Category Archives: Uncategorized

Berryessa Redux

Conditions: Air temperature 55 degrees in the AM, 77 degrees in the afternoon. Light northerly breeze, 5-10 mph. Water temperature measured at Oaks Shores of 62 degrees (AM), measured at Big Island 64 degrees (PM).

I retraced my earlier Berryessa outing and noted the last couple of weeks of warm weather is reflected in the water temperature. In the last two weeks, surface temperatures are up three degrees, and the lake has dropped an additional five feet, consistent with tomato production.

Yep, all that Ketchup has to come from somewhere …

The last couple of weeks the valley has been planting in earnest. Bell Peppers, Tomatoes, and new Almond orchards are materializing as fast as the tractors can plant them, and the canals brim full of water  necessary to get plantings to take root, so water use is up.

The talk in the parking lot are how fewer Kokanee are biting and the casual trolling anglers are starting to thin as well. Less lake volume and warmer weather and we’ve got the recipe for the Kokanee to head deep and the bass to come shallow, and yours truly gleefully stomping the daylights out of anything fool enough to eat an artificial.

Three degrees meant the Smallmouth bite is akin to Indian Valley. “Smallies” were in the shallows and giving chase, with nary a Largemouth to be seen. The same flies were dominant, and only the terrain mattered – as Smallmouth tend to prefer rocky areas and are largely absent on the muddy or sandy parts of the lake.

BerrySmall500

No Catfish this time, but I did manage to land a big “Chunk” of a Crappie. These are always welcome given they’re a scrappy fighter with a soft mouth, and also great table fare if you get into a school of them.

BCrap500

The Gray Wooly Bugger is quickly becoming the “go to” pattern for all of these lakes – and it’s not terribly surprising given how the predominant food source is Threadfin Shad.  I am casting downwind to increase distance, waiting a bit (to unravel tangled running line) and then stripping the fly back in pulls ranging from six inches to a foot. I have 20 turns of two amp fuse wire on the fly with a 4mm bead, and the combination gives it an aggressive sink rate … likely about six inches per second.

My leader is also assisting a bit, as it is designed for these heavy flies. I have a short butt section (about 40”) comprised of equal segments of 50, 40, and 30lb monofilament. I tie a Surgeon’s Knot at the end of the 30 lb to make a loop to attach the tippet. I use about five foot of 15lb fluorocarbon (Seaguar –I am testing it this season), to aid the sinking fly. The long tippet allows the fly to sink very quickly as it is  thinner and offers less resistance to the fly pulling it under. This is similar to many of the leaders I make, and takes its inspiration from the Golden Gate Angling & Casting Club’s tournament leaders used in ACA events.

The combination is allowing me to consistently get five or six feet into the water column with a floating line – an important option considering the top water bite is synonymous with Spring Spawn and the ensuing festivities. Flopping between the deep and the surface is a lot easier when limited to fly change only – versus spool swap or second rod.

Stony Gorge Reservoir Scout Trip

Conditions: Air temperatures 65 – 76, water temperature 60 degrees, light afternoon breeze.

I fished Stony Gorge Reservoir for the first time today. Stony Gorge is yet another Interstate 5 impoundment that everyone rockets past enroute to elsewhere. It’s west of I-5 near the small town of Elk Creek, Ca (take the HWY 163 West out of Willows).

StonyGorgeRes450

The lake is smallish, no more than a couple miles in length, and boasts outstanding water clarity (up to 20-30 foot), numerous encounters with Bald Eagles, no trash, few humans, and absolutely no hungry fish – which is likely the reason our small group had the lake to ourselves.

We split up and covered both sides of the lake, I fished alternating deep plunging shoreline interspersed with shallow flats enroute to the Southern end, which hosted a lot of brush and timber in the water.

I saw only six middling size carp in the shallow water, and nothing in the way of bass or crappie in any of the areas that were visible.

The 60 degree water is a might chill to trigger much in the way of spawning debauchery – and I was surprised the lake was as cold as East Park, as we’re in the grip of a warming trend that will culminate in 90 degree temperatures this weekend.

StonyGorgeBass450

With nothing visible in the shallows, I ran a quick test with drop shot in the deeper portions of the lake’s center. Picked up a pair of fish in as many casts, so the fish are still sulking in the deeper water.

Like East Park Reservoir, Stony Gorge access is seasonal. The Bureau of Reclamation is the Dam operator and is the best source of information as to the gate being unlocked to allow anglers into the campgrounds and launch area.  I think the season is roughly April to October, but call the Bureau’s Shasta (Redding) office to verify they are open (530) 247-8500.

I was much taken by what I saw of the lake. The combination of scenery, wildlife, lack of trash, and the unique light coloration of the bass – will likely have me returning soon.

If the choice is sex or fishing, the fish will get screwed

Ask your average angler whether he’s contributing to the steady decline in fish numbers and you’re liable to get a supersized serving of righteous indignation.

Most fishermen agree that hooking and landing fish generate some  mortality, but they’re just as likely to rationalize the money they donate to conservation organizations, licensing, and taxes paid on outrageously expensive terminal tackle, more than make up for it.

Likewise for the angler that eats fish. As fishermen are keenly aware – our sporting fraternity is among the few groups anxious to see fish propagate, and while we admit to our kill (although understandably quiet about what is freezer-burned and tossed), we’re just as apt to quote similar avenues of compensatory dollars that lessen the impact of our hammy feet on the environment.

Unfortunately those dollars are outweighed many times over by the angler’s yearly outlay on Doritos, Ho-Ho’s, double-decker Bic Mac’s (dripping with plasticine GMO Cheddar), greasy Chili Cheese fries, great slabs of charred red meat, and the butter necessary to slide of that mass down his gullet.

While anglers protest with a pathetic bleat, “… at least we get a little exercise,” – the reality is that we’re fat, and growing fatter by the minute.

And as a by-product of all that questionable gastronomy, our collective diabetes medications are accelerating the feminization of male fish downstream of every sewage outflow.

Estrogens from birth control medications in wastewater treatment plant effluent have been cited as the likely cause, but research has shown that endocrine disruption is not solely predictable based on hormone receptor interactions. Many other non-hormone pharmaceuticals are found in effluent at concentrations orders of magnitude higher than estrogens, yet there is little data indicating the impacts of these other medications. The widely prescribed anti-diabetic metformin is among the most abundant of pharmaceuticals found in effluent and is structurally dissimilar from hormones. However, we show here that exposing fathead minnows (Pimephales promelas) to a concentration of metformin found in wastewater effluent causes the development of intersex gonads in males, reduced size of treated male fish, and reduction in fecundity for treated pairs.

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Given that anglers are never prone to accept blame for more than a few milliseconds, and based on what the medical profession insists we do to correct our behavior, it appears as the act of fishing is now a life saving measure, and should be advertised as such to any spouse insisting on lawns being mown or chores being done …

It’s important we do our part to minimize the effects of our diabetes meds mixing with the existing slurry of birth control and female hormones in wastewater. While we can agree to sacrifice an occasional cheeseburger, we’ll waive any chastisement of female additions to wastewater, as we can all agree if the choice is between fishing and “tail” to save a watershed, the fish will definitely get screwed.

At some point we’ll see stability, but not yet

I’ll call this site “Singlebarbed Too” in honor of my horrid punctuation skills.

As we speak two sites exist due to my migrating the content from one account to another. Site “one” has a BASS graphic as the header image, and “Too” has the tied fly header.

So far this morning the DNS update has made the default site Singlebarbed One, and now at midday it has become Singlebarbed Too.

I’ll assume all this will quiet down within 48 hours, but it may prove a little odd if you comment or post, and it appears to vanish – as it has done twice already.

No worries, it will stabilize at some point.

Brief Hiatus nearing completion

Been a bit reluctant to add more to the site as there was the potential to move it onto another vendor. Naturally I didn’t want to confuse the issue any – after exporting all of my past blather and saving it should the move prove less than advertised.

To hell with that … given the sudden parting of the Heavens and the deluge that resulted. While the drought (both writing and water) has taken a couple of wicked body shots, we need a bit more weather and time to ensure next year’s fishing is a sure thing.

Back shortly.

Dumpster diving, sloth, and the sweet song of glass

dumpster_diveIt was an involuntary wince when I felt the resistance to my pulling an armload of fishing tackle from the back of the rig. Instinctively I’d bowed like a tarpon angler whose seen his quarry come airborne on a taut line, yet the crack of rod tip impacting something in the bed as it released lacked the rattle of broken –  yet sounded violent enough to trigger a burst of self loathing and profanity.

Only a dental visit makes an angler more repentant … a dangling fly and momentary sloth meeting something damp, oversized and heavy, with a prized rod thrust into Harm’s way and an armload of supplies making its peril invisible.

I got lucky, the overly loud snap of tippet and accompanying violent reverb off the truck bed merely disrobed half a snake guide of thread, and altered the tip top from spherical into ellipse.

… which didn’t slow my swearing any, just made the muttered epithets blanket North America, rather than the World at large…

After a year reacquainting myself with fiberglass, and my renewed pleasure causing me to move numerous rods from the back of the pile to the front, I could scarce afford to start trimming their number with carelessness.

Especially since I’d made the mistake of cracking a catalog and asking myself, “what’s the latest generation of glass going for?”

A house payment, Natch … silly question.

… and whether it’s got a couple of vowels or simply a consonant preceding “glass, “ it’s alternatingly a sharp intake of breath or a headshaking giggle.

After viewing a couple of contemporary catalogs, I figured the “S” meant “Super” or “Superlative” – yet just as quickly changed to – “Stupid”, “Simple” or possibly its owner merely a “Spendthrift”.

“Sudden Chastity” being part of the Mean Old Guy mantra, as we knew a good rod lasts a lifetime and saved the old gear, only occasionally upgrading our tackle with more fashionable contemporary fodder. Naturally, once heeled we feel free to comment on others and how their manhood comes cheap …

Yet from my Ivory pedestal, as I attempted to straighten what was now a damning ellipse, I realized its source was just as damning, as this was proof of my Urban Urchin youth, the unloved pristine Fenwick Feralite, Model FF807, that I’d spied in a curbside dumpster along with a worn Mad Magazine (Issue #50).

The gay colors of the comic book cover had me teetering precariously on the lip of the dirty container, brushing aside rancid can goods, broken lathe and plaster, and with comic in one hand, spying the cork grip of someone’s failed attempt at Gentile …

I ignored the angry screams from the second floor, figuring the same spinster was likely the cause of the rod owner’s premature death, and he wouldn’t mind my repurposing his tackle – nor my thumbing nose at his spouse.

Now some thirty years distant (and suddenly blushing from snooty commentary), I find this rod proof that I was never “to the manor born” – rather I was an ardent gutter snipe angler intent on killing stuff smaller than me.

Boxers

… which is why I prefer sub-hundred dollar glass from eBay, and never turn up my nose at the creek’s bountiful offerings, including bullet riddled teapots and free shorts.

… and here I was thinking the Jigglicious video was the penultimate found thing …

There’s a reason fishermen hate to eat fish …

Us Californio’s have always been eager to promote fads that make you recoil in discomfort, violates your personal ethics, or makes you trod wantonly across lines that are rarely crossed …

… and if it looks or smells nasty, then we’re doubly sure to export it to the rest of the planet. As both coasts have embraced Sushi for some time, it’s only those members of the 46 red states betwixt the two oceans that needs to watch the below …

For your dining pleasure, a little soy sauce and we have reanimation …

… something about salt and nerve endings – works swimmingly with frog legs and an unsuspecting girlfriend you’re looking to shed which are only half as nasty, hence the lesson in international cuisine (without mentioning IHOP).

There’s a reason most fishermen hate eating fish, damned if I can remember why though …