, I was surprised to learn a fly fisherman had bagged the world’s largest – at 26 pounds, 12 ounces.
Naturally a world record had to be on some ratty home tied fly, absent any real genteel properties like married wings or jungle cock. Real fisherman know all that art and color is reserved for the glossy magazine covers, and only world’s record prove their addiction to bacon rind …
mysis_shrimp
Taken on an unknown Mysis Shrimp pattern, minus the bacon rind and the rest of the feathers as well.
Deep down I was hoping it was something horribly old fashioned, with yards of bright colors and tinsel, and we’d all be rushing to the fly shop as it called for something completely esoteric … alas, no.

There’s no houses floating past, yet …

Tsunamis must be in fashion, given my last 48 hours crouched under the bed hoping a tree limb isn’t headed for the roof – and with it, thousands of gallons of California’s freshwater variant…

Now as the water district trucks snarl and slide toward the abyss, counting the remaining feet from the lip, I’m wondering whether this’ll all be gone by shad season, or whether I’ll be shaking fist like last year.

Big dark clouds rolling inThe 10-day forecast suggests it’ll rain constantly, and my sleepy little backwater is already running 73 feet deep, so there’ll be little respite from gnawing fingernails and hoping the creek starts to recede given it’s less than 20 feet from flooding Interstate-5.

tsunami2

Those oaks are on an island thirty feet above the creek, evidence that the last couple of days have added generously to the drainage burden, and we’re looking at an additional 40 foot of water over last weekend. The I-5 bridge in the distance has about 13 foot of freeboard before it’s flooded too.

The familiar bridge view

The familiar bridge view is obliterated, the creek has filled in the normally dry areas and is nearly 200 yards wide. A flood of this magnitude will moves hundreds of tons of gravel, and nearly all the root balls and debris remaining in the flood plain.

Good for cleansing purposes as it’ll flush all the chemical spills and nitrogen fertilizers into the ocean, along with a couple more truck chassis and a horde of rubber tires.

With flood stage a scant 11 feet distant and 10 days of rain forecast, it’s liable to be close.

Hope these forecasts are better'n weathermen

In all this suffering can it be that an occasional fly fisherman can play fair without it being considered weakness?

Now that the worm is so much smaller does the resolve exist to do the right thing or are we fishermen insistant that previous wrongs have been so egregious we’re going to plow forward without thought to consequences and our fair share?

The federal government is starting to trim their budget meaningfully, not meaningfully enough to abandon that trillion dollars of rare earth discovered in Afghanistan, nor is it willing to leave Iraq and 12% of the world’s petroleum to its fate,  but it’s going to play hell with a half dozen  federal fish hatcheries – as well as renege on the promise of a few dam removals and let salmon fisheries wallow their way into extinction.

States meanwhile are raising the prices on licenses 30% to 50%, closing state parks on weekdays and reducing budgets on unnecessary entities like fish & game wardens and enforcement agencies – all to plug the gaps that federal funds and their sudden withdrawal have played in their fiscal integrity.

It’s the New Austerity, complete with the economy completely “fixed”, the big banks a feeding frenzy still on life support at the fed window, Wall Street is now honest again, and only the middle class civil servants defy the new frugal, insisting on driving the country deeper in debt and into the waiting arms of the Asian menace…

Naturally, the fishing and hunting conservation pundits are crying foul, insisting on “a day of Salmonid Rage”, hosted by Starbucks and someone’s film tour, without benefit of anyone knowing what to protest, so long as they look upset and slop coffee with verve …

… which draws me back to Morgan Freeman’s speech in “Glory” – “how them white boys have been dying for years and now its time we ante up like men …”

All this living beyond our means, dining out versus eating in, and a new car every three years was supposed to teach us something. Now when things are grim there’s no talk of “the tough get tougher” – rather it’s  mail in the house keys and walk, hoping the neighbors don’t notice you lowering their property values further.

Sure, John Wayne is long gone, and the last vestiges of the Marlboro men wink meaningfully from the damp rail at the gay bar – with them the pioneers and selfless individuals that tossed the yoke of oppressors, and built this cathedral in the first place …

Yet it begs the question, with the last of the Greatest generation becoming fewer, can this be our rallying cry – and if so, “how many trout streams is our part?

We arm wrestled federal and state governments at every turn, we claimed rare and sacred songbirds nested there, famous Indians were buried close by, and them timbers were the last refuge of the spotted owl. We litigated until we made it hideously expensive no matter what the solution was, as it was our tax dollars and it was about time that dam came out regardless of who was using it.

It’s a difficult topic to be sure. But with our conservation groups insisting we still should be angry should the teat be denied us, despite all of the hardship and suffering of those around us, it simply doesn’t sit well to resume business as usual.

With this latest tragedy in Japan demonstrating the frailty of nuclear reaction contained in our best engineering, it’s likely to come to a perfect storm for anglers, especially so due to all the uncertainty in the Middle East.

Islamic Fundamentalism could claim a couple more countries as easy as not, and we’ll feel obligated to occupy them too, or it’ll mean less oil exports due to sanctions from our government, and with nuclear no longer seen as “clean” we could see a redoubling of drilling in our interior, our exterior, and the wholesale embrace of the oil shale industry.

Which in contrast with liquid oil, is a dirty, water-intensive business.

Most of which exists in the Western trout states. Especially the Bakken deposit of North Dakota and Montana, rumored to contain as much oil as Saudi Arabia.

Fracking oil shale isn’t the same as pumping liquid oil. Freshwater is pumped into the ground to float the crude to the top and increasing a well’s recovery rate. Considering most of the West is flirting with drought due to population increase, it’s liable to add yet another commercial interest with the lawyers and politicians to force their way to the head of the table.

… where they can litigate farmers and livestock interests for the little clean water remaining.

… and they’ll bring those pipelines down from Canada, through Montana so they can carry all that brew to someplace that’ll refine it. They’ll want right of way, which won’t be hard to get especially if it involves national security or some heightened Defcon consideration.

All that’s coming soon enough, but for the time being I’m not going to protest to my senator or congressman on the next three rivers I’m asked to save. I figure that’s my share for the dream of a balanced budget given that I’ve responded like a proper whiney-bitch-spendthrift and complained that the government should save ________ by removing its dam, intervene in the water pumped south for lawns, or ban the use of dill pickles in sandwiches, all of which saved the spotted owl.

I need to save those precious goodwill-fairplay credits for when they’re really needed, like in the next couple of years …

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.

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.

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…

The Unbearable Lightness of being a Rod Engineer

I’ve always thought lightness was among the most misunderstood qualities of fishing tackle. Manufacturers tell us how much better it is to have it, but I’ve always chalked that up to the engineer’s zeal – as it has little or no bearing with fishing.

I’ve heaved 12’ surf rods and a six ounce pyramid at striped bass for most of a day, and I’ve flung a 7.5’ #3 until darkness made me quit, and by day’s end both rods weighed heavy.

The lightest bamboo rod is still heavier than a graphite, a bead head nymph is heavier than its regular counterpart, a fly line can be a half size heavier, and while there are thousands of opinions and zealots that swear by one over the other, none will tell you that lightness outweighs the merits of what they prefer most.

… and if he’s fishing all day, no matter whether it’s saltwater or fresh, regardless of the terminal tackle being a nine weight or a five, all rods are heavy come twilight – especially so if there’s an uphill climb to the parking lot, or you’ve been skunked.

“Lightness” is something that engineers grow turgid over, while us fishermen look the other way and sigh.

with an ounce and an eighth added for balance

Knowing that the next ten days had forecast rain, I met up with a pal to see if we could find some fish. While I’m fiddling with my rod I glance down at [anonymous_meathead’s] weapon and spy three 3/8 ounce lead sinkers attached to the butt.

Images come unbidden, how that engineer rushes into his boss’s office out of breath, exclaiming, “Boss, I got this new resin made with superlight stuff, it appears as if it doesn’t screw up the existing stuff, so we can charge double for our stuff even though it’s half the weight of their stuff!”

… naturally the boss rushes to the elevator so he can tell his Boss in like frenzy …

Then how the marketing manager puts a handkerchief over his handset so he can call all his sales cronies at the other rod companies and claim, “your kung-fu is weaksauce, ‘cause ours is way lighter.”

Which later translates into a litany of superlatives used by hairdressers and chefs – to describe a good soufflé or chocolate mousse, but has little to do with fishing as the addition or subtraction of an ounce is something we do simply because we feel like it …

I think Sylvester Nemes died for all of our sins

sylvester_nemes I’m sure most of you have seen reference to the passing of Sylvester Nemes earlier this week, author of The Soft-Hackled Fly and The Soft-Hackled Fly: A Trout Fisherman’s Guide.

I attribute much more to the man than most, as he appeared at exactly the right time and rescued fly fishing from a fate worse than death.

We were headed down the Dark Path, it was the ascension of Swisher & Richards, Caucci & Natasi, and the dawn of man-made synthetics. Fly fishing had jumped its historic banks and was destined to evolve into leg counting, the correct number of feelers, and making waxy-stiff imitations that were anatomically correct, but hamstrung the artist and lent imitations as much comely as an inflatable love doll. Legitimacy was to say something in Latin rather than English, and authors insisted we cast out the false prophets like Ted Williams, Joe Brooks, and Ray Bergman along with the rest of the baggage.

Sylvester Nemes was a much needed counter to all this sudden religious fervor, as the only mystery that Latin couldn’t dismiss was why precise imitation failed to outfish something made of dog hair and owl feathers.

… and to lend credence to this odd duck, on his heels came the second British invasion, authors and fishermen like Goddard & Clarke and Frank Sawyer suggesting that a bit of ambiguity could be as powerful as precisely knotted legs or a shiny carapace.

We all breathed a bit easier after that …

I had the good sense to know something horrible was wrong given the porcupine quills needed for “new wave precision” stonefly nymphs kept finding my fingers at regular intervals. Up till now fly tying had never been painful – unless I was showing my flies to others.

You won’t see many describing similar attributes to Mr. Nemes, like double-knits, most of us aren’t man enough to admit wearing them. We were caught up in the book burnings and New Entomology, and we didn’t realize how close we’d come to plastic insects and turning our beloved sport into something of complete snobbery.

One Adams too many, Rhode Island Red sought in fly tying homicide

You assumed my earlier warning a product of an overly active imagination, and scoffed at the notion that animals were capable of holding a grudge.

Now as you bar the door and shovel your fly tying stash out the rear window hoping to escape the vengeful eyes of the neighboring flock, it ain’t so funny, is it?  …

In California, Killer Whiting Saddles are roaming the streets, slashing car tires and innocents alike, incensed by the wanton wrenching of fistfuls of small hackles, compounded by winter’s chill on featherless and skinny hindquarters, and the constant barbaric and ritualistic deep frying of their womenfolk.

Attacks on humans have become so brazen, a citizen was killed while under the watchful protection of the local police.

Dry flies are a lot of fun, but are they worth your life?