Rock Snot merely “visually unpleasant”

Didymo_MotherConnecticut officials side with US Fish & Wildlife scientists in the belief that the once fearsome Didymo, or Rock Snot as it’s more commonly known, is largely harmless to both insect populations and fish in infested streams.

It’s a win for the fish regardless of whether you believed rubber soles exonerate us of all sins or no …

Didymo has had a negative effect on water bodies in New Zealand, creating large mats on the bottoms of rivers and affecting the food chain. Although the algae has been found in the Northeast, the same effects have yet to be seen in New England, Aarrestad said.

“Colleagues [in Vermont] have assured me that the devastation was not what they’d seen on the other side of the world,” Aarrestad said. And in New Zealand, “there is no scientific evidence demonstrating negative effects on trout populations.”

*Peter Aarrestad, director of the Connecticut Department of Environmental Protection’s Inland Fisheries Division (and those are my boldings)

All of which makes the articles in the Maryland media that much more humorous. My personal favorite skipped the wading issue entirely, suggesting Didymo was spread by angler’s feet … which suggests the Missus will insist we keep our socks on while in bed.

Now all that remains is for the two groups to get their stories straight, as the US Fish & Wildlife article was written by New Zealand scientists who claim they also saw little damage to their insect populations contrary to the Connecticut excerpt, above.

It’s certain that no one wants to alter any of the watersheds visually or otherwise, but someone in the conservation community needs to alter their sensationalist fear message to match the the facts as they emerge …

For a more formal treatment of  “Didymo as potentially benign”, see the always wonderful Turning Over Small Stones .

There’s a good reason we’re the last of a dying breed

With reality TV performing introductions of the couch-bound to the great outdoors via cracked crab and icy trawlers, or featuring some suicidal dimwit paragliding into inhospitable terrain and doing without Twinkies for a week, I think we’re all a bit tired of network TV’s insistence that the out-of-doors is only for crazed adrenalin junkies and the idle nitwit that gets lost and runs out of gas.

Outdoorsmen

… and when the magazines wade in with the “who’s the bestest” competition, they’ll opt for making it family-fare, suitable for prime time – and in so doing eliminate all the real outdoorsmen.

It’s called the “Total Outdoorsman” Challenge for a reason. We’re not interested in finding the hunter who can shoot the tightest groups, or the angler who can catch the biggest bass in the lake. We want the outdoorsman who can do both. And then some. Like cast a fly rod into a stiff wind. Or thread an arrow into a tight spot. Or bust clays with a side-by-side. Or maneuver an ATV in the mud. Can you do all of this…under pressure? If you can, then we’ve got a $25,000 check with your name on it.

All you’re going to get watching some fat-arse roar through a forest floor on an ATV, is some fellow that isn’t capable of humping his dinner up the canyon, can’t cook the sumbitch once he gets there, and likely couldn’t get a fire lit if he was issued a couple of waterproof matches.

Them guys use drive-thru, mostly scratching their head and pointing at the pretty pictures …

Real outdoors contests should include; how many days can you wear the same tee shirt without bathing, how many beers can you drink yet still cross a creek on a log, how many times can you blow daylight through a fleeing forest animal as it dashes through the parking lot, can you double the size of your fish with a straight face, do you carry single malt or blended, and which kind of leaves should be avoided when wiping your arse below the high water mark …

Those SOB’s are outdoorsmen.

The last thing I need is a gaggle of fly fishermen – or some equally effete rich SOB that breaks clay with a couple thousand worth of finely engraved over and under, or some dandy that insists on getting bow tags -when steel belted radials work all year …

If I’m going up to the piney woods, I’m going with the crowd that appreciates it. I’m tired of telling the ATV guy that he has to pack his bottles and cans out …

We’ve got Black Ants that size, but they float

Fly tying is a mixture of the two Invariably someone asks me, “what’s the hardest thing in fly tying?”

Most expect me to mention the multiple hours it takes to complete a fully dressed salmon fly, or a knotted leg attempt at realism – involving lots of glue and much effort, but those are simply mechanical tasks and may be time consuming, but are easy once you’ve done them a couple thousand times …

What’s the hardest thing in fly tying?  … giving up your reliance on other people’s patterns, showing a little confidence in yourself and your own critical eye.

It shouldn’t be too much of a surprise if you think about it critically, but fly tiers and baseball players are the last bastion of weakness and superstition – the only difference between the two, is that one carries a rabbit’s foot for good luck, and the other dismembers rabbits and carries all four should the good luck run out …

Fly tiers will invariable take some form of instruction to get them started and then rely on books and magazines, or the Internet, to continue the learning process. Over time they learn never to trust a photograph and always refer to the text recipe – knowing that lighting and focus can change the hue and color of the fly, making the components less recognizable.

Lacking all the printed materials in the pattern means the finished fly is damaged goods. It’s Awesome*, worthy of mention with Barry Bond’s steroid enhanced home run record.

Flies worthy of publication have magical properties, each having killed thousands of fish – and therefore chosen by editors for their killing qualities – not to be tinkered with by mortals, or anyone else having just finished an Intermediate class.

It gets in our head early, and lies there like a leaden weight.

As the seasons whiz by we’ll occasionally venture out and develop a bug for some favorite venue we’ve fished for years. When someone spies them they’ll be a lot of pursed lips and raised eyebrows, once their origin is known, and we’ll get a half hearted shrug before they move onto the brightly colored monstrosity in the next compartment, whose pedigree includes magazine covers, the latest synthetics, and an offshore source requiring a new rod, new leader, and the reflexes of a Cobra to fish it …

Yet the lackluster was our fly, it was us, the sum of our deduction and science merits only a raised eyebrow and a shrug.

… and as our flies begin to look like the magazine flies, and we start to surpass them in quality we’re emboldened. We select a handful of prophets, whose flies and articles resonate with us and we mimic their work and science.

At some point even that’s cast aside and we’re no longer following the rest of the crowd. Magazine flies are revealed to be nothing more than some fellow’s anthropomorphic idea of what a Damsel fly looks like – and it’s tied poorly to boot.

Now a fishing trip becomes a snack food; you’re swept up in all the dark nymphs that worked so well on the last trip, and how we’ll invent new dark nymphs just for the occasion – and we’ll marvel that they outfish anything tied from a magazine and anything commercially available in the store.

…and with that discovery, you’ll realize that fly tying is many years of learning different fly styles and their construction, whose colors are not set in stone like the picture – but are waiting for you to enhance and define.

Now that you’ve mastered the AP style, the standard dry, the cripple, the big stonefly nymph, the leech, and parachute, only now does science, art, and fishing come together, and your muse is a tuft of dander, or a clump of sparkle.

Those anglers that don’t tie flies wish they did. All of them, without exception.

They’ll learn the same truths as tiers only it’ll take them longer. They have much less to chose from then the rest of us, and little to unbalance their loyalties to the commercial giants; Adam’s, Humpies, Zug Bug’s and Elk Hair Caddis. To them a black nymph can be the AP Black, or the Black Martinez, and nothing else is possible in black and size sixteen.

Probably why the average age of the beginning fly tier is nearer forty-five, and the stray kid is taking it because his dad is trying a second time. A decade or so of fishing ensures those same truths, newly self evident, means without an indentured servant for supply, art and science will compel him to submit to moths and head cement, and the hardest thing in fly tying will be the easier.

Similar to Radioactive wastewater only different

As aquaculture is still in relative infancy the scientific community is just coming to grips with issues posed by the commercial aspects of so many fish in such a dense cluster. While most of the focus has been local environmental issues and effects to native fish, as the industry matures and we eat whatever wild fish remain, we’ll have to plan carefully as enormous densities of fish may have far reaching effects that eclipse what’s currently attributed to them.

Recent simulations of the effluent plume from a large fish farm suggest the chemicals, fish feces, and uneaten food aren’t dispersing as originally thought, and their taint can follow the coast for some distance.

Sea Lice, and issues with flabby gray flesh, escaped domestic stock, the genetic permutations of triploids and semi-sterile have received quite a bit of press. What’s recently come to light is all that fish pooty in the water is much more concentrated,  doesn’t dissolve very well, and as a result your kids will be drinking it, frolicking in it, and coating themselves and everything else by swimming in it.

While most of the fish yuck is drifting offshore, the dye model presented above suggests the stream of effluvia given off by farming operations will be a complex issue as the industry matures and farm densities increase to replace collapsed wild fish stocks.

Even more of an issue when drinking water sources are used to grow vanished freshwater species.

The Invasive chortle of the Month Post

Invasive Species? In a little “tea-party” muscle flexing, scientists from Sarah Palin’s home state reveal that the American Bald Eagle, symbol of American might and pride, is an invasive species…

Let the name of Moses be stricken from every book and tablet, stricken from all pylons and obelisks, stricken from every monument of Egypt. Let the name of Moses be unheard and unspoken, erased from the memory of men.

Now what are you going to do? Erase all those stamps will be a bother, but the currency is near worthless which should prove to be a relief for the treasury.

With 200 years of symbology invested, removing the eagle would be nigh impossible. We’ll have little choice but to rethink most of our invasive policies, and recognize that as humans speed up and the crust warms, we’re witnessing Darwinism and evolution, and nothing more.

tasteslikechicken2

P.S. Listen to the National Public Radio piece closely …

As loyal as its next handout

Leave it to friend Leaping Bluegill to disclose the depths of our despair, how deep that hole is, and how our dry flies will be held hostage over the next couple of decades …

When it was wives and daughters we were bound by the laws of society,  now that the enemy is a quadruped all we’ve got to worry about is angering PETA eco-pussies, and absent a life sentence for us patriots, Old Fat Ass won’t know what hit him …

He’ll crack an eye to the sound of the clip slamming home – but once those tracers start skipping off the wainscoting he’ll realize his days of farting on the sofa are gone.

I’ll wait until he hits that turn into the kitchen, when those trimmed toenails start to lose purchase,  “skritch-skritching” on the linoleum and momentum requires trading paint with the fridge … flick that selector switch into full auto, put the front blade where he’s gonna be and lean on that trigger hard …

I seen “Old Yeller” and it sucked too. “Best Friend” was what we called you, because we never could remember your real name, you foulsmelling, fleabit, Prick …

puppylocks

puppylocks_advert – photo via Puppylocks

Adorable little ruffian with Whiting neck hackles highlighting those dark eyes so fetchingly … We’ll see how well the anchors hold when I chase the little SOB through the dog doody area while four snarling steel belted radials seek to make “Foo Foo” a throw rug.

The Singlebarbed Guide to whether your Dog is worth keeping

1. Less than ten unassisted retrieves of live game last season, the dog is worthless and a potential harbinger of Satan.

2. … a hamburger is neither “live” nor “game”, see #1 above.

We had a chance when it was a fad, now … now it’s personal.

The Olive Loaf, in traditional full dress

Full Dress Pimento Loaf It’s the singularities surrounding fishing that builds the really juicy legends and keeps us humble, all at the same time. All we can ever agree on is nothing is a given, nothing works consistently, and as soon as we claim something to be true, some rival convert claims it’s a falsehood.

Our experiences a long chain of singularities wrapped in accident, swaddled in chance, never to happen again.

Prevailing theory about what fish see, what they perceive tasty, mixed with a leavening of what we think we’d eat were we a fish – has armored countless bookshelves with massive tomes, all with a shelf life of a century or less, wherein they’re promptly discarded for the real – real, which naturally costs twicet as much.

Of all these mass shifts in thought, the traditional married wing salmon fly has to be the most gaudy and eye-opening of all these feints at understanding stream biology. Even non-fishermen can recognize the intricacies and labor needed to craft the flies, and the many jungles pillaged to construct just a handful.

It’s likely that all that painful rigor extended the “noble salmon-butterfly” ideology far past its supply lines – given that terrestrial biology and Darwinism were dancing close behind sherry and cigars, whose mustached practitioners “harrumphed” their way through this and other topics of their day.

While Blue Chatterer and Macaw had their proponents, it’s a given different camps would evolve to argue the merits of round tinsel versus the tawdry French oval, and good English iron versus that unwieldy Irish O’Shaughnessy …

… while downstairs in the kitchen, legend was brewing …

“AooOW,” Me Da is going to get us all pinched, see yourself what he’s holding…”

“Hush, daughter, my supper is what done this fine salmon in. I was only thinking a bit of herring might tempt a roach or barbel, and I wakes up to this feast flopping at me feet.”

“AooOW,” ‘Tis what’s meant, when Hisself upstairs finds out it weren’t a Green Highlander what done it, we’ll all be off to the Hulks …”

Grams worth hundreds, so why does all that fly fishing science end at the tippet?

I’ve oft wondered at all the toil and expense for the rod maker to remove a sixteenth of an ounce and whether all that engineering and measurement made enough difference to matter. Likewise for that disc drag and aircraft grade titanium that the reel maker boasts is so much more sturdy and durable, and whether he too wasn’t simply enamored with differences versus any tangible effect.

The line maker insists that slick or pebbled is the one true finish, and countless scientists struggle to define slick, in hopes of making it more so.

Heavy butted, limp, monofilament or fluorocarbon to transfer the line’s energy to the fly, but there the refinement and science dies, as fly choice is a mixture of semi-educated premise, intuition, and guesswork.

Figure the average outfit has been tuned by forty or fifty scientists, each with their own ideas on action, stiffness, and weight. Many thousands spent on rare earths and minerals to coat and build the ensemble, and when it finally gets to you, you can’t decide whether to use one or two split shot to drag sharp stuff through deep stuff?

I find it just a bit humorous, and why I can’t stifle a giggle when some rod engineer uses terms like “pure” and “essence”.”

As a fly tier I find fault with overtly heavy rigs or flies. Early Spring fishing is largely dominated by weighted, beaded, thick and heavy, all of which yanks at me when I yank at it, and makes fishing a series of flop casts that carry the weight due to energy imparted by my arm, versus imparted by a fly line – or something that bent the blank.

Like all those engineers are likely to tell you, there’s more than a single way to do anything – including sinking a fly.

Profile can act like more weight if it’s catered to in the fly’s design. Wide and fat increases resistance to motion in any direction, especially fast sinking and lifting the rig back to the surface. Extra shot can drive anything to the bottom quickly, but is never much fun to lob for any length of time -considering the wear and tear on knots and especially  lighter tippets.

Recognizing this from past seasons and planning to switch to a lighter line size this year, allows me to preplan some of the flies needed, given that I have the luxury of tying flies that will be lighter, yet sink as quickly as needed due to their slim profile.

Just as important, a slim profile allows me to get them out of the water with alacrity, something quite desirable in a hook set, and may allow the rod to roll cast the rig to the surface to position for the next cast.

Spring being host to all those big dark artificials, stoneflies mostly; many of us will be cracking out big pillow shaped chenille monstrosities, replete with rubber legs and tungsten beads. That’s less of a bother with #5’s and #6’s, but using a #3 or #4 line they’ll be effective only in lobbing flies given both their weight and water resistance.

I decided to “channel” some of the old Polly Rosborough Golden stone designs to different colors as his design is a lighter weight than traditional fare, and allows me some additional flexibility while I prepare for a high water Spring – and a light line mainstay.

PRSBRust_Mustard

The shank is covered in lead from tail to whip finish, with only a bit of combed fur to impede sinking. It’ll fish where the fish should be without extra beads and split shot, and ensures an enjoyable heave compared to the weighted hamburger the other fellow is throwing.

Polly Rosborough design, colors by me

Thin silhouette is matched by other functional attributes consistent with a heavy nymph. Reinforcing wire on all the feather delicates, three coats of cement on the head, and a blood red tuft of fur making the underwing, adding a hint of attractor to the finished pattern.

Heavy wire is consistent with banging about the rocks, as is the thick spear point – on a fly destined to hook many things, some of which may be desirable.

Few anglers optimize their flies knowing what’ll be throwing it. Favorite patterns also restrict us a bit, given our reluctance to try anything new. On a big meal like a stonefly I’d suggest fish won’t be as selective, allowing us to add that additional dimension, something tailored for the characteristics of the rod.

That’s a lot of scientists insisting a few grams are worth many hundreds of dollars. No reason not to pay attention to the ease of your rig when fished, and the shape and style of its terminal tackle.

To the Cloud

Cloud_Girlfriend Considering us fishermen and our lack of social graces, even computer nerds have better luck with the fair sex than us.

Six or seven marriages later, you’re handing over everything that wasn’t spent on backing and fly reels, and asking your buddies to help move your fly tying desk, as it’s perched prominently on the lawn, along with your comic book collection.

The advent of social media makes the missus all that more visible, and long distance friends will eventually want corroboration of them tales of daring do …

Consider the Perfect Girlfriend, synonymous with the Perfect Crime. You make her, refine her until she’s everyone else’s dream fisherperson, and benefit from “I was there and seen it” for even the most egregious fishing fantasy.

She tweets, she facebooks, she’s lithe, witty and stunning … she’s your Cloud Girlfriend.

She knows what to say and when, since you control her every move, she knows how to make your buddies wives bland in the comparison, and she’ll never mention the skid mark after your bear encounter, never give up your secret fishing hole, nor correct your 14” estimate, to the 6” inches it really was …

Consider that embellishment is part of your base nature, and for believability’s sake – you may want to go light on the manacles and automatic weapons, the nun’s habit is already over the top.