I’m not sure why some outfitter doesn’t call the kids parents and offer a full scholarship for the rights to his adult years. Driving a toy truck for two hours down a British Columbia river makes this lad the next leviathan of the outfitting kingdom – or John Henry at the very least…
Driving a truck into the river is recreational sport for half my northern counties, getting it to float, well – that’s the hard part.
Tags: outfitter, john henry, drift boat, British Columbia
You spend most of your life chasing them and if successful you gleefully thump them into oblivion, unless your girlfriend is looking – in which case you search vainly for something semi-sanitary to smack them with and failing that you let them go …
… and year’s later you’re sitting on the side of the bed wearing an antiseptic paper gown – both cheeks exposed (and chilling rapidly), modesty hanging on a strained overhand knot. The doctor pages through your chart, making noises that sound like you screwed up, and turns to you suggesting, “you’ve less than six months to live unless your medical insurer covers the Trout Cure…”
Who’s blushing now?
Three decades of aquatic study convinced Bailey, 68, that trout are cheaper to raise and care for than rodents, and have inherently lower cancer rates, which lessens the margin for error in studies, Bailey said.
Initially I thought about joining PETA so I could have hordes of screaming protesters behind me as I shouldered past the thin blue line of campus security, enroute to “liberating” the brood stock. Once Trout Unlimited or CalTrout gets wind of this “egregious abuse of science” – we’d don Orvis Balaclava’s and hoist aquariums full of lumpy fish into darkened pickups.
Figure that most of these carcinogen riddled noble animals would be toed into the brush if caught, but one out of six would have mind boggling genetics and obscene tumors to make it nearly 14″ and weighing 78 pounds or more …
… why mess with Triploids when Old Lumpy would give his all for one last taste of a Light Cahill?
It certainly solves California’s reluctance to plant foreign Rainbows to interbreed with native fish, what with the life expectancy of a liberated laboratory rainbow measured in a couple weeks …
They spend their short lives in fear and their reward is a horse-sized needle thrust into a delicate area – rendering flesh inedible, and saving countless unappreciative anglers from death.
Mice must have a powerful lobby.
Tags: Trout in cancer research, OSU cancer research, trout tumor, PETA, Orvis Balaclava, fly fishing humor, trout fishing, CalTrout, Trout Unlimited, Light Cahill
I’ve had the luxury of testing a Redington RS4 9′ #6 the last couple of weeks, complimented by a matching Redington Rise 5/6 reel. I managed to paint some algae on it from a half dozen tepid backwaters, including the Little Stinking and Sporting Creek.
Now with the rod shiny and scrubbed with anti-invasive bleach, I’ll have to return it.
… but not before passing on some commentary.
Action:
“Crisp” covers the first two sections, and immovable describes the last two. It’s a six weight rod in name only – as the rear half is nearly inflexible. It casts a WF7F with equal ease, and a WF8 doesn’t even flex the third segment.
Fast action rods have the bulk of the flex contained in the top third or top half of the blank, but the RS4 is an extreme case typified by a club-like lower half. All rods should demonstrate some flex regardless of action type, and the RS4 was much too stiff in the lower two sections to see real deflection. As a result, it delivers the line with great authority, too much for delicate work – it’s bestial characteristic better suited for slamming deer hair bass bugs or waterlogged streamers into a stiff breeze.
Which was ideal for the creeks I subjected it to …
Bead head nymphs hit the water with terrific force – a reminder to back off the delivery stroke for fear of the ensuing fountain of water and suddenly empty creek …
Outfitted with a ST7S it can deliver a bead chain enhanced shad fly in excess of 110 feet, yet I still couldn’t confirm whether the third section was participating in all that double hauling frenzy.
I like fast, but this taper ended after the top half – yielding a wading staff from the bottom two segments.
Spline Test:
Peering under the hood reveals the engineering detail of rod construction, and I was disappointed in the results of the spline test.
Simply put, a graphite rod is built by wrapping a fixed length of graphite scrim (fabric) onto a steel mandrel. When the appropriate number of layers are applied, the material is trimmed lengthwise, wrapped and baked into the final blank.
The start of the wraps and the end of the wrap create two points with an extra layer of graphite compared to the rest of the blank – these are called the major and minor spline(s).
The major spline is typically the outside wrap – the last wind of fabric before it was cut, and the minor spline is the first wrap of fabric – but it’s buried deep in the blank so it appears less pronounced.
Laying a rod section onto a flat table, you can roll the edge of your hand in the middle of the rod to feel both splines – the rod actually “jumps” in your hand as the two “edges” of extra material roll underneath.
All wrapped fabric rods have this phenomenon, both fiberglass and graphite, bamboo rods usually lack a spline, as they’re constructed of (usually) six hexagonal strips glued together, therefore lacking any “extra” turns of material.
Guides are traditionally mounted opposite the major spline. This makes the “top” of the rod contain the spline, and as it’s the stiffest section of the rod, and the “outside” of a rod bends further than the inside when flexed, it’s the side with the most resistance to bending.
It provides power.
Cheap mass produced rods pay no attention to spline alignment, mounting the guides wherever they feel like – or however the rod segment lands in the wrapping harness. First tier rod makers typically align the spline and guides to ensure a predictable action.
Redington’s guides are mounted without regard to the spline of each rod segment, and each of the four sections has the guides mounted in a different angle to the spline.
When casting the rod you’d be hard pressed to feel the difference of spline alignment and guides. Mechanically, the rod is reacting differently on each segment and is twisting to compensate for the poor alignment robbing the casting stroke of energy.
A fast action #6 with reserve power – mounted properly with the spline of all four sections on the top, would make this rod a true #7, as the spline adds additional reserve power and resistance to flexing.
Finish and Fittings:
Black finished dual foot guides complemented by a single carbide stripping guide, offered a traditional look and feel. Sturdy reel seat hardware accented with the neo-standard graphite spacer – and a nice broad rounded thread to tighten the reel seat. The wide thread resists grit from causing the reel to bind on dismount – a nice “fishing” touch – as we excel at putting reels in harsh environments.
Outstanding cork with little filler – a rarity in today’s rods. eight 3/4″ rings used versus the traditional thirteen 1/2″ cork segments.
The finish was applied thickly, with all decals imbedded under a blanket of epoxy. Small dots marked on the blank for guide alignment got additional coats – and the male end of each ferrule has epoxy extending down the blank for an additional two inches, a bit of overkill considering.
This “decal” coat was abrupt and noticeable on each rod segment, almost giving the notion of a sag in the finish. It’ll be a “”turn off” to those that delight in a rod’s appearance – and assists in stiffening an already unyielding rod.
Reel:
The Rise reel was absolutely delightful. Solid construction and good craftsmanship on both tolerances and finish. The drag knob was large and accessible and turned easily even with muddy or damp fingers.
It’s a mid arbor reel with both sides ventilated for weight reduction.
The holes on the rear of the reel are small preventing dangling vest attachments from getting into the mechanism once the reel is brought into your chest, and the backplane thick enough to avoid the “cheese grater” effect should a finger get into the wrong area on a hot fish.
Disc drag with easy access for lubrication and maintenance, and a pleasing muted click to alert you to line paying out.
Suggested retail is $156.00 (Spool $80).
Case:
It’s a clever case design allowing for the reel to stay attached when stored away. It makes for one less item to forget in pre-trip planning – as the mylar window plainly displays the reel attached to the rod.
Summary:
This is a clubby workhorse rod – not some gossamer reed that will assist your posing in the parking lot. Fit and finish are acceptable, with the notable exceptions of superb reel seat and quality cork, but finish and engineering (spline mismatch) are not Tier 1 quality.
Considering that I fish with rods whose trim is painted on the blank, that shouldn’t give you much pause ..
It’s a beastial fast rod whose action is limited to the first two segments, the butt sections are inflexible and clubby. You’ll treat the rod accordingly – no wincing when you yank a stuck dry fly from an overhanging branch, it’s the kind of rod you loan an in-law without regard for its safety, whose butt is perched in sand and water while wolfing a sandwich.
You’ll toss it into the truck bed fully rigged, and if it bangs the bottom of the boat when you shift your weight, you won’t worry about any nick or blemish.
Crisp action bordering on the insensitive, quality accessories yet only average finish quality, it’s a yeoman’s rod – something to learn with and loan to a friend once you upgrade.
TC’s test of the same rod offers additional insight.
Tags: Redington RS4 Review, Redington rod, Redington Rise 5/6, fly rod, fly reel, cork, round threaded reel seat, scrim, epoxy finish, rod spline, mass produced fly rods, Chinese fly rod
With so few publicly traded companies containing an angling footprint, and with fishermen a closed mouth lot its always been a struggle to get a feel for the angling economy …
.. but it appears there’s legs to the subsistence fishing notion, as angling bellwether Cabela’s (CAB) posted a fairly robust 6% increase in same store sales yesterday.
As the American consumer has awakened to the New Frugal, retail sales have suffered commensurately – with luxury items and large ticket purchases literally dropping off a cliff.
“As we look ahead into the third quarter, we are even more encouraged by the favorable trends in our retail and direct segments and our ability to tightly manage costs,” Millner said. “For the full year, we now expect total revenue growth and comparable store sales to increase at a low single digit percentage rate as compared to our previous forecast for total revenue growth and comparable store sales to be approximately flat.
This corroborates the survey suggesting an 11% increase in fishing license sales over the first quarter 2009. The prevailing theory is a worsening economy has families vacationing closer to home – with outdoor use replacing the more exotic venues.
… that’s a lot more kids wrinkling their nose at the plate containing a recent conquest.
Tags: Cabela’s quarterly report, subsistence fishing increase, license sales, fishing,
Few items are as indispensable to fishermen as duct tape, but it too may have succumbed to advanced helical technology and high modulus with the debut of Rescue Tape.
• Incredible 700 PSI Tensile Strength!
• Insulates 8,000 Volts per layer!
• Withstands 500° F Degrees of heat!
• Remains flexible to -85° F! (-60° C)
Wader Repair will never be the same, with its ability to insulate me from lightning, climate change, and the hoary Northern sub-zero temperatures, my only complaint is it doesn’t taste like red licorice.
… hell, I can even tie flies with it.
Application is child’s play, merely wrap your soggy tuna sandwich in six or seven feet of Rescue Tape, and if you break a rod, spring a leak, or need a quick tourniquet, discard the sandwich and take a half dozen quick wraps around the offending limb …
tags: wader repair, rescue tape, radiator hose, fishing, sandwich
I hadn’t thought about it much until I started catching Smallmouth bass with regularity. Trout and saltwater fish shared a similar resigned expression when handled; dull and lifeless – as if garnished with lemon was better than cavorting with mayflies or seaweed.
Smallmouth were different, they’d fix you with a malevolent gaze, watching every move for a hint of weakness or a defiant attempt at communication. One glance into those red eyes and you knew the message was pain, suffering, and “getting even were you just a wee bit smaller…”
Us fishermen knew all along, but the rest of the population is only now discovering that their Tuna Salad is sentient…
.. and may hold a grudge ..
“The public perception of them is that they are pea-brained numbskulls that can’t remember things for more than a few seconds. We’re now finding that they are very capable of learning and remembering, and possess a range of cognitive skills that would surprise many people.”
Unfortunately we’ll have to retool significantly, as social interactions between fish have been both discovered and proven, and a witnessed fear response communicates “predator” to all other fish in visual range.
“Now, fish are regarded as steeped in social intelligence, pursuing Machiavellian strategies of manipulation, punishment and reconciliation, exhibiting stable cultural traditions, and co-operating to inspect predators and catch food.”
We’ve endured the vengeful manipulation for centuries, woefully underestimated our foe, assuming our fly was at fault and not the real truth, that we were being toyed with …
Science will forever change the landscape (audio) and the vendor community will be quick to fill the breach; with floating neoprene live wells – allowing us to release fish back at the parking lot, and Ghillie suits to alter our shape and form.
Forget those pastel colors, ditto for form fitting and rakish highlights – we’ll all be wearing battleship camouflage and double helpings of naval gray…
… but is it the Royal Coachman they fear, or the fellow wielding it?
Us semi-pro eBay reel collectors are occasional victims of unchecked avarice – greed mostly. The pictures omit the missing screw, the bent rim, and the seller that’s hoping you won’t notice an unsightly wobble or loose spool.
That’s because we’ve got visions of Sugarplums dancing – the missing 3 1/4″ Hardy Princess Multiplier that we’ve lusted after for a decade has finally shown itself, and the “Buy it Now” button looms large and vibrant.
We open the box later to find a hint of malice – then gash ourselves for trusting anyone from Connecticut, especially with a seller ID like “Pwned.”
Fixing these aging warriors is a labor of love for me, akin to tying flies – with each scratch and wobble telling of great deeds and greater pratfalls, all in the name of fishing.
The spool latch mechanism is one of the few moving parts on a fly reel that is prone to eventual failure, yet so simplistic that it requires little more than a staple or hairpin to give a reel another hundred years of life.
Above are the two styles of System reels made by Hardy for Scientific Anglers. The black plastic center cap is the older series and had a poorly designed latch mechanism made from plastic – which failed early and often.
The second series replaced the plastic latch with the traditional aluminum cover and latch assembly common to all other Hardy models – a time tested design offering a greater lifespan.
Failure of the plastic assembly means the “feet” have weakened and need to be returned to their original shape.
Remove the cap to expose the plastic latch underneath. The two feet at the base of the plastic latch press against the cover to give the “spring” effect. Once the feet weaken and achieve a shape matching the interior of the cover – they’ll allow the spool to slide right off the center spindle. To repair the issue, merely pull the two feet back into a straight line as shown above, that’ll return it to a “spring” (as it’s pressed against the interior of the cap cover) and allow the spool to be mounted or dismounted while retaining latch integrity.
It’s a bad design, plastic just doesn’t have the longevity, and fatigues much quicker than the surrounding metal.
It appears wrapping some fly tying thread at the neck would also offer additional resistance to the feet being deformed – and for the terminal case, perhaps a replacement could be crafted from the stiff plastic of a pill bottle top.
The metal capped Hardy latches are a much sturdier design, but even metal springs weaken over time and have to be replaced.
The latch itself is a bar of aluminum or steel that’s been riveted to the spool. A small “V” of spring steel lies adjacent the bar and its contact with the interior of the cap provides the spring holding the latch tight against the center spindle.
If the spring breaks it can be replaced with a similar “V” made from a hairpin or a spring steel staple from a heavy cardboard box.
Depending on the width of the flat replacement wire – you may have to grind it down a bit to fit under the aluminum cap.
Most of the time you can simply spread the existing spring outward, giving yourself another couple of decades before you’ll have to repeat the process.
Despite all the advances in reel design and materials, the latch mechanism is still quite simplistic – and over time the spring material will lose its vigor and need some coaxing. Contemporary large arbor reels are no different – and cracking open one of these engineering marvels can reveal equally simplistic mechanisms that’ll be prone to the same longevity issues.
The old Hardy’s use brass screws to hold the cap assembly in place, and these deform really easily. Make sure your screwdriver is sized to get complete purchase on the slot, if it’s too big it’ll shred the screw instantly leaving a ridge of razor sharp metal to greet them fingers.
When the only thing we’d mastered was the “tailing loop” and overhand knots added via false cast – long before we knew what Caddis were, or achieved something the books called “drag free” – we encountered the One Fly…
We understood dry flies because strikes were visual and obvious; feeding fish made dimples, and the stalk was crucial to our repertoire – inching closer to compensate for limited casting without scaring fish or slipping and windmilling frantically for balance.
If we had a vest most of its pockets were empty. A hastily wrapped sandwich, an extra leader and fly boxes that were pill bottles or containers the vendor supplied when we bought them. Stores were as baffling as Catholic ritual, evoking more questions than answers, and while we handled and wiggled all the things we didn’t understand, we’d eventually wind up steaming the glass of the fly display.
… neat little rows of gaily colored Catskill dry flies; Coachmen, Female Beaverkill’s, Quill Gordon’s, and the Light Cahill – and while conscious of the different sizes – only one size was apparent to our untrained eye ..
Small.
At some point we’d draw the attention of some smiling fellow with a tie, who’d seen our quandary countless times, allowing us to summon the nerve to ask, “what would you use if you were going to the …”
Even then it wasn’t simple, it was pleasant and unfettered by splashy or strident. Fly fishing was something Dad did – and while the first half dozen trips had been alternately hellishly cold, blazing hot, or full of bloodsucking wildlife – appreciation for the woods was slowly replacing fear of the unknown, yet full appreciation was still at arm’s length, wood smoke and trout were a distant second to a cheeseburger.
Many of those first lessons were painful; don’t grabass with Older Bro near the stacked rods, don’t throw rocks near Pop or near dusk, and don’t throw your metal Ace Hardware bait casting rod into the creek unless you wanted to learn how far Poppa’s swift retribution could send you … and how cold and deep it was when you got there.
But the “One Fly” was special and portent to all the hideous rituals to follow. It was the fly you caught your first fish with – emerging head and shoulders above all others, the first fly whose name you’d suddenly memorized.
That first fish was an inkling one day you might master this craft, and while your casting hadn’t improved and your Latin hadn’t progressed past “amscray” – armed with a couple dozen of “The One” and the creek and all its progeny were toast.
Success transformed us from Acolyte to Master, the One Fly begat the First Fish – which begat the First Opinion, which ushered in all those effete arcane rituals you swear by today …
Mine was the Mosquito, an instinctive choice for a young lad that doesn’t know better – only Poison Oak is more indelibly associated with the Woods, yet has no parallel in any shop’s fly selection.
A.J. McClane’s Standard Fishing Encyclopedia offered a fuzzy color plate whose hackle tip wings were swallowed by surrounding hackle, my early renditions were absent wings – just grizzly hackle and black Nymo ribbed with gray thread.
The Sierra’s and all the trout therein trembled before my tailing loop and wingless variant, and Match the Hatch meant the fly landed in water instead of snarled in overhanging Pine..
Sophistication was learning that Willow sap added a light yellow stain to the hackle. Countless hours cursing my backcast and untangling leaders and fly from same, spawned the little known Deadly Yellow Variant – the counterpunch for finicky small stream trout.
The One Fly, it was Confidence Incarnate – defying the wisdom of Matching the Hatch and every tome since.
Doctor Mom would’ve given me a good scolding, the Evil Eye, and an increased ration of Chicken soup.
A significant relapse this weekend suggested I’d returned to work much too early, and after feverishly climbing back into bed Saturday, I was just as feverishly climbing out of bed Sunday morning.
For the next couple of months we’re enduring “plus change” weather, you add 100 degrees to the “change” and if you can’t get it done by 10AM it’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning…
I felt pretty good after securing the groceries and laundry by 6AM, so I packed a couple liters of water, rod and vest, and took off adventuring before I thought better of the idea.
Rumors of a vast fetid waterway full of Carp, yet limited by my tenuous health meant all the ground-pounding would have to be complete before the sun became oppressive.
I had premonitions of success as I drove past the perfumed ziggurat of decaying garbage. My directions had omitted landmark detail, but a ponderous mound of earth, electrified fence, and airborne garbage bags marked the resting place of Solano county’s unwanted leftovers.
I was getting my hopes up thinking I’d be fishing something other than little insects, as a refuse pit offers so much more variety than traditional stream fare. I’m thinking partially digested Filet O’ Fish imitation, complete with golden deer hair “bun” and big treble – how the fish would pirouette lazily in appreciation before inhalation.
I squealed to a stop upwind and cross referenced the debris field with my map – but the thin blue line I was after was further east; so it would be regular-nasty and absent taint from buried leftovers.
… which was probably for the better, as most dumps have an onerous fee for parking…
It’d be gracious to call it “stained with tannin” but the abundant alfalfa fields, herds of sheep and corn, made it more muck-coffee colored; bigger than I’d anticipated and with a lot of miles available for exploration.
The tell-tale puffs of mud in mid-channel confirmed carp, and “kissing” sounds from the Tules suggested additional quarry, bluegill and possibly some largemouth bass.
I was fast running out of gas, the combined weakness of doing too much physical too soon and increasing temperature. I’d covered a mile of the south bank – getting a feel for changes in depth and bottom structure.
It’s a perfect fishery for a two man team, one to spot fish or mud plumes from the roadbed – and the other to cast using the spotter’s directions. Once down at water level only tailing fish can be seen, and they’re understandably skittish despite their size.
I hooked two large Carp on the march back to the truck, both took the Laughing Damsel I’d tied for lake fishing. The brass bead chain gets the fly to the bottom instantly, and I just rolled it through the mud plume while watching the tip for a hint of movement.
Both fish scrubbed me off in clumps of elodea, and I was thankful as the idea of feverishly chasing after double digit fish on a 45 degree incline was daunting.
I call it “Sporting Creek” due to the amount of soccer balls, footballs, and basketballs at the high water mark. I counted 33 decaying balls in the first mile of bank, there’s some hidden story yet to be revealed.
Unfortunately the prognosis is full recovery. Brain function is currently limited to the non-artistic centers of the right lobe, while the playful and color conscious left hemisphere is still plugged with unmentionables.
The desire to torment readers has resurfaced – which is a good sign, but I’m still leaving the bulk of my skills in discarded Kleenex.
The rest I’m husbanding for some new local waters which I’m determined to visit this weekend – where I can throw the above self portrait without censure…