To be safe we may want to nuke it from orbit

rotenone-pyrethrins I finished my read of the Yellowstone Lake plan the Park recently published for comment. In it they specify the need to remove invasive Lake Trout and restore the native Yellowstone Cutthroat.

Sure enough, our pal Rotenone coupled with gill netting will be the preferred fish killing method, gill nets deployed by a vendor in the lake proper, and follow-up chemical work for all the tributaries that lack some natural barrier to upstream migration.

I find it surprising that Fish & Game hatchery theory is predicated on us happy anglers killing our limit, but whenever they need to lay waste to a watershed – they never invite us to help ..

Rotenone effects both fish and invertebrates in largely the same way, especially prone are gill-bearing insects that derive oxygen from the water via beating of gills. Naturally that includes everything trout eat, so when the florescent green nasty finally is dissipated by a couple of sacks of Potassium Permanganate, it’ll leave a stream or lake mostly empty of life.

Despite Rotenone having been our chemical mainstay for fish killing for nearly 50 years, but very little science exists on the effects of rotenone on surrounding flora and fauna.

Some of that science is bubbling up unbidden given its linkage to Parkinson’s Disease. Likely making a lot of fellows at fish & game nervous and thinking of transfer from the chemical division back to enforcement …

While that topic is hotly debated, what papers we could find on Rotenone suggests that years are necessary before a stream returns to its historic insect populations, and some streams never return to their pre-poisoning levels.

Why is it so important? Because its use is on the rise given that we’re having to defend both shores and the interior from invasives. Running a multi-day slug of toxic killing agent through most of the tributaries and canals hosting an invasive critter is liable to intersect with drinking water and kids splashing merrily, and if they haven’t baked all that science thoroughly we all could be walking through Love Canal too – the Sequel.

The good news is that now that we no longer care about spotted owls, we can always park some Claymores around the last drizzle of water containing Tricorythodes … then camp in the fast water insisting we won’t budge in between fits of our teeth chattering.

The Unbearable Lightness of being a Rod Engineer

I’ve always thought lightness was among the most misunderstood qualities of fishing tackle. Manufacturers tell us how much better it is to have it, but I’ve always chalked that up to the engineer’s zeal – as it has little or no bearing with fishing.

I’ve heaved 12’ surf rods and a six ounce pyramid at striped bass for most of a day, and I’ve flung a 7.5’ #3 until darkness made me quit, and by day’s end both rods weighed heavy.

The lightest bamboo rod is still heavier than a graphite, a bead head nymph is heavier than its regular counterpart, a fly line can be a half size heavier, and while there are thousands of opinions and zealots that swear by one over the other, none will tell you that lightness outweighs the merits of what they prefer most.

… and if he’s fishing all day, no matter whether it’s saltwater or fresh, regardless of the terminal tackle being a nine weight or a five, all rods are heavy come twilight – especially so if there’s an uphill climb to the parking lot, or you’ve been skunked.

“Lightness” is something that engineers grow turgid over, while us fishermen look the other way and sigh.

with an ounce and an eighth added for balance

Knowing that the next ten days had forecast rain, I met up with a pal to see if we could find some fish. While I’m fiddling with my rod I glance down at [anonymous_meathead’s] weapon and spy three 3/8 ounce lead sinkers attached to the butt.

Images come unbidden, how that engineer rushes into his boss’s office out of breath, exclaiming, “Boss, I got this new resin made with superlight stuff, it appears as if it doesn’t screw up the existing stuff, so we can charge double for our stuff even though it’s half the weight of their stuff!”

… naturally the boss rushes to the elevator so he can tell his Boss in like frenzy …

Then how the marketing manager puts a handkerchief over his handset so he can call all his sales cronies at the other rod companies and claim, “your kung-fu is weaksauce, ‘cause ours is way lighter.”

Which later translates into a litany of superlatives used by hairdressers and chefs – to describe a good soufflé or chocolate mousse, but has little to do with fishing as the addition or subtraction of an ounce is something we do simply because we feel like it …

The fly tying equivalent of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”

He looked both ways before passing me the baggy, and being as it’s California I didn’t leave it out in the open for prying eyes, quickly tucking the goods into a breast pocket, before returning to the truck whistling innocently.

I might have been less eager if I’d known more about songbirds and whether you’re even allowed to keep one, let alone how many in possession and which warbler gives the electric chair without the luxury of trial.

Once the evidence was tucked into the freezer I did a little unrefined search to determine that I was now in violation of most fish & game legislation, both federal and state, and in addition to tempting fate with my “salvage” of three dead birds, the next knock on the door is liable to be the National Wildlife Service in full body armor.

Your cats can keep killing birds with no threat of legal reprisal. I don’t think that you can be held responsible, unless you have the feathers in possession. A few feathers in your backyard probably won’t get you into trouble. You, however, can’t legally even pick up a feather that incidentally falls off of a protected songbird. If it isn’t a game species, you probably can’t legally keep it. This is what we have to do. First, we need a federal “special purpose salvage” permit from US Fish and Wildlife. This give us the right to pick up dead migratory birds, as the feds have jurisdiction over migratory birds. Second, we need a state salvage permit as all songbirds are protected. In addition, I must keep detailed records as to what is done with every bird that comes into my possession. That is, is it turned into a study skin, disposed of or released. Finally I have to have a federal permit for any federally listed threatened species and another permit for any bald eagles. That means a separate permit for each specimen. Then there is a state permit for all state listed threatened species. What does this mean if you come into possession of contraband material without the above permits? Basically that you should leave it there, or dispose of it.

Assuming I was gifted the alleged animals, and my sense of utilitarian overcame my traditional adherence to the law, besides the five to life without parole, there’s a right way and wrong way of receiving some dripping lifeform your buddy, or circumstances, presents at your door.

First and foremost the legality of the affair, whether game animal or otherwise is always in question. Second, is the amount of time that transpired before that car bumper intersected the flock of dove, and whether you’re on the fresh or odious side of the bell curve.

If the corpse bounces to a stop at your feet, consider toeing it into a bush, given that there is still plenty of livestock on the creature, none of which will be leaving until the body begins to chill. Tomorrow would be much better to collect your booty, given you can bring gloves and a sterile baggy, versus carrying the bleeding SOB in your shirt pocket …

As did my mysterious benefactor, a couple of days in the freezer ensures that everything living on the host isn’t – and pretty much leaves a scentless little ice cube of sparrow, warbler, or linnet, or finch.

One or two is plenty, and given the wonderful soft hackles they possess, you’ll be gripped by this selfsame dilemma at some point. One or two only because most of the bird resembles every other songbird on the planet; a dull drab brownish gray top and a few gaily colored feathers on the breast or near the tail.

In ice cube form a couple of delicate pinches will remove most of the useable – too big a pinch brings the skin with it, which is undesirable as it’ll add moisture and a hint of decay into whatever drawer is utilized. Small pinches will remove only feather – and due to size there’s only about five pinches of feather worth having …

It_Was_A_Gift

I’d guess these are some form of finch or sparrow, as they have little in the way of color to identify them. As I often wander the owner’s field picking up turkey tails and flight feathers in the fall, my appetite for feathers is well known.

Small birds have small feathers, which is exactly what our traditional materials like Partridge and Grouse lack. Other than using a distribution wrap or something similar to reduce the flue length, soft hackles are often wildly disproportionate to hook size … which isn’t necessarily always a bad thing …

The issue is that small feathers can’t be wound or gripped by hackle pliers, as our hammy fingers lack the finesse to avoid breaking them.

Tiny hackle inserted into dubbing loop

I use them by throwing a quick dubbing loop, inserting the hackle into the loop with my fingers, then spinning the loop to reinforce the stem with thread. As long as the hackle is not tied onto anything, either by its tip or its butt, it will not break.

We've created a tougher stem

As the feather spins with the thread it will shorten, which is why neither end can be attached to anything. The feather will spiral about the thread and consume some of its length in those wraps. Two lengths of thread give it a real “stem” and we can attach hackle pliers and wind the hackle (while brushing it backward).

Olive Yellow Flymph

Note how the hackles are in proportion to the hook size. These are not stiff like Partridge fibers, they’re actually so soft and mobile that I’d characterize them as marabou with a hint of spine. Breathing on the fly will make all the hackle move to the far side, making them incredibly lively in the water – more so than the traditional soft hackles.

I’d recommend not using any head cement. Like marabou the fibers will soak any slop instantly, making them much less effective – and ruining the fly.

I think Sylvester Nemes died for all of our sins

sylvester_nemes I’m sure most of you have seen reference to the passing of Sylvester Nemes earlier this week, author of The Soft-Hackled Fly and The Soft-Hackled Fly: A Trout Fisherman’s Guide.

I attribute much more to the man than most, as he appeared at exactly the right time and rescued fly fishing from a fate worse than death.

We were headed down the Dark Path, it was the ascension of Swisher & Richards, Caucci & Natasi, and the dawn of man-made synthetics. Fly fishing had jumped its historic banks and was destined to evolve into leg counting, the correct number of feelers, and making waxy-stiff imitations that were anatomically correct, but hamstrung the artist and lent imitations as much comely as an inflatable love doll. Legitimacy was to say something in Latin rather than English, and authors insisted we cast out the false prophets like Ted Williams, Joe Brooks, and Ray Bergman along with the rest of the baggage.

Sylvester Nemes was a much needed counter to all this sudden religious fervor, as the only mystery that Latin couldn’t dismiss was why precise imitation failed to outfish something made of dog hair and owl feathers.

… and to lend credence to this odd duck, on his heels came the second British invasion, authors and fishermen like Goddard & Clarke and Frank Sawyer suggesting that a bit of ambiguity could be as powerful as precisely knotted legs or a shiny carapace.

We all breathed a bit easier after that …

I had the good sense to know something horrible was wrong given the porcupine quills needed for “new wave precision” stonefly nymphs kept finding my fingers at regular intervals. Up till now fly tying had never been painful – unless I was showing my flies to others.

You won’t see many describing similar attributes to Mr. Nemes, like double-knits, most of us aren’t man enough to admit wearing them. We were caught up in the book burnings and New Entomology, and we didn’t realize how close we’d come to plastic insects and turning our beloved sport into something of complete snobbery.

One Adams too many, Rhode Island Red sought in fly tying homicide

You assumed my earlier warning a product of an overly active imagination, and scoffed at the notion that animals were capable of holding a grudge.

Now as you bar the door and shovel your fly tying stash out the rear window hoping to escape the vengeful eyes of the neighboring flock, it ain’t so funny, is it?  …

In California, Killer Whiting Saddles are roaming the streets, slashing car tires and innocents alike, incensed by the wanton wrenching of fistfuls of small hackles, compounded by winter’s chill on featherless and skinny hindquarters, and the constant barbaric and ritualistic deep frying of their womenfolk.

Attacks on humans have become so brazen, a citizen was killed while under the watchful protection of the local police.

Dry flies are a lot of fun, but are they worth your life?

I’d rather have an intelligent rod than a smart phone

Tomy Virtual Fishing Rod The smart phone revolution allows us practiced urbanites the luxury of ignoring both our fellow man and the world around us. We get to demonstrate to others how small our existence has become, as we grimace and mutter in digital isolation, sparing us the uncomfortable interaction with others on the bus bench nearby, or ignoring that old lady and her sacks of groceries, assuming it’s someone else’s problem.

While the successful feign their importance, us fishermen can brandish hand held virtual fishing rods, giggling as the phone crowd place their faith in four square inches of glowing screen; ignoring parked cars, a quick bath in a sidewalk fountain, and walk without hesitation into oncoming traffic …

Instead we can put out someone’s eye when the subway lurches forward, trading tweets, twits, and chirps, for whirring gears and a vibrating handful singing the lament of big fish and too little backing.

Not to mention the convenience of shape, allowing you to park your sandwich on the main stem should you hook something requiring both hands to subdue.

Makes me wonder just how compelling Tenkara is – given how quickly all these Japanese fishing appliances dump the rod and retain the reel …

I’ve got something to show for the four hours other than heartburn

I’d call it just enough to acknowledge the Orgy of Pigskin without inducing undue strain on belt or zippers.  A couple of pretzels and some Garlic Salsa, absent dripping sour cream or lard-based condiment whose mere presence causes artery walls to tremble …

Like you I endured the inane punditry and pre-game hype, but resolved to get some work done while enduring the hoopla.

Sure Bob, but if Green Bay overcomes Pittsburgh’s edge in Big Fat White ..”

“ … it’s not often Pittsburgh’s turns over the ball, looks like Green Bay really got lucky on that last play.”

1st Quarter

Like you I sat through what had to be the second to worst halftime show, thanking Janet Jackson’s wardrobe for alternating years of embalmed rock legends flown in from some Swiss clinic where they’re shot up with sheep embryos, and mostly tame newer acts that can’t carry a tune worth remembering …

halftime_Fur

… and the commercials sucked too … little in the way of memorable, and most leaked the week of the game versus their traditional debut.

Well Bob, the momentum is shifting to the Pittsburg Steelers, given that Green Bay has been fielding mostly dead guys in the second half… “

4th Quarter mountain of hard work

Next time I’ll pick a color that doesn’t resemble Guacamole, as it was a close call during those tense moments of the fourth quarter. I might not have noticed but the guard hair made it nearly impossible to swallow.

… kind of like licking a cat …

Those Brown Trout do love their Mercury

donnerI’ve always associated the distance driven and the elevation climbed as proof positive I’ve left civilization in my wake.

Once the skyline changes from cement and glass rectangles to jaggy pines, I start getting those destructive thoughts; how I can drink the water, or bathe in it – as filters and iodine are no longer needed, Guardia and cow flop are in my wake – along with everything else the good doctor warned you about.

.. sure I know better, but it still takes the wind out of your sails when you see a blurb on a lake at the very crest of the Sierra’s, whose west side drains to the Pacific Ocean, and East side would flow to the Rockies, and the singularity you dare not forget is “only one meal a week, less if you’re pregnant.”

Nice to know that even the highest and farthest are neither pristine nor chaste – and the Blueliner’s are clinging to something that isn’t blue at all, it’s merely less brown, less odiferous than what I wade in and call home.

The report on Donner Lake’s ailments and contaminants has just been released by CALEPA.

No legislation needed your Honor, I’ll handle this trifling outbreak

starling_adult1 I guess I’m a bit less notorious with the authorities than the Trout Underground would have you think. In light of my sudden fascination with European Starling and then a mysterious kill of same – with carcasses scattered across most of Sonoma …

… the county next door that I never visit, ever.

Given a good bit of downhill and a tail wind, a silver Toyota pickup could resemble a big rig, especially when broadside to traffic and host to some idjit flailing around with a butterfly net …

It’s the perfect crime, given the fact they’re an invasive species and the Fish & Game folks wouldn’t  flinch if they caught me harvesting them with a Death Ray …