Category Archives: humor

The uncharacteristic positive post on fishing

I not sure of the pattern, but I'd guess there was a bead head on itBeing as they are simply numbers, you can ally yourself with the half-full crowd, or go with those as thinks them half-empty.

Most of the angling media has been citing small upticks in angling as a resurgence in the sport and a sign of a stronger economy, yet most of the story remains unpleasant with more to come. Wishful thinking and small upticks in statistics aren’t likely to keep us out of another trough before all those ripples from the mortgage wreckage grows quiet.

Call it a gift from your neighbor and our pals in Europe, and take it along with the rest of the damn lies and statistics, with a generous leavening of salt …

The National Sporting Goods Assn. found that sport fishing in California dropped from 5 million people in 1985 to 3.1 million in 2004. That number took another dip this year, to 2.5 million.

The California Department of Fish and Game also shows that in 2008 it issued 2.8 million fishing licenses. Last year the number had dropped by 400,000 and through Aug. 30 of this year by 300,000 more.

– via the LA Times

Add all that up and you can see why the body politic plans to kick the environmental lobby to the curb, given that since 1985, half of California’s anglers no longer purchase licenses …

Yet in uncharacteristic upbeat style I’ll suggest us longtime Californio’s have merely opted to fish illegally, rather than donate all that license money to be pissed away on the Governor’s pet projects or civil servant pensions.

If the government can redirect the cash as it sees fit, we can decide to keep the cash and blow it on munchies or Starbux and simply take our chances. Due to the budget most of the wardens have been let go already, and with hatcheries spreading Whirling Disease and Didymo, what are they really going to do, take away our birthday?

In a short 25 years we’ve lost half the anglers and three quarters of the fish, yet based on those numbers we’re still winning!

(… and you were expecting another downbeat we’re-all-gonna-die post.)

Where we get all solemn and lay it on overly thick for the non-fisherman

Fishing being a more painful variant of masochism, whose practitioners lust for big fish knowing they’re accompanied by hardship; cold rain, poisonous snakes, blisters, and other trappings of kink, yet are still at a loss to explain its attraction to normal folks.

While traveling last week, I did have time to inhale a small salad while enjoying the banks of the mighty Eel River. In between bites I noticed a bit of motion in the water and am rendered vengeful and solemn by the sight of 200 large salmon milling in a circle only feet away …

Nothing like a fish that appears to be six inches wide at the back to give a fellow real trouble swallowing lettuce …

Eel River at Weott, California

My accomplice was oblivious to the spectacle as he was negotiating  three inches of rare roast beef and a monstrous hard roll, while giggling at my self-inflicted dietary choice. Suddenly one of the larger fish comes cleans out of the water and dampens us both …

“Dude, that was a salmon.”

I nodded the affirmative as he noticed all the other fish leisurely rolling in contentment, finning their way over to give me the finger, then swimming a lazy circle to repeat the insult.

He exclaimed, “ I can run us back to Fortuna and you can buy a rod and reel, and we could be back in an hour…”

I shook my head, “No, fishing is a karmic-Zen-Masochistic thing – and while I don’t expect a non-fisherman to understand; the reason the fish are here is because I lack my fishing gear. In physical terms, both fish and fishing tackle are positively charged ions – and can never occupy the same space – nor get close enough to one another to cause harm – as their natural state repels the other.

If I had brought the gear we’d be standing in a torrential downpour with a flat tire, fishless – or that prominent badge on your truck would cause Weott’s version of “Jimmy Olsen Cub Reporter” to stop and immortalize us for the six o’clock news and the both of us holding big dripping fish and a pink slip …

Driving to Fortuna is for godless amateurs – who’ve not fished enough to learn this truism …”

At this point he’s looking at me fixedly, jaw open and roast beef visible, “OMFG, that’s some serious hokey horseshit,” he says.

I’d tried to explain it and failed. Now I was content to wave as the fish swam past knowing it as a quasi-religious truth recognizable only by those that believe. Not the old-timey religious types – more like those that are fool enough to stand in cold water and have done so enough times to recognize this immutable Law of Nature.

None of that silly “one hand for the ship” stuff

2Rafters1fisherman

I figure this is a larger lesson for society. The hubbub over perfumed and coifed Wall Streeters gambling with everyone’s 401K is moot for us outdoorsy types. As fishermen we knew whether tarred with the 1% label or granted membership in the other 99%, we’d land on our feet regardless of new economics …

Two Rafters, One Fisherman, whose instincts are akin to a predatory cat, never ruffled, never hurried, aware of everything and its consequences …

Guess which is the fly fisherman. No hint necessary as it should be that obvious …

That last hunting trip with your buds

If you’re still intent on impressing your pals that you’re foreswearing jobs and responsibilities, wives, and all other forms of material constraints – how it’s all about the fish, the woods, and damn little else – I’ll call that bluff.

There’s little to fear, as outdoorsy trials go you won’t have to do much other than sign a piece of paper now …

holysmoke

Later it may not be so easy, but at that advanced stage of the game, who cares?

Perhaps a grand sendoff for an old retriever – who spent the last couple of seasons licking his balls by your fire …

… or now that your spouse, who bitterly resented the time spent on your outdoor passions and both your rod and gun collections, has finally passed this mortal plane, you can spread her ashes complements of 10 cases of shotgun shells – containing everything from teeth fillings to wedding ring …

… and when the warden complains of  steel shot only, you can get all tearful about how it was her last wish, to use them gold fillings and gall stones to take out an entire V of geese – when the lighter steel merely rattled off the wing coverts.

And when you march up to St Peter at them Pearly Gates, you can do so knowing that the wife and kids are looked after – as the last thing some interloper will see is you coming across the living room at 900 fps …

They’re all at the mouth daring each other to make a dash for reproductive safety

salmon_sushi Scientists have finally discovered the reason behind declining worldwide salmon stocks, and the answer will both surprise and alarm …

For the first time scientists have discovered that migrating salmon can detect mammalian predators by the scent of already digested salmon in wastewater, which allows the migrating fish to determine whether its safe to move upstream.

"It’s the predator’s diet – not just its own smell – that’s alerting the salmon," explains Dr. Laura Roberts from the University of Swansea, co-author of the report published in Animal Behavior.

Otters are common predators of salmon so it’s clearly useful to the fish to be able to sniff them out.

The smell acts as an early-warning system for the fish, even when they can’t see the predator. It lets them work out the potential risk of being eaten and balance predator avoidance with other vital activities like foraging and reproducing.

… and test dives performed just outside the mouths of historic salmon rivers have found all the missing salmon milling about waiting for someone else to chance the first dash upstream.

Females eventually give up and release their roe in one girdle busting spasm – and then they all rush back to the safety of the open ocean. Wastewater treatment hasn’t been able to remove the scent of the fillet you ate yesterday, and everytime you flush you’ve reinforced the notion that upstream is instant death.

Again it’s your fault … if you’d been man enough to walk back to the porta-potty – instead of using a nearby bush, them fish would’ve bowled you over with sheer numbers.

Intercede early enough, and we can get them precious eco-votes for the price of couple of thrown rocks and a cold coke

It’s the trip every guide fears and every father dreads; how to introduce Poppa’s lifelong love to his progeny,  in a way that results in beaming children that gaze at their father in complete adoration …

… add the pressure of yesterday’s post, where at this young age we can BUY precious eco-votes for the price of a single candy bar or cold coke, and the even the most optimistic parent begins to blanch …

I call it the “15 minute rule” – add the ages of all the participants and divide by their number and you get the number of minutes you can fish without complaint.

Watch as I use my jovial fat guy powers to undo all that stern tutelage about not talking to strangers, and undermine their natural shyness around strange adults. Cringe as I swear like a sailor, and find gross things for kids to throw at their brother – while I show a couple of potential fly fishermen where “Eewww” grows, and how much fun you can have doing things your Ma would have a fit over …

My client, Garrat

Failure isn’t an option anymore, we have to package a time honored snooty old profession into something that rivals a massively multiplayer online pseudo-reality.

Which is yet another reason to celebrate warm water and the appetites of coarse fish, most of which are willing to bite anyone or anything that comes within range, and will hurl themselves at a bit of wrapped flash with a fluffy tail and a come-hither action.

Above is my client, Garrett who thought a fly and bubble pretty lame, the spinning rod and Rooster Tail not much better, and insisted on the fly rod and measured retrieve just like his Pop and older bro, below …

Kelvin and his son, Bradley

… and while he attempted to remain good natured about double skunking his older bro and his poppa, his cool handling of the voracious Brackish water Barracuda (aka Sacramento Pikeminnow), revealed his outdoors nature in the face of mano y mano encounter with a known man eater.

Actually, it was all those parental lectures on respect for elders that allows me to assist a young fellow thrust into unfamiliar and odious surroundings.

He assumes everything I say and do is gospel, and everything Dad says and does can be ignored. That gives me the upper hand in reminding Dumpling he should keep his rod tip low so he can feel the slightest nibble …

momz

Rocks_at_cars

… especially when we get to throw rocks at cars – which makes enormous metallic smack noises and with Pop urging us to further mayhem and to get wet, which is foreign to anything we’ve ever believed about adults – none of which know how to have fun as they never throw rocks at anything …

Which provides just the type of break from fishing so that we can drink Gatorade and eat “fart bars” and relax in the shade – and then try fishing some more on the way back …

Proud Poppa's smile says it all

… where both proceed to cast their own rods, hook and land their own fish, and the smile on a proud poppa’s face is a mix of relief and outright fun, suggesting the scene to be repeated many times over.

Eco-votes, baby – go get you some…

Before we shrank before their gaze, now we embrace them as long lost pals

Iheartwarden I’m reading how two guides got into a tiff while fishing with clients, and in the ensuing festivities one fellow’s wake nearly pitched four clients into some Texas lake, which nets the pissed off wake-throwing guide arrest, jail, and the chance to post bail.

Cruz, released from jail Thursday night on a $1,000 bond, said Martinez “does not like competition.”

That being as it may, and not privy to the facts of the adventure, I’ll not weigh in on guilt nor innocence, other than to suggest for any guide endangering clients is certainly poor form at the least …

But in looking up the legal aspects of the issue, I find that California is one of a couple dozen states with similar statutes.

Cruz, 39, was charged with harassment of hunters, trappers and fisherman, a Class B misdemeanor.

Delving into the issue suggests that in addition to carrying loaded weapons to and from the stream, us anglers can have someone arrested if they interfere with our ability to take game …

CALIFORNIA FISH AND GAME CODE
DIVISION 3. FISH AND GAME GENERALLY
CHAPTER 1. TAKING AND POSSESSING IN GENERAL
2009. (a) A person shall not willfully interfere with the
participation of any individual in the lawful activity of shooting, hunting, fishing, falconry, or trapping at the location where that activity is taking place.
(b) A violation of this section is an infraction punishable by a
fine of not less than one hundred dollars ($100) nor more than five hundred dollars ($500).
(c) If any person is convicted of a violation of this section and
the offense occurred within two years of another separate violation of this section which resulted in a conviction, the violation is a misdemeanor punishable by a fine of not less than one hundred dollars ($100) nor more than one thousand dollars ($1,000), by imprisonment in the county jail for not more than one year, or by both that fine and imprisonment.
(d) This section does not apply to the actions of any peace
officer or personnel of the department in the performance of their official duties. This section does not obstruct the rights and normal activities of landowners or tenants, including, but not limited to, farming, ranching, and limiting unlawful trespass.
(e) In order to be liable for a violation of this section, the
person is required to have had the specific intent to interfere with the participation of an individual who was engaged in shooting, hunting, fishing, falconry, or trapping.
(f) For purposes of this section, “interfere with” means any
action which physically impedes, hinders, or obstructs the lawful pursuit of any of the above-mentioned activities, including, but not limited to, actions taken for the purpose of frightening away animals from the location where the lawful activity is taking place.

With all the possible game in both Pristine and urban interfaces, a canny fellow should even be able to ignore most traffic signals between him and any water, simply by carrying a rod in the back seat ..

The not-so-gracious fellow that slips in uninvited to low-hole the pool is preventing us from  …

… uh-hum.

As is our spouse when she insists we stay at home and follow up on all the chores we’ve kept at arm’s length …

… her too.

Ditto for the guy in the fly shop that informs us the reel is not on sale and where did we get such a foolish notion in the first place?

As we’ve already invoked law suits and the courts to solve every malady from cavities to child rearing, we’re finally catching up to real responsible adults – who’ve long since given up solving anything on their own.

The next time I see the warden glaring at me menacingly, I’ll scream “MOMMY, he done it …” –  then rat out the innocent fellow in the riffle below, whom I don’t like simply because he exists …