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.

… and spread the Powerbait so thick, there’s probably a platoon of watermelon Gumby’s rolling about the deep water

It’s likely to trigger a most difficult chicken and egg debate, considering us fly fishermen can save a trout stream or save a forest, but we can’t do both …

Recent salmon studies suggest “you are what shades your banks” – and if the surrounding forest isn’t healthy, neither is your fish population.

More insidious than Zebra mussels, more cunning than a middle aged divorcee, and while we gash ourselves over saving the outdoors by eschewing filthy felt wading boots and their porous inserts, our woodlands are being overrun by eyeless and slimy creatures that fly fishermen are sworn to defend …

… the lowly earthworm, and we’re all guilty as sin.

image Clean, Dry, and Protect all you want, but it was you that drug them little Styrofoam canisters up to the bank and left them there to reproduce unchecked.

Once you learned to fly fish you got all huffy and resentful at the thought and claimed your hands had never touched the Unclean Thing, but the rest of us are claiming ignorance and we know better. First you unleashed hordes of the Big Assed American Nightcrawler, then after despoiling most of the American West, you trained your kids with them effete Eurotrash skinny types from the liquor store cooler.

… we ain’t going to mention the mountains of Powerbait you left in your wake, that would only be piling on …

Penance is possible only if you wad the butt section of your Boron BIIX into the leafy substrate and affix both leads from your car battery. Stomp everything that moves, then Clean, Dry and lament …

The sure fire way of making friends fishing

The only thing the fly shop can’t stock is that “icebreaker” needed to make the local fishing crowd greet you with open arms. It has to work at distance, so the wading throng clustered tight to the hole sees you and either motions you among them – or generates the en masse exodus, ensuring you’re the focal point for tales of prowess, slow reflexes, and near misses.

Half naked tanned and taut has a better’n average chance of waking the crowd in the fast water, yet giggles have a life span, after which the audience is immune.

The Beer Bike

Then again, the hardship of moving into a new town, a new drainage, and working up the street cred’s to be a member of the inner circle, might be aided somewhat by the Hopworks Beer Bike.

… especially if that’s a couple of large sausage & mushroom catching their death of cold in the rear cargo area.

Didymo spreads to sleepy Connecticut hamlet, women and children abducted

DidymoA confirmed sighting of Didymo sent thousands screaming from Hartland Connecticut, as the West Branch of the Farmington rose out of her ancestral trench and descended on the town without warning, sending a massive algal backlash through two zipcodes and an isolated Dairy Queen.

Casualties are streaming in from the countryside while the Connecticut Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) closed all thoroughfares south of the Riverton Bridge.

Casualty lists posted here.

Considering all the misinformation the Maryland media has published in the last two weeks, they earned this.

We who will do battle with water all year and lose, salute you

Too much water I missed the third digit of the snowpack measurement yet instinctively I knew it really didn’t matter. Three digits means a repeat of last year’s watery excesses, and while I resolved myself to keep working on the dry flies like I’d planned, they were unlikely to see much action.

There’ll be plenty of opportunities for fishing, but you can start ticking off the hatches that are off their timetable due to a high water year. Their predictability a thing of the past as they dribble off in smatterings versus the more traditional en masse emergence.

Shad will be for the lucky few, those folks that know their river well enough to seek the proper depth despite the torrential release from the dam upriver, and those that own boats …

… or seek guides, who have boats …

Fishing is like rooting for the home team, and some years there’s that sickening feeling when the quarterback slumps to the ground clutching his knee, and the crowd begins to deflate with, “there’s always next year.”

Sure I’m whining, but only because it’s tough to get mad at something we so sorely need. A billion people without water by 2050, and I’m already making excuses why twice as much has already prevented me from catching a damn thing.

I’ll giggle madly when I get to set down all this drab and mottled, so I can tie another 20 dozen of the brightly garbed beadchain bling, most of which will still be unscathed in the box for next year. I moved to the second box of Shad flies last year, a mixture of anticipation and restocking followed by two years of high water and forced to go cheek to jowl at the few spots it wouldn’t sweep you off your feet.

A single fish hooked for all my efforts.

Again I’ll have an entire week’s vacation primed for the first hint of fish. My boss will gaze at me each Monday morning expectantly, and I’ll be gazing at the floorboards – wishing I could tell him this was the week he would have to make due with the second stringers  …

…while I treat the steady stream of casting injury and sunburn, complain about sore shoulders and limp wrists, and how I can still cast twice as far but only for half as long.