From the angler’s perspective they’re a nuisance. A summertime constant whose dimutitive size requires small hooks, smaller tippets, great patience, and much frustration.

From the watershed perspective they are the “bologna & white bread” of my chemically-enhanced lukewarm tomato effluent, whose great numbers and summer-long hatches ensure everything has something to feed on in between the sexier bugs and tastier fare of Spring or Fall.

Small enough to provide fodder for the smallest of fry, yet exists in such dense numbers as to ensure the residents of the marginal lie and shallow water get fed.

Dense enough in flight to lure every barn swallow and songbird from the safety of the bridge abutment, to provide a protein reward for the careening birds and their morning dogfight.

Each summer it becomes clear to me what an enormous contribution this tiny insect makes to our watersheds, both the tepid and pristine. Among the longest-lived of all the mayflies, the miniscule Trico provides nourishment to most of the watershed, not simply the fish, which we miss because we’re fixated on their presence and the fishing, never understanding how big they really are …

… just ask the spiders.

Outside of rods, scraped knuckles, and leaky waders, very little shares our outdoor tradition more than beef jerky. As kids we were schooled by trashy Westerns where both hero or villain gnawed on plugs of tobacco or dried jerky with equal gusto. Later, we read about the early explorers and their propensity for crisscrossing the Continent with little more than dried Buffalo hump and a palmful of branch water.

As anglers we relearned those same lessons about jerked beef; how easily it survived a couple of seasons in our vest, and how it made the many miles between you and the parking lot less so … not to mention how it lightened your wallet when restocked via streamside Bachelor Store …

… and in our dotage when the doctor insisted we cut out salt, we nodded vigorously and slowed our intake of pretzels, ignoring his prohibition regarding our most sacred streamside meal.

So you tie your own flies, wrap your own rods, and hike many miles from the parking to find the last vestiges of wilderness, yet for a streamside pick-me-up you’re going to settle for a salt-infused poodle turd in a festive wrapper?

Aged for 48 hours in a sweet and hot garlic mixture

… instead take a nice London Broil with as little fat as possible, cut it in 1/4” strips, on the bias (45°) to make the resultant flesh less firm, then age it for 48-72 hours in your favorite mixture of exotics:

Sweet & Spice Hot

Add half a jar of Thai Sweet Chili Sauce to a cup of extra finely diced garlic. Add a quarter cup of soy sauce to provide a hint of salt, and depending on your taste, add napalm in the form of Chinese Black Bean Hot Sauce (at least four tablespoons), or add more sweet with a quarter cup of Pure Maple Syrup.

A high quality dehydrator requires about four to five hours to dry jerky (depending on thickness of your cuts) with a setting of 155° Fahrenheit. About two hours in to the process, use what’s left in the jars to make a second batch of sauce and paint that on the partially-dried strips as a second coat.

Halfway through the drying process, second coat has just been applied

The first coat seals the meat but largely evaporates, the second coat will give the dried meat a fetching glaze and add most of its finished flavor. You can apply more coats depending on your preferences, but three coats or more will cause the finished product to be sticky to the touch – and will need to be segregated into its own bag.

There will be a long line of fishing pals insisting you bring both enough flies and enough jerky to supply them in the manner to which they will quickly become accustomed, but that doesn’t mean you can have a bit of fun at their expense ..

The mixture of sweet and pure heat the above recipe produces is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The Thai sauce is a heady mix of sweet garlic, spices, and wonderful flavor – which will make them reach for a double handful for their next swallow.

If you plan the mix right, the napalm effect starts after the sweet component leaves the palate and builds exponentially with each additional bite. As soon as they realize their predicament it’ll be too late and them gluttonous pals of yours will be attempting to soak their head in the creek.

He’s a bit tentative knowing it could be napalm-infused.

… which won’t help a bit, given the hot black bean sauce is oil-based hot, and not terribly water soluble.

The sweet gives you a quick sugar infusion and adds a bit of energy for the hike out with a nice spicy finish to clear the mind and cut the trail dust.

I’ve always postulated that the only two groups that are always unhappy with the weather are farmers and firemen. Both think it’s too dry or too wet, and either the crop is a loss or the woods are ablaze …

Normally I’d have my lower lip pooched, regaling you with how I was all set to feed voracious brown-water cockroaches all manner of hideous and colorful flies, only the weather interrupted the festivities and I watch sullen as Chocolate Milk circled the drain where my beloved creek used to be …

Instead I’m all smiles.

Chocolate water means enough rain fell in the last two weekends to soak into the ground, with a bit left over to raise the creek nearly a foot.  A bit of extra water into the lake above means something to pizzle into the creekbed come August, when daytime temps break 100 degrees, and what fish are active compete with tomatoes for a hint of cold water.

This winter was a pale mockery of normal, and rather than watch my creek drained and dried for the second time in three years, I’d rather some life sustaining trickle was released from the reservoir above when it’s needed most.

I photographed this same stretch last year, where the foreground oak was underwater to its lower branches (see the Before and After pictures).

Fly fishing boasts as many well heeled captains of industry as Wall Street, and while we have great fun at their expense, we don’t typical reference them by name – instead we use their Indian name, “Those that can buy a fly rod AND a set of waders in the same year.”

… which is why you’ll never be counted amongst them, given how rarified that space is …

While we’re saving for some island getaway featuring umbrella drinks and fish we’ve never seen, they’re thinking of buying the entire island and anchoring it off of the Keys next month …

11 decks worth of floating island that allows you to follow the Trade Winds … anywhere …

Utopia is not an object to travel in, it is a place to be, an island established for anyone who has the vision to create such a place. Measuring 100m in length and breadth, and spanning over 11 decks with the equivalent volume of a
present-day cruise liner there is enough space to create an entire micronation.

To hell with bamboo, think like Tsunami Debris and wallow from one time zone to the next.

Your own province, kingdom, city-state, or capitol, make your own Fish & Game laws while defending your micronation from your wine steward and the coup he’s planned with your stevedores …

AK-47’s are extra.

As our travels send us further South to the water consuming counties, we change our spots and adopt all the proper ritual to make us indistinguishable from the locals.

Upon our return we notice small things common to the water-bearing provinces that simply don’t manifest themselves in the cold stone canyons of urban California …

As I came back through Silicon Valley and the Mothball Fleet, I noted all manner of dirty brown drainages filled with industrial solvents and castoff silicon wafers. A fellow could spend quite some time learning the area – but only after finding waders that didn’t melt in the combined effluent.

I did pull over and admired Solyndra’s empty parking lot. It happened to materialize out of the pre-dawn gloom and I needed to … eat lunch.

Screw the beaming children and barking dogs, fish scrambling in fear is charged with emotion, and I’m glad to be back …