Review – Fool’s Paradise, by John Gierach

Fool's Paradise, by John Gierach While laid up this weekend I had the opportunity to catch up on some of my reading, and John Gierach’s latest tome, “Fool’s Paradise” was at the top of the stack. It was an amusing and light read, something I sorely appreciated while running between bathrooms.

I confess I’ve never read any of his books, not because of anything haughty, just “Old Guy Eyeballs” that are shifting from 20-20 vision to a different prescription every other week. Makes my reading difficult and downright painful at times.

A loose fabrication of short essays about fishing for different species, punctuated with some stellar quotes and humorous anecdotes. It’s a traditional coffee table book, light and airy – neither technical nor taxing, akin to listening to your favorite grandfather recounting stories of his youth.

“I necessarily fear change except that it’s so seldom for the better. It’s just that I can live with any number of things going straight to hell as long as these streams continue to hold up. If this amounts to living in a fool’s paradise, don’t waste your time trying to explain that to the fool.”

It’s plain that Mr. Gierach is “old school” – one foot in the sport of his forefather’s, and the other in “contemporary” fly fishing. The marriage of the two “halves” drives both mirth and reflection on past outings and fish. Absent the technical jargon that plagues angling literature, he’s at ease with his skills and the honest pleasure of fishing dominates his nimble prose.

“I try to stay abreast of broad trends in the sport, but I guess I missed the moment when steelhead flies began to look and sound like sex toys.”

Gear and flies are an afterthought, despite veiled reference to the pleasure of bamboo rods, and he’s quick to point out those aren’t viable for anyone’s budget – despite the recent resurgence of the “cottage” artisans.

The book poses the author against a backdrop of fish species, pals, and odd circumstance. The unique struggles or tribulations to be successful in pursuit of each, punctuated by the humans and fauna that surround them.

“We always seem to be looking for places that aren’t used up yet so we can begin to use them up in our own small, modest way.” 

Time plays a pivotal role in most of the stories, and is met with the same tolerance of the inevitable; time lost, time squandered, and even perfect timing all play a part in every excursion. It’s as if the author wishes to reinforce that “time spent” is more important than all else, and both success and failure can be a worthy memory.

It’s a rare message akin to my own mantra, if it has fins and eats invertebrates there’s a helluva adventure waiting for someone.

“If things are going well and I’m getting out on the water every day, I’m probably getting enough fishing. If not, a fishing book just underscores what I want to be doing but can’t.”

Plenty of infirmity to underscore what I’d rather be doing, but I slurped my soup and let Mr. Gierach blaze the trail for me.

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Trendy ain’t what it’s cracked up to be

Red, sentient, and really pissed I can only assume I’m part of the larger malady, and you may have noticed the sudden quiet from my end of the Blogosphere. All I remember was a salad and a turkey-dog, then 48 hours of “Kill Me, please.”

The only thing quiet was the blog, as all my “ends” were suddenly clamoring for attention, with me hugging the Porcelain, suddenly really religious.

Little Red vine-ripened fruit, I salute you – and after three or four years, when I can look at you again, I may buy some more. Until then everything that resembles you has been banished from the pantry – and if I succumb to the desire of a BLT, I’ll slice a red donut.

Not being able to stray more than 13 feet from the water closet puts a crimp in fishing, but humor has returned so it appears I’ll survive.

The Sou’Wester meets the Burnoose

Hot Air Barons Fishermen have always gravitated to “whatever works, ” – and with declining revenue, less fish, and fuel costs, the choice may be as simple as a new career.

New Jersey’s commercial fishing fleet is the eighth largest in the US, and with the travails of the fishing industry well documented, they’re looking to branch out into the renewable energy market.

But the Garden State wants to be home to the U.S.’s first offshore wind farm. Fishermen’s Energy hopes to install eight turbines capable of 20 megawatts by 2011 off the coast of Atlantic City, and an additional 64 turbines and 320 megawatts by 2013.

I’ve always known fishermen to be the center of a lot of hot air, it’s about time we leveraged that gift for something material.

This small booklet explains it all, just three easy payments of …

Almost human, but the chasm is still quite wide It’s in my nature to be easily amused. Ever wonder about those television shows hawking vast fortunes you make through the miracle of the Internet? How with no work on your part, and reselling other folk’s products, you can make billions?

I keep running across these sites as they scavenge content from my site and other “real” human authors.

It’s simplicity itself, set a “robot” script to grab anything containing the words “trout” or “fishing” and your web site sprouts many dozens of articles daily – all without effort.

“Vast fortunes” don’t exist in fishing, so of all the choices available why go with a small niche – when “Dick Cheney” or “Jeffery Daumer” would yield millions of eager eyeballs?

Chalk it up to “a fool and his money…”

Sometimes the results are funny, as the robot does what it’s asked, but not as well as you could..

Extreme Fishing

What’s extreme fishing?

Only refinance mortgage refinance most exciting, most thrilling, most fun water sport ever created – that’s what!

a) Extreme fishing is fishing with a shot accident compensation claim adrenaline!
b) Extreme fishing is regular fishing on steroids!

Trout and salmon fishing in small water (such as streams and rivers) is extreme fishing!

Ice fishing is extreme fishing!

…(snip)…

Fly-fishing

Fly-fishing is used mainly for salmon and trout, and sometimes for pike, bass, and carp.

Fly-fishing involves tying artificial flies onto a hook with thread, fur, line car insurance and other materials, in sizes and colors to match naturally occurring food Chardonnay to excite a fish.

…(snip)…

Noodling isn’t the only way of catching fish by hand. In Britain, a more sedate version of hand fishing is “trout tickling.” This is the art of rubbing the underbelly of a trout with your fingers. The trout goes into a trance state after a minute or Refinance adjustable rate mortgage and can then be flipped onto the nearest bit of dry land.

That’s some that you have to know about Extreme Fishing.

I’ve replaced the hyperlinks with italics and shortened the blog entry considerably, but it was fun plagiarizing them for a change. Now that I understand what extreme fishing is – I can call my mortgage guy right away.

The “Chardonnay” bit is a well known guide secret – we feed it to you in large quantities, you pass out – and wake to us congratulating you on your 65th large fish brought to net. Six bucks worth of grape yields tenfold on the tip.

He got me on the “three types of Beef” post. I figured it was, dead, living, and massaged, but no:

The 3 Types Of Beef

Alright vegetarians, avert your eyes and cover those ears. Antidepressants is a topic that could create nightmares for all the granola crunchers out there.

Oh, My… who would’a thunk it?

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Civil Service, the only career that doesn’t have a "for dummies" guide

The Sacramento Bee reports that both anglers and hunters have shown a small positive gain in California. Everyone interviewed is aghast for an explanation, and some truly odd theories are being bandied about…

  • Baby Boomers are retiring so they have more time to hunt and fish.
  • Women are participating.
  • The Organic Food movement, an offshoot of “eat local” – wherein consumers are asked to reject foods from foreign locales – and seek food raised locally.

When you see a culinary trend like that, those who have been associated with hunting or fishing say, ‘ I can go get me some of that’, ” said Sonke Mastrup, Fish and Game deputy director. “It adds to the allure or prestige. Not only are you serving wild game to your friends, but it’s game you got yourself.”

I damn near exhaled coffee through my nose after reading the above gem. Leave it to a deputy director to demonstrate how little the department knows about who their constituency is and what motivates them.

I would find it much more believable were they simply to say, “we counted all the kids bringing handguns to school as hunters, and if we found a knife or garrotte on them, we figured they were fishermen too.”

With the preponderance of Earth types, Vegans, animal activists, and folks that believe “radishes have feelings” dominating the political skyline – to say these folks want to shed blood as it’s “organic” is pretty damn out-of-touch.

Most Californians start backpedaling when they realize you own a weapon, and if offered anything without a Safeway price tag, they’ll politely decline – as somehow it’s not sanitary.

Just my two cents, let the pennies fall where they may…

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An Alder sapling and some Bacon Rind

Carp on a dog biscuit, that's Old School On rare occasion my heart warms at the simplicity of it all, images of barefoot kids with alder branches and bent bobby pins – outfishing us carbon fiber augmented, Gore-tex lined, ballistic nylon equipped, and chemically sharpened City Swells – blissfully unaware of the trappings of “Power Angling” in favor of idling on the river bank with some leftover bacon rind.

Them days is long gone, but occasionally I’m allowed to be maudlin and silly.

Briefly the vision was restored upon seeing the underlying caption of the above picture, some fellow catching a monstrous Carp on a dog biscuit. I was hopeful as there wasn’t any gear present, no vendor label featured prominently on a rakish “curly-brim” – no Sage, Simm’s, or outward signs of the angling dilettante..

I’ve been misled before and checked arm position to “enhance” the photo – no fish eye lens detected, and the stern expression was okay – as his Mom might have said, “that’s wonderful Bob, You clean it.”

Nope, he’s a professional – and I’m still searching for that freckled kid with the fish twice as big as anything I’ve seen. Ma could be reading all them health conscious sites on the Internet, and Bacon’s been banned outright.

Tell me it ain’t so…

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It’s high enough not to get wet, it’s an elegant solution to an age old problem

Other than presentation, fly fishermen are rarely concerned with delicate and the “feed bag” should counter the lost time of the evening meal. Any dry fly fiend recognizes the awkwardness of dining while the hatch is ramping up, and Yum Brands has been listening – “multi-tasking professionals” are us – and for an extra half dollar, they’ll add the drink to the bag as well..

Gear up, strap on – and let cholesterol sort ’em out. Just remember to pause long enough to tell the fellow next to you what fly you’re using, speaking with your mouth full can confuse the poor chap unnecessarily.

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Miss Manners would cross herself and back away slowly

The Bible of good breeding It’s one thing to be early and lucky enough to stumble on fish no one knows about – but that happens so infrequently – it’s time to “soldier up” and plan on fishing betwixt other anglers.

Most anglers prefer the solitude and quiet, but it’s an antisocial luxury we cannot count on in semi-urban settings and with migratory fish.

Anything coming up the river is at the mercy of the first dam upstream, diminishing their historic range and concentrating them in whatever free-flowing portion remains. It makes fish accessible and breeds anglers in uncomfortable proximity. Rumors of fish fly as fast as the Internet, and like Stripers  running on the beach, a crowd can form in minutes.

There’s a big difference being the first guy on the fish versus being the last fellow to arrive. We’ve all lamented the boorish angler who makes our good fortune less so – some assistance in how to avoid being “that guy” can be useful.

If you’re the lucky SOB that got there first – you’re not keeping those fish, enjoy them in solitude as long as possible, but when the avenging hordes of fellow fishermen arrive, and they will, suck in the lower lip and share. It’s expected of you.

I really like fishermen, as they’re one of the few groups of humans that don’t seem to have boundaries. You can make small talk with a “gang-banger” or swap flies with a religious zealot, somehow vocation and color, class, sexual orientation, and political persuasion all take the day off.

I try to share my fish gracefully and recognize they’re not mine. If I’ve got a couple of stalwarts scanning the water, I’ll motion them over and put them onto the meat bucket with little reserve. It’s always more fun to fish with friends – and by doing so, I’ve made two more.

If you don’t they’ll be edging closer anyway – and I’d rather be whooping it up with new pals than endure those sulking predator poses as they “crab-walk” closer, hoping I don’t notice.

It’s different if you’re the last fellow arriving, greeted by a line of fellows casting like synchronized swimmers. There’s good reason for precision and a smart fellow spends a few moments observing what’s going on before blindly wading in at head or tail.

I want to know who’s doing the catching, and where are they in relation to the rest of the line? This’ll give a clue as to whether the head of the group or tail is closest to the “money.”

I always prefer to wade in at the head, it’s easier for me to judge whether I’m crowding the man below. Watch his casts to see how far upstream he’s quartering, then pick that limit as the entry point. You can guess how far the lowest fellow’s swinging his fly – but you can’t see it, so it’s much harder to judge.

Learn to be the gregarious outgoing type as a means of introduction. Ask the fellow below you whether you’re too close. Nobody likes a silent standoffish prick in their midst, so don’t act like one.

You will always crowd someone, there isn’t enough room in the Solar System to be far enough away from the fellow who arrived earlier, don’t expect to be greeted warmly – and thaw the SOB to the best of your abilities without seeming chatty or obnoxious.

If you’re in the middle you’ve got two obligations, to watch the man above and cast when he does, ensuring your fly lands downstream of his. The fellow below will be watching you, so don’t dawdle or screw around when in the thick of things. If either fellow hooks up yank your line in smartly and hang fire until he’s reaching for the net.

If the fellow loses it, mention how enormous it was and he’s fortunate not to have lost a hand to razor sharp teeth. If he’s a friendly type consider mentioning his questionable ancestry, and how your 3 year old could have done it in half the time…

Never squander an opportunity to insult your fellow angler.

Always “Belly up” to the line of anglers, wade out until you’re making a straight line with the fellow above and below. If something happens and you’re late in making the next cast your line will be directly downstream of you – no sense making friends by pulling your fly into the leg of your neighbor.

Always fish barbless, it’s not an option when “cheek to jowl” with a press of humanity in proximity. Some fellow is going to get a cell phone call reminding him where he should be, will lose track of his surroundings and walk into your cast, or some interested jogger will wander too close and take one in the face – he won’t know better, but you will.

We all wish it otherwise – but the combination of too few fish and too many fishermen requires refining those dormant social skills, it’s like a cocktail party with fish hooks and no liquor.

One Olive or two, Sweetpea?

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I counter Pop’s Sage advise with some of my own

I woke this morning with sore shoulder, weakened grip and blisters. In the pre-dawn confusion,  I wasn’t sure who’d kicked whose butt yesterday, a sure sign that I had done something I shouldn’t. Pop used to put things in perspective, “Kid, if it feels or tastes good, it’s bad for you.”

At age 20, you shrug it off with “what the Hell does he know?” At 50, you ponder a bit longer, bandage the most grievous injuries, then shirk it off in like fashion – I figure by 70 I’ll understand what he means.

Yesterday’s marathon yielded quite an assortment of ills, most surprising was the blistered legs. It seems the pressure of waist-high water on the waders rubbed the pants against the skin, and I had 4 inch blisters covering my extremities from ankle to just below the knee.

Pop’s wisdom echoed prominently, but being younger (and therefore smarter) I countered with my own lesson’s learned; if there’s tons of fish and they’re eating, drop everything – as these are the Good Old Days and you may never get another opportunity.

… the blisters just made it personal.

Male American Shad, with prominent black dots

The fish were where they were supposed to be and the action was a little less lively than yesterday. Two other fellows were fishing nearby and as dawn broke and light hit the water, the bite ramped up considerable.

Shad are a notorious “morning and evening” fish akin to trout, I don’t know why but when light hits the water it’s like dropping a checkered flag.

Yesterday was dominated by the smaller males, and today held fewer fish and most were the larger females. I managed to get a shot of the larger fish (below) so you can see the difference, contrasted with the male above.

A larger female Shad showing her chrome

June is historically the best month to fish for American Shad, and it’s likely I hit a fresh pod of migrating fish yesterday. They’ll all be stacked up at Nimbus Dam shortly, but you can assume there’s fish distributed throughout the American River at this point.

For those outside the area, remember that Interstate 5 is closed in downtown Sacramento for the next six weeks, so plan your entrance and exit strategy in advance.

See you at the infirmary.

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The Meat Bucket meets the Peppermint Kestrel

The mouth is so thin you can see through it, just swear and keep castingIt’s a simple risk and reward gamble, all you’re risking is being a laughingstock – choosing a cold and blustery pre-dawn emergence over the sanctity of warm blankets.

“Fishless” fishing trips and me go way back, there’s no fear of censure and if I’m quiet enough I can even have the gear stowed before the rest of the crowd wakes up. On rare occasion a mixture of karmic debt and suffering means your number comes up and the reward outweighs all else.

It doesn’t happen that way often, but when it does you have to approach it like a veteran; no unnecessary false casting, keep your fingers warm so you can feel the running line, cast between gusts so you don’t take a fly in the cheek, and how long can you stand in waist deep water without a bathroom break.

Small Male Shad, the females are much bigger

Shad fishing is a social sport, someone catches one and everyone moves closer, and if you keep catching you’ll have a line of close friends looking to share your good fortune and your flies.

The “Meat Bucket” is usually only 2-3 anglers long, it’s a hole or depression that have the Shad stacked in like cord wood. In the old days neoprene waders allowed you to stay long enough to get near the fish, guys would gradually rotate out to warm up or use the bushes.

Shad aren’t known for gentleness, they’re a fast moving agile swimmer and the fly is stopped abruptly. The small males (1-2lbs) will often come to the surface, and the big hens (3-5lbs) will usually scream off with you attempting to get your fingers out of the path of a lot of fast moving Frog Hair.

The Silver Bullet hisself, and always guaranteed to splash you

It’s actually a lot of fun, especially when the guys around you are observant and skillful, you can pack quite a few anglers into a small space, and as long as your cast lands downstream of the fellow above you there’s no tangles.

This morning was payback for the last four weekends of fruitless casting, no fishermen to share the hole with – allowing me to cast and move with impunity. Knowing the general area of the hole allows you to zero in fairly quickly, once you start getting slammed, stop.

I got slammed a lot this morning, I kept the insane giggles muffled as I was alert to invaders, but no one came. It was just me, the Peppermint Kestrel, and a hole full of hungry fast movers.

The Peppermint Kestrel

I lost plenty of fish as Shad have paper thin mouths (see illustration), and it doesn’t matter how gentle you are a traditional “corner jaw” hookup will come loose every time. It’s unique to these fish – there’s no need to check your hook, just start swearing and keep casting.

Pink is the “hot color” for this year, and I always keep a couple dozen of the proven colors as a change up. It’s an odd phenomenon, and the only form of “selectivity” that seems constant. Shad feed on plankton and their ever-changing color obsession is not to be questioned, make sure you have plenty of choices and try them all.

The “Kestrel” is tied of “Aurora” Angelina fibers, with a ball of “Cotton Candy” two-thirds of the way up the shank. I Velcro the fibers to pull them off the thread and act as hackle. I lost a dozen of them in today’s obscene display, so I’ll be busy tonight making plenty more. Angelina doesn’t take a pounding too well – 15 or so fish and there won’t be many fibers left.

For those counting, I made it six and a half hours – then danced to the shoreline in a desperate race against time. I’m sure the folks living in the homes across the river were not amused, but modesty is overrated, especially after being kissed on both cheeks by good fortune.

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