Known  galaxy-wide for our sympathetic stewardship, us Homo Sapiens having the accidental good fortune of eating everything above us on the food chain,  so what do we do with an inferior species teetering on the brink?

… do we pause and reflect, right innumerable wrongs, or merely gash ourselves over our lack of foresight in the indiscriminate use of pavement?

Never.

We find even more novel ways to eat the few remaining survivors, or grind up the heretofore inedible beaks, feet, gristle, and unmentionables – to make even tastier things that require us to kill even more …

Coarse fish point and laugh when they see that silvery salmon smolt wandering around befuddled – still woozy from the long bumpy truck drive, and sick from the toilet flush down the long corrugated pipe into fresh water.

“Dude, the ocean is that way, you’ll know because the water tastes like crap and there’s twice as many tampons … but I wouldn’t worry too much because you’ve got to get past that bigarsed concrete wall with the screen that sucks you into the whirling death machinery.

If you make it you’ll want to hug the far side near Antioch, otherwise you’ll get sucked to LA along with all them trash-talking Stripers, who’ll probably pimp you out to them largemouth in Lake Cachuma or Castaic – and you’ll be spending your best years selling crack on some dimly lit weed bed … if they don’t eat you outright.

… or you could take the red pill – that salmon egg over there, and wind up mashed and forgotten in a Styrofoam cooler with empty beer cans and leftover Cheetos … Sure, it’s cannibalism of a sort, but at least you won’t get the Screaming Blue Shitz from all that Ag chemical in the valley.”

Naturally, a few of us decry that wanton exploitation of such a precious resource, but only after we’ve caught our fill and want to preclude others from matching our war stories …

… so we can make another couple of million paving some marsh so’s we can sell salmon donuts, that use parts even the vodka crowd blanch at  …

Pampered and fed at the hatchery – head filled with nonsense about superior and noble, and some greasy-fat Pikeminnow fills them in on their destiny … you’d think we’d have the courage to do that.

Tags: salmon, smoked salmon vodka, salmon donuts, they were so thick you could walk across their backs, stewardship

Yet another reason to fiddle with caustic chemicals and satanic dyeing ritual; when the French Press dies an ignoble death after being rapped too harshly on the sink – you’re only mildly put out …

Two fur strainers and a paper towel, and Starbuck’s is a distant memory.

With the entire angling world returning from three days in the piney woods with matching stubble and tales of hardship, I wanted to show solidarity …

Extra pioneer points scored for the remnants of blue green fur by the handle.

Tasted pretty damn good too.

Tags: French Press, French roast, inmate coffee, invention, dyeing fur, fly tying

It’s bad enough they’ve had to exhume Walter Cronkite and Edward R. Murrow six or seven times – largely due to the vibrations of them turning in the grave was scaring school kids.

… and major networks have to use slogans like, “fair and balanced”  to remind themselves why they’re filming some powdered milquetoast in the first place.

The reporting of news has been dead for some time, with the promotion of non-news a weak substitute.

Consider the poor fly tyer or fishing expert on display for the local citizenry; he’s already sweating profusely with all those curious eyes staring fixedly, and Jimmy Olsen Cub Reporter wads a microphone in his face for the obligatory soundbyte – hoping he’ll mention something scatological or completely profound, and not caring which …

Our hero does his best to mention aquatic insects, catch & release, stream stewardship, invasive species, and the weight-free nature of fly fishing versus heaving a projectile …

… and wakes the next morning to :

To catch fish, anglers must use proper bait, ****** said. He explained that fly fishing requires a particular kind of pole, string and bait because trout eat aquatic insects.

“On a regular fishing pole, the bait is weighted, but on a fly fishing pole the bait is so light that the string is the weight,” ****** said.

******** of Trout Unlimited demonstrated how fly fishing bait is created. He used feathers, wire and other light materials to tie a fly that would be the same weight as the insects.

It’s plain that our friend Jimmy scribbled little during the interview, and was gazing intently at the Jailbait selling Cotton Candy – hoping his press credential would mean something.

It never fails to make my teeth grate noisily. My only solace knowing once Jimmy is promoted to full time anchor he’ll drop an “F-Bomb” while interviewing Martha Stewart or confuse the Dalai Lama with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s …

… that red blinking light on the camera, that’s your career light Jimmy-Boy…

Tags: bad journalism, fourth estate, Fair and Balanced, fly fishing show, fly fishing bait, fly fishing pole, fly fishing string

Six weeks of rehab isn’t changing anything, it’s just celebrity traffic school for first offenders. Like the Phoenix, recently emerged and armed with the verve of the righteous, we’re supposed to wear our addictions like the Albatross, around the neck.

Proof positive that we’ve licked the Beast, or at least that’s what our press agent claims…

They missed all the really compelling addictions, certainly all those related to fishing and the outdoors – and not even a 24K clumsily rolled roach in honor of Tom Stienstra.

For fly tiers it would have to be Sterling silver hackle pliers. The bulk of our milk and egg money was pizzled away on exotic chickens while the kids went hungry. In the wrong company they could pass as a roach clip – that way you don’t have to reveal your obsession to them as are uninterested in anything other than your hoarding of the Tofu-Watermelon sandwiches.

The rest of us could wear a fragment of the $800 rod we sat on, perhaps with the label foremost – or at least a guide wrap visible so we could give each other the nod, and cluck our tongues in commiseration.

… and it would be a great way to part with that odd extra spool from a reel long past its prime. Put an hour and minute hand on it and claim how you and Flava Flav invented wrap music.

Yeah Boy!

Tags: wearable addiction, hardy spool, Flava Flav, rap, hackle pliers, Tom Stienstra, Cast of vices