Just enough time for a tidbit

Tells everything but the real story My raw unbridled envy with the electronics available to the bass boat crowd has me  attempting to reproduce that functionality for the “old school” fly fisherman.

My goal is unclear, something less than burdening myself so I sink like a stone with a misstep wading, and something more than licking my finger and holding it skyward.

How about a watch that reads and analyzes atmospheric data so it can tell you the wrong time to go fishing?

I figure them solunar tables are akin to weather forecasting, occasionally right, but never something more than a gamble.

Altimeter, barometric pressure, even graphs your vertical changes over the last 8 hours, but more importantly a built in compass, which may actually be the most useful of all the gizmos.

Brownliners will scoff only because we know “crap flows downhill” – hence our car is easy to find.

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…and I thought I was hardcore

magnet.jpgIt sure won’t make the pages of a fishing publication, but I was feeling my oats – a couple days growth of beard, unshowered, standing in “pooty” water swinging a nymph past a waterlogged couch..

That ain’t hardcore – hardcore is tying a magnet to the end of the line and fishing for slag. As the price of metals increase, Chinese anglers are doing just that – fishing magnets in local streams for iron ore.

No, it isn’t catch and release, it’s catch and eat, and my only question is what kind of retrieve works best. I’m guessing it’s strictly a downstream presentation – but is it the “hand twitch” or the “steady strip?”

Pure Hardcore. I promise to quit whining about the Little Stinking being off-color, and am scared to ask what these stalwarts are standing in..

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I guess that means Tequila will be making a comeback, do you mow Cactus?

A southern California lawn - in 20 years The New York Times has an interesting article entitled, “The Future is Drying Up” outlining issues the West faces in accommodating a burgeoning population, a decrease in water, and some of the ramifications of the current litany of water rights hampering water managers.

“Pulwarty asked if I knew the projections for what it would take to refill Lake Powell, which is at about 50 percent of capacity. Twenty years of average flow on the Colorado River, he told me. “Good luck,” he said. “Even in normal conditions we don’t get 20 years of average flow.”

The water issues of the South are merely current events, the real battles are likely to be waged in the West, with the Colorado River being the real litmus test, the worst possible legal scenario.

“Some 30 million people depend on that water. A greatly reduced river would wreak chaos in seven states: Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada and California. An almost unfathomable legal morass might well result, with farmers suing the federal government; cities suing cities; states suing states; Indian nations suing state officials; and foreign nations (by treaty, Mexico has a small claim on the river) bringing international law to bear on the United States government.”

It appears that wildlife will have to fend for itself, as little mention is made of the impacts to flora and fauna; voters get water, all else is inconsequential. The US actually uses less water than it did 25 years ago, but the growth in population is likely to dominate all other causal agents.

“The people who move to the West today need to realize they’re moving into a desert,” Mulroy said. “If they want to live in a desert, they have to adapt to a desert lifestyle.”

That means Saguaro cactus on your front lawn, not well manicured grass.

For those cities carved from the raw desert, like Las Vegas and most of Southern California, it means deprivation and increased cost. While there is enough to go around voters will insist on lawn versus wildlife, but that’s the easy part. When there isn’t enough to go around, that’s when it will pit voter on voter, and that is a different battle.

Most of the water managers in the article agree that cost will be on the increase soon. It’s envisioned as a “pay for what you use” style arrangement, with hefty bills for lush backyard growth.

If you thought brownlining was for sissies, you may want to rethink that. Water managers recognize that most of the natural water is spoken for by cities, farmers, and other states. Finding new sources of water is impractical due to evaporation during transport – not to mention the cost of trenching canals or building pipelines that may have to go many hundreds of miles.

Re-use of existing water is where we may be headed. Used, cleansed, released into natural rivers, lakes, or canals – then recaptured via filtration downstream. Wells are dug near the river channel, and wastewater is reclaimed via filtration from the river through the sediment and rock to the wellhead. As wastewater is typically many degrees warmer than natural water, due to the cleansing process, we may elevate the rivers temperature in the process.

Call it “local warming” rather than global – no matter what the title, it’s sure to play hell with resident fish and bug life. Brownlining may be headed for the mainstream, just remember who loves ya…

Read the article, it’s compelling.

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Little Stinking stunned, even the mayfly spinners are fake

Remind me to add some form of prosthetic device to my spinners, as these eyes ain’t what they once were. Perhaps a move to Alaska is in the cards, as my buddies mentioned the mosquitoes are as big as Honda Civics, and carry off farm animals and small children. That I may be able to see.

I had a couple reasons for sustained abuse, a new Sharkskin line from Scientific Anglers arrived in the mail, and the “rain” that was to dominate this weekend failed to materialize.

In either case, I figured a couple hours on the Little Stinking was in order, far away from humans in case my sudden switch from Double-Taper to Weight-Forward rendered my casting uncontrollable.

I headed up to the Conservancy stretch figuring to scare up some fish and arrived in time for the morning spinner fall. I’m counting how many cigars I brought with me and comparing it to the clouds of spinners, and I’m woefully outgunned.

I think he's as surprised as I was I’m thankful that mayflies live no more than eight or nine days as adults, figuring none of this horde will recognize me as the cigar chomping Torturer of Things Smaller than Him, from last week. They didn’t, instead I was forcibly recruited as an “aircraft carrier” for the many squadrons comprising the Mayfly Strategic Bomber Command.

Fish were rising all over, anything that had fins was out in the middle of the river sucking down as many spinners as fast as possible. Fish didn’t even bother to submerge fully, they were running neither silent nor deep, dorsal and shoulder areas exposed, setting in the current with mouth open.

I’m listening to the inner demon who insists I throw a nymph, despite all the evidence to the contrary. It’s just fear, as I can’t remember whether I stuffed that pinch of spinners in my nymph box like I was supposed to …

They were there, and I was resolved to land my first trash fish on a dry fly.

The will was there, but the vision wasn’t – reality is a harsh mistress, I realized I’m the “old hunting dog contentedly licking his nuts by the fire,” and when the Boss reaches for the shotgun, the desire is there, but youth is gone.

I’m reduced to an area effect strike, hoping that the dimple I saw was my fly, rather than the four hundred million naturals next to it. It works well enough on greedy fish, less effective on selective less voracious beasts.

That's a dry fly peeking out of his lip

If there was any doubt about Pikeminnow and dry flies, it’s been dispelled. Ditto for anything else with fins, including smallmouth.

There was one broad shouldered brute under a cane canopy that defied me, he made sucking noises like a freckled kid finishing a milk shake – naturally I took offense. I managed to drop the spinner into a clear area that fed his protective lair, and was rewarded with an explosive battle, line screaming off the reel, aerial antics, and the thrill that comes once in a lifetime, trophy Pikeminnow.

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Alien Civilization discovered, Little Stinking home to Homo Illiterati

Our foray into the creek this weekend yielded a stunning find of great archeological significance. Proof that a prior, potentially advanced civilization may have had its roots in the area.

Anthropologists speculate that the “Little Stinkers” have existed in the area for the last century (or more) and that many locals may even have interbred with the remnants of this agrarian society. I can only assume it was unwittingly.

Startled researchers discovered a primitive English dialect common to Stinker cave art and murals, the alphabet and caricatures bear striking resemblance to our own. Equally astounding is the depiction of six fingers on the human hand.

Little Stinker Rock Art, depicts victory over the forces of Authority

One rock mural depicts an ancient battle between what’s assumed to be early American settlers and warriors of this ancient sect. A depiction of an early  Conestoga wagon set ablaze suggests resentment for authority ran deep.

Special resentment must have existed for English teachers, as the dumbarsed redneck spelled “White” wrong.

Little Stinker Cave Art, as yet untranslated

I can only assume that they may have captured some settlers in an earlier engagement, and their education was incomplete. It appears ritual sacrifice was part of society, as many cylindrical aluminum receptacles were found nearby. Initially assumed to be grain storage, sociologists appear puzzled as to their actual use.

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Georgia Peaches threatened by Florida Sturgeon

drought I’m watching the Georgia drought issue closely as it may well be an important litmus test between the rights of humans versus wildlife. On one level, it’s not much of a battle as our political system does not recognize the rights of sturgeon to vote, ditto for freshwater mussels..

Much of the South has been in the grip of an “exceptional” drought for some time, only recently has there been the fear that Atlanta may run out of water completely. Four million humans live there, and much of the Georgia political machine is engaged in a fight with the Army Corp of Engineers, who are required to release water from Lake Lanier to save endangered sturgeon and mussels in Florida.

It’s part of the growth issue that many states are wrestling with – and my state, California, is no exception. The issues surrounding all of this is compelling; growth versus quality of life, tax revenue for city, counties, and states – versus farmland or open space, and giving life to arid desert at the expense of all else.

Passionate, motivated, and well funded forces will array themselves on both sides, with us fishermen possibly in both camps.

Much of that sprawl of lawn and homes in near default due to ballooning interest payments – 64,000 homes in my area alone. That’s a lot of paved over farmland, or enough water to save quite a few fish..

Makes a fellow wonder, keep an eye on the outcome.

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Fly Fingers of Poor Idea

Finger Condoms The only debate that has raged longer than, “..is tying your own cheaper than buying them..” – is the issue of human scent as relates to fishing. I’m reluctant to even mention the issue as it usually sparks a storm of partisans, ending in somebody mentioning someone’s mother in a non flattering tone.

Widely considered the “worst iPhone gadget ever conceived” is the Phone Fingers – ersatz finger condoms for cell phone junkies.

Singlebarbed readers delight in other’s suffering, and are canny enough to realize this instrument may mitigate the Garlic Sauerkraut Tofu & Watermelon sandwich you ate at the picnic table.

Yes, friends, now you won’t transfer that culinary misdeed to your flies.

Fly tiers may have an additional half dozen uses for this monstrosity, as our hammy fingers usually stain the primrose floss required for every Atlantic Salmon Full Dress we attempt.

But wait a week, the stock will likely scream skyward due to this post, grab it on the plunge that follows.

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We’re not overly fond of red tape, so we’ll take it

Putin holding a Striped BassStriped Bass and Red Drum will achieve “game fish” status due to an executive order from George Bush to “make it so.” The game fish status will preclude commercial harvest of these species for restaurants and Fillet O’ Fish sandwiches.

…and that’s a good thing for us sportsmen. While the west coast population of striped bass has not faired well, some comments suggest the east coast fish are recovering…

The mention of the President’s action did cite his ignoring the congressional process:

“This action would be a total circumvention of the fisheries management process established by Congress,”

It’s Singlebarbed policy not to demean a sitting President, the prop wash from the Black Helicopters always depresses fishing, and there’s plenty of time to put the boots to him when he’s really a lame duck..

I’m guessing that when he and Vladimir Putin went fishing he likely won both the “first fish” and “biggest fish” bet – compliments of the above two species.

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Singlebarbed unmasked, he ain’t a GearHead

Brownliner gear is not for the dainty. It’s largely genetic and we’re proud to be social Visigoth’s, uncaring which fork goes with what dish, which sleeve to wipe our nose with – and how many minutes a food item can roll across the floor before it’s officially undesirable.

Our gear reflects that mantra, it’s neither showy or flashy, usually inexpensive, and hopefully rugged. I use serviceable tackle that I can afford to lose.

Wandering some creek in a farmer’s “south 40” may get me afoul of any number of situations, so I gear with that in mind. Issues associated with trespass are never simple – nor will it matter who is right, it’ll be you waist deep in water and him on the riverbank with plenty of rocks, a herd of milling bovines, or some dimwit nephew with a hard on to evict you.

I’m fishing in the rural-urban interface, a fancy term that means the city is close to the woods. Come Friday evening I can expect anything from the “high-powered rifle hatch” to the Gang-bangers with a yen for white-meat. All of them will be powered by Jack Daniel’s or Budweiser, and it won’t matter whether you have to defend yourself or cut and run, that rod is a liability.

Inexpensive rod so I won’t cry if I lose itMy rod is a Fenwick Eagle Graphite 8.6″ for a 5 weight line. It was the rod I kept for clients to use when their tackle was poor quality, back in my guiding days. It cost $80 new (circa 1990), and throws a nice tight loop. The epoxy is lumpy, the guide trim is painted on, the reel seat is all metal, and it fishes smooth.

It has survived horrific damage, everything from my ample unguided posterior to a trolling motor battery dropped on it.

I am a control freak, one of those demon-possessed folks that white knuckle the passenger side arm rest if I’m not driving – naturally the suitable reel is “anything with a rim control.” I learned painfully that mechanical drags should never be tinkered with while playing a fish, so my fingers provide what the reel lacks.

Scientific Anglers System7, by Hardy BrosMy favorite is the Scientific Anglers System 7 made for SA by the Hardy Brothers of Alnwick, England. They also marketed these under the Hardy label, calling them the Hardy “Marquis.” The reel is the only expensive item I carry when Brownlining, as poor quality can handicap you badly if you’re lucky enough to hook a big fish. These have a butter-smooth simple ratchet and pawl drag that is augmented by my bruised knuckles.

For those interested in following suit, your tackle should be chosen by quarry and surroundings; sized for the quarry, and keep damn alert to your surroundings.

Brownlining ain’t for the faint of heart.

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First Blue, then Brown, now Whitelining

I can only imagine the effect on the fish The War on Drugs has a silver lining for the Miskito Indians, as a unique combination of wind, tides, and interdiction has caused one of Nicaragua’s desolate coastal areas to be the recipient of tons of adrift cocaine.

Villages that once eked an existence on shrimp and red-tinged lobster have been transformed. In place of thatched wooden huts there are brick houses, mansions and satellite dishes.”They consider it a blessing from God. You see people all day just walking up and down the beaches keeping a lookout to sea.

Colombian traffickers and Nicaraguan middlemen trawl villages offering finders $4,000 (£1,960) a kilo, said Major Perez – seven times less than the US street value but a fortune to a fisherman.

I’ve never heard the words, “fishing” and “profitable” used in the same sentence before, I guess there is a first for everything.

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