Category Archives: humor

Heroes, every last one …

I don’t believe a word of it myself, mostly because I buy into every conspiracy theory possible … and … they were replaying Spartacus in my hotel room last night …

The incident occurred on state Route 124 south of Hillsboro and involved a truck  hauling a tank filled with rainbow trout en route to Rocky Fork Lake.

The truck was about 20 miles north of the Kincaid Hatchery when the tank fell off, according to a hatchery spokesman.

The human occupants of the truck were unhurt, but the fish are considered a loss according to Tim Parrett, a spokesman for the Ohio Department of Natural Resources.

– via NBC4i.com

I figure all them 9” -11” fish realized they were cannon fodder anyways, and like the desperate heroism of Flight 93, rushed the driver in a bid for freedom.

Thinking they were gnawing through the brake lines, they got the Covad mounts instead …

Took a week to clear the freeway, but only because the clean up crew were limited to “five per day, ten in possession.”

If you just boiled them SOB’s the problem would be solved

While I relish reading about Science, I’ve no doubt that it’s more fun to be interested in Science than to be a scientist. For all the reasons you’d suspect; it’s much easier and more fun to jump to conclusions than prove them, and you can defend your erroneous assumptions by claiming the other fellow is stupid, something the scientific process will not countenance.

Much of my interest is in aquatic insects and invasive species, and as a reader of other’s work, I’ll suggest there are many really clever assumptions that aren’t as well known and we rarely have an opportunity to hear.

Foremost is the debate over whether invasive species are bad. Which seems like a no brainer on the surface, but in many cases the species being replaced isn’t native, there’s debate on how long it has to be here to be “native,” and if you believe Man crossed the Ice Bridge from Kamchatka, then we’re an invasive species too …

A great deal of heated debate considers the larger issue simply “survival of the fittest”, Darwinism, and with each great leap forward in travel, we’ll incur another invasion of foreigners.

On rare occasion I find much humor in the midst of all this seriousness, most of which is accidental, but points out something instantly understandable to us lay-scientists, like …

Sex-deprived fruit flies drink more alcohol

Not knowing how much time, effort, and tax dollars went into the above, us faux-scientists would have agreed, then pointed at the unsteady fellow at the far end of the bar as proof positive.

Our American Signal Crayfish is likely to extinct the UK’s White Clawed Crayfish, and is source of much invasive angst among British anglers and scientists …

I keep flashing back to the World War II mantra levied against our American GI’s, how they were “Oversexed, Overpaid, and Over here” – and wonder what’s really changed …

The American signal crayfish ate up to 83 per cent more food per day than did their native cousins. The research also showed that white-clawed crayfish are much more choosy about what they eat, preferring particular types of prey, while the signals eat equal amounts of all prey.

– via PhysOrg.com

Okay, so now it’s “Oversexed, Over-ate & Over here”, which is nearly the same thing.

For the European cadre of Singlebarbed, allow me to reassure you, our Signal Crayfish will develop Type II Diabetes, because it can’t distinguish between a home cooked meal and a dog turd, and will soon expire in huge numbers, which is what our doctors have been predicting of our population for the last couple of decades …

Thankfully, you’ll not ask me to prove that – but if you need a recipe for boiled “mud bugs” – I’m your Man …

We interrupt our normal drivel to remind you that your season depends on a wee bit of courtesy

Singlebarbed’s role as consciousness for the greater good is simply too much hypocrisy to bear without giggling, yet I’ll wear this ill fitting garment long enough to remind you today is Valentine’s Day, and how most of your season depends on some small courtesy shown Them as Waits at Home …

Scientists agree there aren’t that many fish in the sea, and the Human Race depends on your ability to think outside your own miserable existence and set things right …

Today, all the B-Grade trash bloggers will be featuring acres of taut flesh whose boyfriends are scared of losing them, therefore will be shown courtesy and tokens of esteem. Reminding them how a little leniency regarding; abandonment of home, responsibilities, and children – not to mention coveting bamboo, barbless hooks, or the Out Of Doors, is always repaid with interest …

morethanwife To hell with hard-bodies, we know all the best gals hate fishing, mostly because we made them so.

Valentine’s Day is like a Full Dress Atlantic Salmon fly. You lack most of the materials and rarely practice their techniques, but recognize that each step builds to a larger chorus, and each mistake, however small, can never be hidden by any subsequent step.

Which, after considerable effort, yields a fly worthy of framing and ensures many pleasant hours afield without fear of the axe handle upon your return.

She has raised your kids and seen the skid marks in your undergarments, it’s time to give the poor lass her due.

A towering bouquet of posies at her work can be augmented with a small card from “Raoul”, or “Esteban”, even better  … “Thor”, mentioning how last night was life altering and how the discarded pieces of her wardrobe have been left with the guard at the front desk  …

She’ll have the card snatched from her grip and will suffer interrogation at the hands of her pals, be forced to reveal every last detail of imagined indiscretion, which will elevate her stature to “bad girl” – the envy of the homebody biddies.

She’ll smile knowingly and claim, “ … why I never, there must be some mistake …” – and you get the next month free to chase steelhead … after you buy her dinner and wince through two seasons of The Bachelor …

… don’t yawn, not .. even .. once.

But everyone has a firm handshake and wide white-toothed smile

three_StrikesIt’s usually something commonplace like unfiled taxes or an out of wedlock debauch that tumbles presidential hopefuls back to earth, mostly because  candidates can’t lie like us anglers, instead they crumple into sobs at the first hint of adversity, and we’re forced to watch some tearful confession while his wife stands grim lipped at his elbow.

Us sportsmen are experts at judging moral fiber and could shorten the field quickly if they’d give us a couple of debate questions, but they won’t –given there are too few of us remaining to matter.

Our environmental organizations dispute this notion – suggesting the outdoors crowd commands respect in both Executive and Legislative branches of government. Simply the threat of us taking our votes elsewhere causes senators and congressmen to blanch openly, given their fear of arousing the Sporting juggernaut.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Most of Congress fears us camping on their lawn, knowing that our delight in not showering coupled with our penchant for blood sports, would give us free reign to trap and eat stray cats, ornamental Koi, homeless people, or anything else that investigated a crumbled Twinkie sprinkled with lawn clippings, and the waiting Punji pit below …

Proof is in Texas’s Governor Perry, who prior to mounting his ill fated Presidential bid, signed an anti-crime package making it illegal to lie about a caught fish’s length and weight, a fact that might have put him at odds with that sporting vote, had he not forgotten … uhm, that third, uhm … stuff, first.

While a few fly fishermen have graced the Oval Office, most notably Grover Cleveland, Hebert Hoover, and Teddy Roosevelt, it’s been a long, dry spell since Jimmy Carter, the last angler that proudly ate what he caught.

No thanks to us, it appears the drought will continue.

I’d hoped when I finally found the nuggets on a chicken, there would be a couple feathers no one had ever seen

It started out as simply a shoulder shrug, but on a whim I was quickly transported from avaricious angler looking to impress his fishing pals to investigative journalist, then onward to devout PETA flag waver …

It should have been a no brainer, how I was going to impress fishing pals by serving the remnants of a gigantic salmon, with the filets themselves proof of an unlikely miracle while fishing. Pounds of enormous, succulent fish flesh draped across the plate – as all listened open-mouthed to my tale of 4 pound tippet, running at full speed across a slippery Pacific Coast riffle, hours of screaming reels and hard fought yardage, followed by me emptying a .45 into my foe, as he made a last spasmodic move for an extremity.

The proof was to be the simple part. Six or seven slabs of salmon joined using meat glue, to make an aggregate fillet rivaling a world’s record (something I planned on pointing out during the obligatory cigars and brandy) …

 

Instead I find out the joke’s on us me, as the meat industry has been manufacturing the nuggets on a Chicken, rather than them existing in some hidden feathery place not yet discovered by fly tiers.

… and while most of the world is banning it from the table in horror, only in the US would our four star chef’s rise to the possibilities of Frankenfood, generously ladling glue into all manner of odd proteins, while charging us double for the privilege.

Makes you wonder how safe it is when the fellow cautions the reporter not to inhale.

See the Harvard School of Cooking and Chef Wylie Dufresne take your palate to new heights compliments of Meat Glue … which can be purchased from Amazon.com for $89.00 per kilo.

Man of the Year is for literates, which of us will grace the cover of GQ is the real question

stanky It’s one of the great conspiracies of our industry; how SIMM’s, Orvis, Columbia, and Gander Mountain, have spent time and money marketing clothing to anglers, yet only when the catalog falls from our nerveless, napping fingers does our girlfriend insist we buy something …

We don’t tell because it would simply kill the bastards to know that only girls and hunters like Taupe.

… real Fishermen resent fashion as it confuses us from what’s truly important, warmth and not-warm-enough.

… real Fishermen resent color as it allows society to notice we haven’t changed our underwear this week.  We know that fresh undies adds precious minutes to our morning ritual and allows lesser men to get to the river first.

We’re aware society requires we cover our ample paunch, blanched soft arse, and other sensitive bits – with something – otherwise the late arrivals would bring John Law and chase us out of the best water.

But that’s all we know, yet all of that is about to change…

Imagine jeans, sweats or socks that clean and de-odorize themselves when hung on a clothesline in the sun or draped on a balcony railing. Scientists are reporting development of a new cotton fabric that does clean itself of stains and bacteria when exposed to ordinary sunlight.

Their report describes cotton fabric coated with nanoparticles made from a compound of titanium dioxide and nitrogen. They show that fabric coated with the material removes an orange dye stain when exposed to sunlight. Further dispersing nanoparticles composed of silver and iodine accelerates the discoloration process. The coating remains intact after washing and drying.

– via PhysOrg.com

I know some of the above terms are unfamiliar, so I’ll translate: “washing and drying” means … in case you fall in.

Self cleaning underwear that allows you to drop trouser for ninety seconds, which because of beer you have to do anyways, and like Jesus Hisself, all sins and indiscretions are wiped clean by modern science.

I bet astronauts get it next …

Homeland Security to Preempt Public Lands near borders

Prohibits the Secretary of the Interior and the Secretary of Agriculture (USDA) from taking action on public lands which impede the border security activities of the Secretary of Homeland Security (DHS) (Secretary). States that the Secretary shall have immediate access to any public land managed by the federal government in order to conduct activities that assist in securing the border (including access to maintain and construct roads, construct a fence, use patrol vehicles, and set up monitoring equipment). States that a specified waiver by the Secretary of certain laws regarding sections of the international border between the United States and Mexico and between the United States and Canada shall apply to all sections of the international land and maritime borders of the United States within 100 miles of such borders with respect to the Secretary’s activities under this Act.

cavity HR1505 is an interesting tidbit, allowing the Department of Homeland Security to preempt all other federal agencies and restrictions in the last 100 miles between the US and any external border.

Which implies they can rattle about in gas guzzling 4 wheel drive and two-stroke vehicles, and build a network of surveillance and roads the rest of us will quickly exploit as the quickest way to the Pristine – despite any former Wilderness or National Park protections.

I think their intent is not to make it easy for the US Border Patrol, instead are opting to restore that border to impermeable status with an injection of thousands of rubber gloved TSA agents.

All the illegal immigrants apprehended will resent being groped and fondled,  turn around and leave of their own accord.

For two days a year I become the baked equivalent of Brad Pitt

Nearly twice a year I’m required to join the rest of society for a weekend of normality – foreswearing hooks and tinsels, muddy creek bottoms, mashed sandwiches, and foul language.

In addition to the demise of the neatly tapered whip finish, most of us 99%’ers require a plastic container and paper label extolling the leaden nature of Grandma’s Fruit Cake – so we can tell how many slices we’ll have before the Type IV Diabetes klaxon summons the Gendarmes …

The many decade-long fairytale of Grandma’s Orgy of Christmas Baked goods has somehow given way to a smoldering microwave and a store-bought box of sugary unmentionables.

… which gives off a comforting whiff of overly warmed plastic when zapped, so we remind our kids of how plastic smelled – back when it had real carbon …

As I represent the 1% that still makes everything by hand – it falls to me to make the workforce regret coming to work this week, and stuffing themselves beyond capacity because the food is real for a change.

Fatty does a reasonable impersonation of Grandma

When you’re attempting to feed 40 or 50 people the Precious becomes the flat areas of the kitchen. As each smoking tray is yanked from the oven it was offloaded onto my makeshift cooling rack, wherein I shoved aside boxes of scissors, hooks, and flies – in favor of cinnamon, powdered sugar, and slivered almonds.

Herein lies the lesson for you young bucks – given that tomorrow everything feminine within a couple of zip codes will be making big doe eyes in my direction, as I’ve been identified as the Baking Equivalent of Brad Pitt.

… which will last so long as I’m upwind of them gals …

It’s not about being the best fisherman, it’s about being the best provisioned – you’ll always get the invite so long as you can lay on the smoking board  …

You always hated the taste anyways, now you can point and claim it’s a Ponzi scheme of Madoff proportions

The consumer be damned, what’s important is the IGFA will have proper protocol for certifying all them lab-induced trophies we can look forward to in the coming millennia …

 

As every watershed could wind up whelping mongrel fish; escapees from fish farms mating frantically with whatever genetic material is pumped into the overly warm trickle by Fish & Game, the real question is for us anglers – can we broaden our minds long enough to redefine our catch?

We’ve failed horribly in the past.

Recent sampling in Europe has found as much as 30% of fish at market mislabeled. While no one is pointing fingers at some broader conspiracy to replace fancy cuts with mongrel fillets, our collective palate wouldn’t know guppy from Fillet O’ Fish.

… we prove that daily at the drive thru …

“Fish passes through so many hands from the time it’s caught to the time it’s sold that it’s hard to tell where the mislabeling occurs or whether it’s intentional. That makes the process very difficult to police,”

In the US, Consumer Reports suggests 20-25% of the fish on store shelves isn’t the product advertised.

Genetic bar coding will allow many extra world records of the more mundane variety, like hybrid Rain-browns, or the fabled Kokanee-Walleye-Musky mixture, known fondly as the “Kowalski” – takes artificials voraciously, fights like hell, only you have to teach it to swim …

Outside of a chaste population of fingerlings in some chilly headwater, genetic bar coding will confirm that everything that bumps ass on algae has some form of interloper in its bloodline, and outside of the hoary ancient records where only a shock tippet and a couple of feet of leader was needed, nearly all non-digital IGFA records will likely join Roger Maris’s as some quaint but meaningful codicil is attached (*61).

There will only be two kinds of fish left; Mother Nature fish – found behind glass in aquariums – whose pedigree rivals that of royal and ancient, and *fish … “real” having been trademarked in an earlier court battle …

*Fish :  contains lips, beaks, heavy metals, nitrogenous fertilizers, soy meal, jowls, gills, scales, copepods, and organic matter. Organic Matter contains more lips, innards, test tube genetic material, red dye #4, and the occasional fingernail …