Category Archives: humor

The missing link discovered and the Olive branch extended

Throw that man an olive branch It’s unification of a sort, something that’s sure to unite the “X-stream” crowd with Blue and Brown water anglers. The Chinese call it a “Snow Trout“, it looks and acts like a Rainbow, only it’s a member of the Cyprinid family which contains both Carp and my beloved Pikeminnow.

I can hear the collective groan from here – both camps pause momentarily in battering each other hoping I won’t suggest a group hug.

Not a %$#@ chance.

The locale is exotic, Mongolia will be left to cruise ships and the camp followers that live in their wake; it’s called a trout – so when the dry fly types hold up their catch in an accusatory manner and insist otherwise – the local guides can smile widely and hide behind the language barrier, and the Pearl River is considered one of the world’s most polluted waterways, which will make the Brownlining aficionados plant flag.

All the enterprising expedition outfitter has to do is keep the respective zealots far apart, add some local myth about ravenous feeding habits and missing schoolchildren, ply both camps with alcohol and watch the cash registers act like slot machines.

Zhujiang Brewery, one of the three largest domestic breweries in China, is located on the Pearl River Delta within the city of Guangzhou.

Paradise.

“Pearl River” conjures some fanciful imagery in the mind of the fiscally prudent spouse; trade winds, grass skirts, and perfumed beaches – all you have to do is nod vigorously on the “perfumed” part, keep a straight face, and you’re there …

That’ll be a WMD, weapon of Mosquito Destruction

We’ve assumed we needed to preserve the outdoors for future generations, but we may have been hasty. These are urban sophisticates raised on Xbox and Halo, and angry bears and bolt action rifles may be too tame to sustain their interest for more than seven minutes.

Thanks to science, I’m not even sure I want to go fishing anymore – now that I’m “heeled” with my handheld mosquito laser.

I can remember the first time I saw the cold blue light of the BugZapper, how I howled in glee with every burst of sparks, and the smoky spiral of another victim. It was awful tempting not to drop trousers and moon the bloodsucking squadrons destined for my tender posterior.

Gleeful cries of “you want summa this?” and “come get some” were mingled with the steady “bzzzt”, “bzzzt” of six legged executions. When the power went off – we ran inside and hid, shivering.

Now, we’ve got options:

In experiments, the system could target mosquitoes with a flashlight, and then uses a zoom lens to feed the data to the computer, which fires at the insect. Each time the laser strikes a mosquito, the computer makes a gunshot sound. When the mosquito is hit, it bursts into flame and falls to the ground, and a thin plume of smoke rises.

Call me the Two Gun Kid. I may even return to guiding so’s I can protect wagon trains of tenderfeet from marauding wildlife, “… the Kid’s hammy hands were a blur in the noonday sun, twin Colts roared to life …”

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wSIWpFPkYrk[/youtube]

What kid would even consider fishing under the circumstances?

For us cagey older types immersed in the Catch and Release doctrine, will we succumb to setting our phasers to Stun, then winging Mayflies and Caddis to create our own hatch?

Nothing like struggling insects on the surface to trigger feeding trout. What dad would have the backbone not to employ Junior as his wingman?

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First Squirrels now Cats?

The furry kind of cat If you thought squirrel fishing was the last frontier, think again.

Before you yell at me you may want to look closely at the areas where the hook is contacting fur, you’ll see the harness…

With that said, you may want to take a quick look at cat fishing, the “inhumane” flavor.

As small children and coworkers are likely to miss the harness, you may want to treat the link with respect, while fishermen might have a chuckle – distraught children, spouses, and angry coworkers will not.

At least we’ve determined the impact of PETA’s “sea kitten” campaign on saltwater angling…

They apparently don’t mind snorting Mayflies

They probably have an early retirement The survey says, “Hydroelectric workers exposed to massive amounts of Caddis hate ’em.” Without additional facts I can only conclude that they must be talking about caddis parts, rather than the flies themselves.

A cross sectional survey was conducted in a hydroelectric power plant in which the workforce was exposed to large numbers of caddis flies. About 50% of the participants reported work related eye, nose, and sinus symptoms and wheezing.

Most of us have been exposed to the intact bug, and other than an occasional wiggle caused by their disappearance down a butt crack or shirt front, I’ve never heard complaint.

Take a cloud of caddis, inhale it into a pipe headed towards the turbines, mash the resultant brew against concrete and spinning impellers, and inhale the result?

Added to the proof positive, Salmon incur brain damage if they smack the dam, fish ladder, impeller blades, and anything else more permanent than they are – and it’s unanimous.

Dams, nobody wants ’em.

Meanwhile you’re pacing impatiently in the living room

It’s likely to confuse a beginning fly tier – what with our continued references to Hare’s Mask ..

I bet it takes more than an hour

… and deer hair.

OK doe, who's going to split hairs

I think it’d take a wee bit more than an hour to prep. I’d watch a movie so I don’t seem impatient.

I sure hope these gal’s wardrobe contains a lot of orange.

Extreme Sports, fishing for animal activists

Remember, if you crack the shell you’re fishing an emerging peanut – which is within the rules – but lacks the nobility of the overhead dry goober.

 You can put Rabbit back on the menu

Squirrel fishing – perhaps the only venue left to us fly fishermen once the litany of ills dispatches the gamefish, carp, and pikeminnow. You’re required to use a rod – but it appears the IGRA (International Game-Rodent Association) has lax tippet standards.

That nice old lady is going to scream and unleash her poodle on you, the tear streaked faces of small children will bring the gendarme, and the quarry is no slouch, positively everything necessary for rich tales of adventure, frustration, and potential incarceration.

Urban setting, shadowy anglers flitting behind a screen of foliage, and the ragged bosom of wine bottles, candy wrappers, and yesterday’s paper?

It’s a “brownlawn” sport.

Considering the mounds of squirrel fur on my desk, Catch and Release is out of the question.  “Park Antelope” is first class dubbing – and I’ll gladly share the meat with my recession strapped neighbors.

Anyone can pull a nut from the hands of a squirrel, but the adept squirrel fisherman must tune his craft, maintaining balance between himself and the squirrel, and eventually rewarding the squirrel for his valiant competition by ceding the nut. Ideally, great care is taken not to overfeed squirrels, not to hit them with nuts, and not to treat them roughly (though verbal abuse is encouraged).

If it’s canny enough to overcome a kite twine tippet backed by disc drag, I’ll surrender my nut. If not, a couple pounds of playground sand in the rod tube will ensure a humane ending to the contest.

With the possibility of uniformed interference and protesters, I’d suggest limiting your outings to weekdays and full dark.

The “Bubonic Plague” thing? – that was rats living in the city, squirrels only carry rabies.

A Silk Purse from a Sow’s Ear

The Tiber River, Gladiator School Brownline Our Brownline Ambassador to the European Union recently returned from the Italian Riviera with a sure-fire marketing ploy -virtually guaranteed to get you out from under an onerous mortgage and soar once again the credit eagles.

Apparently I’ve taken the whole rough fish – brownline thing about as far as it’ll go ethically, and it’s time to cash in on the franchise opportunity.

Only saw two rivers, but both were solid, bona fide brownlines. First was the Orcia, I got a close look at one of its feeders, which emerges from the town square of Bagno Vignoni. Channels cut into the rocks take the water to some ancient baths before it dumps into the river. People have been soaking in this warm brew since Roman times. I was told that the thermal waters are rich in sodium chloride, calcium and iron carbonates, high radioactive calcium, magnesium and sodium sulfates. People pay to bathe in this stuff, but nobody I talked to would admit fishing there. Seeing as how people have no qualms about dipping their bodies into what they would never drink, I’m now thinking the Little Stinking might make for a great spa.

The Spa crowd expects fetid, astringent, and unrecognizable, it’s sensory proof that “the cleanse” will remove years of wrinkles and purge the system of carcinogens.

.. throw a handful of Carp fry to nibble on exposed toes, ladle in some caddis to tickle the unsuspecting bather, and it’s a brown cash cow.

The downside is everyone will look like Michael Jackson, but his comeback tour should spark the middle aged crowd into a paroxysm of spa treatments and recreational stem cell abuse.

Franchisee’s will receive one pound of freeze dried Rock Snot, imbued with Selenium, Mercury, Uranium, radioactive salts, Barium, Chromium, Radium, Nitrates, and Boron* – simply dissolve in a nearby creek and start counting celebrities.

MJ’s available – but now that Neverlands’ sold, you’ll probably have to comp him both treatment and guide fees.

* Don’t laugh – this is what comes out of my tap.

You can’t beat the fully enclosed propeller

It’s not just streams suffering overcrowding, lakes can host flotillas of boorish fly fishermen equipped with expensive tackle. Those of you looking for that last bolt in your offensive quiver might consider the Flat Water Dominator, shown below:

 Ram the opposition and board with impugnity

Nothing will prepare the opposition for the watery salvo across his bow, followed by a “D-cell” equipped motor capable of Ramming Speed…

A little camo would assist a stealthy approach, but harsh language and an RPG was enough for the Somali Irregular Navy, whose endorsement of the Dominator is liable to secure you all the Sage tackle you can carry.

Batteries ransomed separately.

Fair and Unbalanced, the ascendancy of Brownline Journalism

Most Grammatical Mistakes in a Single Sentence 40 Rivers to Freedom just announced the winners of his prestigious 2009 Fly Fishing Blog Awards – normally a source of great angst and suffering among us callow journalism types.

We were stunned to find the Trout Underground Writer’s Network took home three “Floggers.”

Trout Underground, the 800 pound gorilla of temperance and snark took a rare second fiddle to us boorish Brownliners – who took home the “There’s no real Journalism Allowed on Fly Fishing Blogs” and the Best Blog of 2009 awards.

(Tom, it takes more than a case of Scotch and the promise of Moonpies to take the overall title, the field is now crowded with talented blog authors. Think Jungle Cock, small denominations from non consecutive birds..)

I showed for the ceremony in a stunning strapless, V-cut Simm’s shorty, but Alex and the staff at Hatches Magazine suggested that formal attire wasn’t consistent with family programming.

I did have the chance to chat with the Judges, a rare opportunity to inquire of their scoring methodology. Naturally, I assumed real investigative journalism coupled with outstanding content had carried the day …

Naw, your posts aren’t funny, but the misspellings and bad punctuation are a hoot! In fact, the local English professor is writing a treatise on your apostrophe use, it’s fresh, complex, and usually wrong …

W’ell take it.

I’d like to thank Mom and Dad, and Timmy – the guy that I cut English class with in High School ..

Statistically Sage is a wart on the Shakespeare derriere

Despite the colorful nom de plume here’s what you look like; you own a Sage fly rod, you fish a Scientific Angler fly line, and you buy all your flies from Orvis.

Unfortunately for the $1000 rod crowd, the Shakespeare Ugly Stick retains the title of most purchased rod in the continental US, and is also the rod most purchased with a bundled outfit.

Southwick Associates the statistical think tank for angling and hunting released figures for last year’s responses from their AnglerSurvey.com site. Southwick is a marketing and statistical “for profit” organization that compiles market information for both hunting and fishing manufacturers – and occasionally releases free reports for our consumption.

Sage commands a tenth of the fly rod market, Scientific Anglers has nearly 25% of fly line sales, and Orvis is responsible for 10% of fly sales.

Individual reports are available for specific states, and the message is mixed – but trending downward, as are the nationwide statistics compiled by Fish and Game.

The greatest growth in licenses appears to be rural areas, with the urbane city types falling by the wayside.

For the Moldy Chum – Trout Underground Bikini War:

Your obsession with bikini based angling fantasy holds water, to wit:

Just shove them aside and claim your prize Statistics for California are unavailable, but Florida is a sunny state and a close approximation. There are 1,200,000 women in Florida between the ages of 18 and 29. Roughly 13% of the population bought licenses, of which the greatest single demographic (9%) was male retiree.

Figure 110,000 women in the proper age group are available to drape themselves in a bikini on a rock. You’ve repeatedly insisted that the “supermodel” variant is desirable; taut, lithesome, and abundant in all the appropriate areas. Assuming “Supermodel” is 10% of the available age group, there are 11000 women available to fulfill your angling fantasy.

There are 8000 lakes (greater than 10 acres) and 2300 miles of shoreline, and models have the opportunity to engage a bikini 2 out of 7 days, therefore, there’s 3143 supermodels available to lounge on rocks on a given weekend. This implies there’s a bikini clad lounging supermodel for roughly each three miles of shoreline.

Unfortunately, there’s five steroid fueled weightlifter boyfriends per mile – and those that aren’t dating senior retiree’s, will be mopping your face on granite should you unsheath your camera.

I couldn’t find statistics for lounging bikini clad supermodels that long to be courted by a sweaty fishermen old enough to be their dad, with a wet dog that insists on sitting in the front seat, whose idea of the perfect date included a chili dog with sweetened cabbage.

Any of you fellows want to put a number on that?