Lang’s Fall 2010 Fishing Auction this weekend

A reminder that Lang’s will feature their Fall 2010 auction this weekend. I counted about 250 rods available, ranging from Horrocks & Ibbotson to Paul Young, F.E. Thomas, and a number of older Orvis rods, both cane and fiberglass.

Paul Young Parabolic

I always enjoy paging through all the old gear, and am always fascinated by the fish decoys used back East for ice fishing, which has no parallel out West . We’re scared to go out when the thermometer drops below 85° and the Warden doesn’t think kindly of our efforts to reopen trout season once it closes in November.

The catalog for the November 6th auction features rods, reels, and flies, and November 7th is books, wicker creels, fish (and duck) decoys, and all manner of old catalogs and similar errata.

There’s a great deal of contemporary tackle in a Lang’s auction – it’s not just antiques. I saw a couple Z-Axis Spey rods, and quite a few Tibor reels, and bidding isn’t limited to something destined to hang in the den and never used …

Although some of the many framed flies by Paul Schmookler and Charles DeFeo might wind up hanging somewhere above them empty beer cans.

Possession of an ounce or more of farm animal is the intent to distribute

I had no idea they shed that badly

You think it’s a bloody laugh riot, what with my admission of strange yearnings and unnatural obsessions…

I’ll have you know it’s required of California residents to be leaning one way or another, and be a mite twitchy – one foot within mainstream society – and the other elsewhere, where no one dares ask and I sure as hell ain’t telling …

Especially not to the Feds.

The chase scene won’t be played out on some sterile SoCal freeway with the police cruisers at respectable distance – that “red carpet” treatment is reserved for celebrities.

It seems the majority of my readership assumes I’m responsible for most of the Satanic rituals performed in their township, and each evening I thread my way through the phalanx of stern looking suits, while I explain to your local law enforcement, “… no, I’ve never been to Three Forks, never been to Montana, and if your citizenry is afraid to walk the streets at night because of some local wing-nut, whack-job, Unabomber-type – it’s your own damn fault and none of my doing.”

“… and did either of them SOB’s look like Trigger – ‘cause I could use some more of that Golden Ginger .. Nothing, I didn’t say nothing ..”

The Gallatin County Sheriff’s Office said Sandy O’Rourke of Three Forks called Oct. 17 and reported someone had taken the tails off two of her horses and cut part of the mane from a third, The Bozeman Daily Chronicle reported Thursday.

The theft came a month after Bob and Connie Riley of Dillon reported the theft of the hair from their horse’s tail, investigators said.

– via UPI.com

It’s bad enough that I’ve got the Department of Fish & Game eyeballing me from the neighbor’s roof, now I’ve got to deal with the collective ills of the rest of the continent laid at my doorstep.

Remember, I have the utmost respect for my quarry, which is why I usually sign my work …

The textured fly line Redux, we may be done donating fingers

Mastery Textured Nymph Indicator I fancy myself a textured line expert, only because I’ve whined louder and longer than anyone else…

I’ve been addicted to the sound of fingernails on shower curtain since owning my first Masterline.

I’ve lost more flesh and fingertips to the Sharkskin than I care to remember, and as I’ve learned little from that hellish torture, I spent all weekend flinging a “golf dimpled” Scientific Anglers Mastery textured line at everything that moved and most things that didn’t …

Textured fly lines have always been the bastard stepchild of fly fishing. Manufacturers seem gun-shy of the technology because each time someone has the temerity to release one it’s accused of numerous ills of which it’s blameless.

… and so few have been released over the last couple of decades that they’re always claimed to be revolutionary – despite silk and horse hair lines having an obvious woven texture for a couple hundred years, compared to the plastic polymers we’ve used for a short half-century.

The Masterline Chalkstream was the first textured line I remember; launched in the 1980’s, it was rumored to be made by the Sunset Line & Twine folks for the European market, available under the Masterline “Chalkstream” label in  the UK, and the Hal Janssen label here in the US.

The Sharkskin series offered by Scientific Anglers is of recent manufacture, and while it’s a fine casting line, earned a reputation as a surefire fingertip removal method, and unpleasant memorable to fish without finger protection. 

The Ridge line is a similar idea with a bit of a twist, only because its texture runs parallel with the line to accomplish similar function, instead of a cross-grained pattern like the other vendor’s products.

While the physics of texture are sound, Scientific Anglers may have opted to release this less abrasive flavor in light of some painful Sharkskin feedback. Manufacturers rarely cede ground on their brainchildren and give every conceivable rationale to the contrary, yet this newest flavor is completely delightful, easy to cast and appears to leave both fingers and fingertips intact.

Masterline boasted of “glass bubbles” imbedded in the finish that made the texture lumpy. Sharkskin claimed it was the “ridges and valleys” or a lotus based facsimile, and the Mastery textured line smoothes the harsh edges and lays claim to a model based around a golf ball’s dimples.

The forums will soon be ablaze with claims that “I seen this guy, that knows this other guy, who claims his guides was sawn clean through ..”

If you have old bamboo rods whose guides are not hard chrome, you may have reason for concern. As 99% of the rods made in the last couple of decades are ceramic strippers and hard chrome snakes, there is no known wear issues with any of the textured products. I had a stealthy set of Japanned black snake guides that a Masterline ate about 30% of over the course of two seasons, but traditional chrome is quite hard, and impervious to a flexible textured surface.

The Snakeskin ate fingers, fingertips, and anything else it touched and persisting this myth, producing much heat on the subject in the Internet forums, but Scientific Angler was very much aware of the fingers issue and recommended the use of some type of protection even at product launch.

I didn’t see the necessity to add more gear just to fish a fly line, abandoning the Sharkskin shortly after a 15 pound carp took advantage of sand sticking to the line to carve a bloody track across four of my fingers …

It appears this new textured Mastery variant learned from the Sharkskin’s excesses and sports a finish less abrasive, a bit less noisy, and provides a great replacement for all those that admired the old Masterline and its casting qualities.

Note: It still goes “wheet, wheet” when you double haul, so if you’re made of sugar and can’t handle the noise, nothing’s changed here. Sirens still echo through the brownline as do the gunshots and howl of two-stroke off road crazies,  “wheet, wheet” is relaxing by comparison.

Mastery Textured Nymph Indicator dimensions

There is little doubt we’ll hear about fancy polymers and painstaking research, be force-fed formulas with “X’s” and exponents, which allows children to shoot an entire fly line with a single false cast. But that’s the traditional hype, for those interested in how texture can improve their fishing, or is worth the $79.95 cost, the explanation of what you may experience is quite simple.

Bubbles, Ridges, Valleys, and Dimples all cause the line to come out of the guides like a fast moving powerboat running perpendicular to waves. Both boat and fly line will touch the guides only at the bulges – allowing the valley of the line to pass without incurring friction at all. Less friction means an extra five, eight, or ten feet in your cast when released.

Extra distance is always useful, especially in lake fishing when you can use it to cover additional water.

Extra distance is not a textured line’s best quality however. The real value is fishing the downstream dry fly – either seated in a boat or wading.

Most guided trips with a boat feature a guide yelling in your ear to flip slack and avoid waking the fly. The guide is leaning over your ear yelling, “ …flip, flip, flip … set the %$# hook!”

That lessened resistance to line exiting the guides means feeding line to the current requires less effort even compared to smooth line, and a tiny flip of the wrist will add three feet of slack giving your fly precious extra seconds to cover water without drag.

That is what your money bought you, and why you may prefer it to any smooth fly line.

Over the coming months we’ll continue to be inundated with all the vendor techno babble; claims of cackling fellows in stained lab coats wearing thick spectacles, who’ve spent their entire lives researching polymers that rival a woman’s skin, repel water, and cast themselves.

Occasionally some of that will be true.

Remember that exponents and polymers cannot impart the correct motion to a fly rod, only you can do that – and the results you’ll see will vary based on conditions and skill.

Specifically I purchased a Mastery Textured Nymph Tip in WF7F. It replaces my old Cortland Nymph Tip WF7F that I use in the brown water, which is a far harsher environment than a relatively clean trout creek.

The Sharkskin line had been tested under similar conditions, and I noticed a lot of color fade, likely due to unknown farm chemicals and effluent.

The texture supplied on the line is misleading. It’s small and unobtrusive almost like a matte finish, not the obvious embossing of the older Sharkskin. Only running a fingernail down the line reveals the subtle “tic-tic-tic” of the texture, and promises to be much less abrasive on the initial feel alone.

It possesses a short and very clean color demark or transition than other bi-color combinations I’ve owned. The body of the fly line appears off-white with a tinge of cold, and the two foot orange section of the nymph tip clashes cold color with a warm – making the transition stark and quite easy to watch for a subtle move.

Running line and contrasting orange

Many of the other vendors persist the traditional peach running line with the orange head, which is a bit less distinct, as both colors are warm.

I liked the new line marking system destined for the balance of the Scientific Anglers stable, a fine vertical print of line weight and taper printed on the head portion – far enough back so that if you modified the taper by trimming sections from the front, the label will still be available.

The WF front taper was both responsive and authoritative to cast on a fast action graphite rod. I spent much of the weekend flinging the long cast to see how much floating slack it would yank off the water’s surface, and how it felt to strip all that back over the same index finger.

I mashed the running line into the sand at the water’s edge and repeated the process with much longer strips, and faster speeds, and didn’t feel the tell-tale warmth of a line burn.

To wit, I don’t think this line will bite quite as badly, and it may be suitable for heavy use without the rigor of tape, bandages, or forced amputation. One weekend isn’t a surefire test by any stretch of the imagination, but I rode this beast hard and it performed admirably without injury.

I’ll continue to use this line throughout the Winter, should it prove harmless, I’ll be replacing some of my other lines as well as laying in a couple spares. I’ll post the outcome after a couple of months, so you can learn from my extended testing in the muck water.

Summary: I think Scientific Angler has struck a nice balance of texture and function with these latest offerings. If you’re a distance craving fisherman, or tired of listening to the guide claim you’ve got reflexes of stone, you may consider giving these lines more than a single glance.

At the list price of $79.95 it’s in the zone of other lines, but given the economic times we’d as soon test the line before purchase (and your shop should be quick to accommodate that request with a rod, reel, and their front lawn).

As with all technologies espousing chemical formulae, we want to see whether the technology provides you an obvious difference – or merely a shoulder shrug.

Full Disclosure: I liked this line before I ever unraveled it from the manufacturer’s box, mostly because I love textured fly lines and think them superior to ANY slick finish. My ardor may not be shared by everyone, so you need to test this line for yourself to ensure your opinion and experiences are similar – before you trust my superlatives to write your check for you.

I purchased this line from FishWest at full retail ($79.95).

Fly Fishing – an essay in prose and pictures

On rare occasion someone says it in such a way that completely captures the experience of fishing, from darkened early morning departure to darker parking lots and damp feet …

… and his prose is damned good too.

Take a look at both and tell me if he hasn’t got the high points for an entire season in one eloquent missive …

The Author, this time with better beer In October my father called to wish me a happy birthday, and to remind me that in all probability I now have more years behind me than I do ahead. Thanks Dad. With that in mind, I made it a point to get out on a lake somewhere before the onset of winter, and so this past Saturday I headed east into the Sierra Nevada range for a solitary day of fishing.

I’d invited my friend Neil to join me, but he declined because the weather forecast called for rain and snow. Neil is a steelhead fisherman, so I couldn’t help but take it personally, but going alone gave me the opportunity to experience the maxim often quoted by Singlebarbed: one is a fishing trip, two is half a fishing trip, and three is no fishing trip at all.

I left the house at 5:00 AM, and was on the water and fishing by 10:00. My trip took longer than it should have because someone had hit or removed the sign identifying the road that leads down to the lake and I ended up driving right past it.

This lake usually presents me with a number of mysteries,and it did not disappoint. There were fish rising and jumping and carrying on everywhere I looked, but I didn’t see a single bug anywhere on the surface. I suspected the fish were chasing midges, and so I tied one on under an indicator and chucked it out there. No luck. I rigged up my father’s old fiberglass five weight with a double tapered Cortland Sylk line and a furled leader, then tried out some new mayflies I’d recently tied, more to see how they looked on the water than anything else. I also tried a new ant pattern, as well as a new beetle pattern. No love there either.

I rigged up my six-weight with a clear intermediate line and tied on a streamer. After casting out the fly I remembered what happened the last time I fished streamers, and decided I had better put a band aid on my stripping finger. The band aid ended up sticking to itself (with my help)and I messed around with it for five or ten minutes, all the while drifting in circles aimlessly around the lake. That’s about when a nice brown grabbed the streamer and started peeling line off the reel. I got a few more bumps on the streamer, but I was never able to duplicate the unique retrieve that enticed that first fish.

Throughout the day I’d been sampling some Costco-brand beers my wife had purchased for me – it’s what all the cool kids will be drinking a year or two from now – and it was while I was watering one of the bushes in ______ Cove that I noticed what looked like a small black caddis fly squashed onto the side of my raft. I hadn’t seen anything like it throughout the day, but since nothing else had worked I decided to tie on the closest thing I had to it and give it a whirl. I hooked a nice brown on my second cast, and the fish kept hitting that fly for the rest of the day. After releasing my sixth fish, I re-cast the fly and let it sit for a few seconds, then saw a very slight ripple and watched it disappear. I set the hook and started stripping in line, but instead of the fish coming towards me, my boat started drifting towards the fish. After a couple of head-shakes the fly popped out and sailed right back towards me. I never saw what took the fly, but it must have been pretty big.

I figured that by now it had to be lunch time, so I went back to the truck and pulled out the nice big tri-tip sandwich I’d bought for Neil, and then checked the time. It was 4:10. I wolfed down half the sandwich and then got back on the lake, and after hooking several more fish I finally lost the fly, which I took as a sign that it was time to pack up and head home.

Attached are some photos. (click for a larger image)

1 Left the house at a bit after five.

2 Ran into a little snow.

3 On the lake there was some of this...

4 ...and some of this

5 Thought these would work. They didn't.

6 But this did.

7 Christened my new boat net.

8 Had a beer.

9 My new ashtray worked well.

10 Caught another fish.

11 Had another beer.

12 Caught another fish.

13 Had a drink at buddy cove.

14 Caught another fish.

15 Had a late lunch.

16 Home by nine thirty.

I could struggle for weeks and never see anything with this type of eloquence. I guess to some folks the lying and exaggeration comes natural, while the rest of us have to work at it.

Dear Izaak Walton – Costco beer is simply … so … very, working class. While we delight in keeping both elitists and purism at safe distance, we do have some standards … and that bottle must be presented empty and downstream, and with great force.

… and our thanks for letting us join your trip.

I handed out Olives and Oranges and free root canals, while you hid on the couch

NoKandyIt won’t hurt to admit it.

While them kids was bee-lining it to your place because you handed out Snickers last year, and as the train of ghosts, fairies and skeletons climbed the long flight of stairs to your darkened doorway, and while their darling little eyes looked expectantly at the door after knocking … you sent the little tykes away teary eyed and sniffling …

… while you lay sprawled amidst the carnage of candy wrappers and discarded Dots, watching football or the World Series, or both.

Likely you made an entire generation resentful; no candy, and when they’re old enough, they’ll know of your unspoken guarantee to treat their Social Security the same way.

Beast.

At least I was stand-up about my desire to trick versus treat. I didn’t hide behind drawn shades and a hot TV, I brought the badness to them Innocents and giggled in the doing.

Trick, no treat for you ..

The Pikeminnow kept knocking, each more optimistic than the next, but every “apple” held a razor blade – which turned their greed into root canal, compliments of that menacing dark shadow with the big hammy feet.

I hoped they’d bring an enraged parent back – but what few were left knew better, remembering the Will O’ the Wisp from last year, when dental work was again free for the asking.

Birdsnest Apple & Razor blade color

Olive with a touch of Pumpkin drew the greedy from under the cut banks and cut a swath through the hatchery water. A grinning Jack O’ Lantern promising sugary treats by the fistful, and delivering base metal instead.

.. and when all are clustered around that big bowl at work, where all the health conscious parents deposit their child’s haul, and inquire did I have many little footsteps on my porch last night, I’ll opt for the noncommittal, “about the same as last year.”

It’s a fly tying makeover, where we cross fingers and hope we’re not watering down genius to the point of ineffectual

At times I think an entirely separate blog is required to cover concepts of fly design, material handling, and methods of attachment.  We’re often focused on visual imitation of the natural that we lose sight of the practical issues of swimming behavior and attitude in the water.

The only thing close to fiddling with someone else’s great idea and making it yours is cooking. You add additional tasty things hoping the sum of all parts is even better … and that’s not always the case.

To mitigate the fervor of inspiration and the wild frenzy it induces, I use three separate processes to adapt someone else’s idea to my fly box and style of fishing.

Combinations and Permutations:  Fiddle with the idea alone, just to see what else it can do, and what else it would be good at …

Optimization: examine the rest of the fly to ensure other materials are matched with the new functionality, or assist its unique quality.

Swim Test: use the fly in a stream, lake, or bathtub, in the same manner it will be fished in the real world.

One or more of the phases will show a bad or impractical modification, a weakness in the materials chosen, or an attitude shift (caused by a material choice or attachment style) that cause the swimming fly to appear different than the natural or phase of the real insect you’re imitating.

In this case I’m still enamored of the bead-chained body from last week. and the feature being the massive weight of the body after attaching 4 – 6 brass beads.

Full Dubbed variant

Here’s an example of the Combination & Permutation phase, the full dubbed variant. I’ve merely topped the mess with a waxed nylon fiber wingcase as a placeholder for whatever I finally decide upon.

It certainly looks good if thrown with an eight weight. I’ve inserted dubbing between every joint in the chain, which extends all the way to the eye (7 full beads). The body remains flexible but is no longer droopy, and the nylon fibers are indestructible so the wingcase choice is actually an Optimization decision.

Seven brass beads mounted on the top of the fly will cause the fly to ride upside down, so the wingcase is mounted underneath the hook as a Swim decision. All that weight means it’ll be hitting every rock, every sunken tree limb and incur a great deal of damage. The nylon wingcase is impervious to impact, so it’s mounted for Swim, with material chosen per an Optimize quality.

Were you to mount the traditional slip of oak turkey as a wingcase, it would probably last about four casts before being broken to pieces. Which might be just fine – as you’ll probably leave this in a sunken tree limb every second cast …

Czech Nymph Style

Here’s the same fly tied in the Czech Nymph style. Beads follow the curvature of the hook and are secured at each joint. I’ve used the same black nylon fiber for the wingcase – but this time it’s distributed all the way around the fly – and the fly’s attitude in the water is now moot.

All Czech nymphs ride upside down, their attitude being a combination of shape of the hook and placement of the lead wire underbody. Its a mystery to me why they aren’t tied upside down,  that waxy and grub-like shellback points at the river bottom and not where the fish can spy it.

In extending the “wingcase” material completely around the hook means I’ve eliminated the top and bottom of the fly, and the fly looks identical from every angle.

All the same rationale explained above applies here. Material choices made for banging on rocks and surviving, fly tied to swim as the real bug might – if it were curled to protect its nuts while tumbling downstream.

I suspect that the steelhead version will retain the brass bead chain, but the trout flavor will be moved to aluminum anodized beads. The properties of bead chain are identical, only the weight will differ – and the aluminum will allow the bug to be cast versus lobbed – and fished only on the short line.

Proof positive that fly fishing is too expensive

They left most of the marshmellows Considering the thieves broke into the first building just to tunnel through three additional brick walls and snatch all the fly rods, I’d suggest that it’s  proof we’re spending way too much on tackle, or there’s little confidence on the Euro rebounding anytime soon …

… not that I expect the vendor community to feel guilty or lower prices any, I was merely hoping the Fed would realize us anglers should take part in the next round of quantitative easing, complete with access to the fed funds window and that tasty interest rate.

While our lending institutions are still holding the cheap cash close to the vest, our unrealistic need to own IM-6, IM-9, and IM-XVII might jumpstart the economy in time for the holidays.

The annual “I ain’t drinking that shit no more” post

There's little comparison Now that Canadian researchers have discovered that Goldfish under the influence of Prozac do not respond to sexual advances, I’m duty bound to ask how much tap water do our Northern neighbors drink before a Goldfish looks good enough to hit on?

… and aren’t we glad that fish have scruples?

Californians are known to house most of the native crazies, much of the lower 48 exports their antisocial types to the coast, where we hose them down and provide a change of wardrobe, before returning them as Presidents or members of Congress…

In other related news, British researchers now have proof that all the gender bending chemicals released into the watershed via sewage treatment – actually bend gender, affecting fish reproduction and inducing as much as a 75% failure rate.

Endocrine disrupting chemicals (EDCs) disrupt the ways that hormones work in the bodies of vertebrates (animals with backbones), including humans.

They can be found in everything from female contraceptive drugs and hormone replacement therapy pills, to washing up liquid, with the most well studied EDCs being those that mimic estrogen (female hormone).

EDCs have been seeping into rivers through the sewage system for decades and have an observed effect on fish, altering male biology to make them more female – hence the ‘gender bending’ reputation of these chemicals.

via PhysOrg.com

All this research puts us anglers in a bit of a quandary. As many of our planted fish have been gargling EDC’s by the bucketful, imported into the watershed from numerous federal “gladiator academies” – which requires us anglers to adhere to the “Don’t ask and don’t tell” statute.

Which explains why the fish are so damn tight-lipped when my fly floats past.

My Bologna has a first name, unfortunately so does the pen-raised mongoloid I picked for my trophy

It'll be everything he's used to Tom Chandler posted a short Twitter link yesterday that’s worth the read. Eye-opening to some, but not too far a reach to  suggest that the future of fishing and hunting might be private enclosures seperated by cyclone fence so I don’t interfere with my fellow “sport” in the neighboring enclosure.

The quarry might even be pen raised and as timid as domestic pets, but those qualities won’t show in the photos of the carcass, or the magazine article to follow.

These days a child’s first exposure to fishing is some above ground pool where images of Dumbo contrast sharply with a school of panicked trout milling about while smiling old guys bait hooks for kids. It’s like a street gang, where the initiate has to kill and eat something before he’s allowed to wear the colors.

Proud papa lingers behind snapping pictures and encouraging his bewildered child as he  jerks squirming silver fish into the air where they’re thrust into a plastic bag as quickly as possible to make way for another future sportsman … and his Poppa.

Then he spends the next four years glued to Nintendo killing everything else with equal glee. When Poppa deems him old enough he’s exposed to the heat, cold, wet, chill, mosquitos, and perspiration of the out-of-doors,  just enough to remain skeptical about it all while realizing that air conditioning and a fistful of Ma’s cookies is much superior.

Then it’s Internet Porn, Music Video’s, cell phones, texting and sex-ting, iPods, iPads, Facebook,  instant oatmeal, pop tarts, and instant gratification, and like a computer processor loses any developing attention span to become interrupt driven.

He’s old enough to understand the woods is one of the few environments he doesn’t control and fishing is a lot more fun when it’s bookended by hamburgers.  The lack of cell phone coverage limits  communication with the digital real world, but this imposition he might be able to endure for an .. OMFG .. entire weekend.

… we stuffed all manner of insta-gadgets in his sweaty little palm so he wouldn’t complain on those long vacation drives. We went digital to keep him rooted to the rug and avoid those mean city streets, and now the little snot would rather tweet and Facebook someone than hold a conversation, and reluctantly parts with a damp and lackluster handshake.

Just like a dead fish.

His is the generation that inherits everything we stomped life out of , he’s got the memory of “back when me and Dad went, they wuz huge” – only they aren’t anymore and are few and far between even in the smaller flavor.

With an attention span of 94 seconds, and the reflexs of a gunfighter, why wouldn’t he want his sport to be fast and on demand?

There is little question that the freshwater fishing of the future will bear little resemblance to what it is now. Our collective terra-forming cannot be undone. Roads pierce the last remaining wild areas, guys like us driving to the last remaining reaches of the Precious, providing those important ruts that will erode with winter’s downpour, and piss mud and silt into the last remaining quality fisheries, there to mingle with our discarded water bottles and toilet paper.

Private property will be the last bastion of off limits, and it’ll be there we’ll fight the first dozen or so court cases over who owns the rights to all the genetic enhancements, and whether fish grown to eat rock snot are fish at all.

We’ll have a glut of privately grown trout reared to order and sold to members on a rent to own, or catch and kill basis. The well healed package might include a movie filmed by video cameras that line the banks, edited by lodge staff with all expletives deleted, and a slo-mo action sequence of the trophy that the future angler will personally select like a lineup at a Nevada brothel. genetically enhanced, dosed with adrenaline and released into the private pond for a lifetime of memories or bragging rights.

It’ll have a first name and have spent the bulk of its lumpy existence wallowing in Growth hormone and Tofu-Watermelon Pizza, but so long as it’s big and stupid – them modern day sports will not care.

It’ll be like everything else enjoyable; fast, on demand, and him and his pals can be home in time to watch the video on the lodge’s web page.

The only reason you’re shaking your head with “that’ll never happen” is because you think we can actually restore something, even though we never have – and never will.

All that finery on the banks that you’re trodding  is shrinking inexorably with each year, and what’s removed first is the unspoiled and wild portion we hold dearest.

Your kid will never know your favorite creek without the water bottles and overflowing parking lot garbage can – because the public trust … isn’t …

Twenty bucks to CalTrout doesn’t fix a damn thing, it merely slows the future for a split-second.

Instead he’ll find a manicured ersatz facsimile for pay, and assume that’s what you meant by unspoiled – and the half mile drive by golf cart to his rented waders will be the “roughing it” part of which you were always so fond.

All them animal rights groups will be bought off with, “we’ll restore this unloved little toxic backwater, plant the fish the week prior, promote the fishery as ‘you can actually eat these’ because they ain’t lived here long enough to be completely toxic and you won’t picket us … right?”

That’ll ensure we’re not tracking deadly bacterium and nasty into or out of the carp infested public areas, nor are we swearing or blocking the view of all them birdwatchers.

The beauty is how economically feasible all this can be. With farmed fish comprising 50% of all fish sold already, and the fear of releasing tampered genetics via pens lolling in existing water, much of the increased reliance on farmed fish will come from landlocked waterways – ponds, creeks, and the like.

As most will be close to large urban areas to ensure freshness and ample commercial storage, it’ll be easy to lure a monied or aggressive angler to partake. Rented waders and wading paraphernalia ensure nothing foreign is introduced and fish planted in such numbers that guarantee the angler can be charged be the hour or day and still think it special.

It’ll allow fishing our generation has never seen. Wading a saltwater pond for Bluefin Tuna, and after tiring of 60 pound fish and 30 mph, spending the balance of the day using pellet-nymphs and indicators for Ling Cod or enormous trout.

I’m not suggesting it’s esthetically pleasing to us guys, we’re responsible for crapping on more than our share of the Pristine, and like our Pop – limiting our conservation efforts to our yearly twenty bucks to a Green organization, hoping someone else does the heavy lifting and lightens our conscience. It’s a legacy we’ll leave to the interrupt-driven instant gratification offspring we’ve managed to produce.

… who’ve had their genetics tinkered with all manner of our environmental excesses – just like the fishing.

My Bonefish loves Jesus

Trout Unlimited's Car Decal I suppose it’s piling on, but as absolutely every organization insists they’ve pulled out all the stops to attract youth, I can’t help but notice my yearly Begging for Dollars solicitation from Trout Unlimited, is about as marketable to youth as spinach.

… it might be a trout, but after looking closely I get more of a “My Bonefish Loves Jesus” instead.

Fish being the symbol of the Christian faith, and as most of the really talented anglers and their children are neither Christian nor god-fearing, it’s about as likely to grace a bumper as a Social Studies term paper or a root canal.

Kids love advertising, they wear slogans and maker’s mark proudly on tee shirt and bosom, status symbols all, announcing their social status without reservation.

… and none of them will be tattooing some tired old fish to their forearm.

We’d all be thrilled at some new blood, some additional exposure to our presence and ideals. But some stylish dead fish isn’t going to make the gals lust after the wearer, nor can it be “dope” gear without contemporary or risky. We’re not wooing anyone under the age of fifty-one – and then … maybe.

A bit more contemporary

It’s a bit more contemporary, but I’m much too old to be in touch with what’s really worth gracing a tee shirt. With finances and the continual prostrating for dollars, what’d be better is if the TU logo was adopted by Columbian drug lords and became “colors” for either the Crips or Bloods. With a steady stream of dollars TU might be able to fix more than a creek or two …

Lefty updates the tired old fish

Sure,  Lefty is getting pretty long in the tooth, but with the Oakland Raiders color scheme – just the kerchief and jersey sales alone might keep Trout Unlimited in the black.

Silver and Black is fourth all time in NFL merchandise sales, and while the Cowboy colors have outsold everyone else, it’s their cheerleaders that are largely responsible for that gold mine…

Save the old familiar to appeal to the fellows on the bench, snazzy won’t hurt much and may lure something other than those who’ve given twice already.