We’ll make tequila later, the flies come first

Cactus chenille - "Fritz" in the UK, olive strand is 6mm, pink is 16mm There’s nothing quite like an epic outage of materials on the eve of a trip – where your own shortcomings cause you to lack whatever was required to catch fish…

I’ve been fishing rather than shopping – temporarily abandoning the quest for more materials in lieu of using some in anger.

Running out of Pink Cactus chenille was epic, so were the oaths sworn in the semi-darkness, wherein only trace amounts of the “perfect fly” would be available on the morn.

Steve Parton has addressed the entire Cactus Chenille issue for me. Steve has a store in the UK that sells “Fritz” by the pound and I’m no longer dependant on the microdot of material Hareline sees fit to hide behind its label.

The bulk skeins are available through the ebay version of Spartonfly, available in UV treated, untreated, straggle style, and regular cactus chenille in 6mm (Hareline) and 16mm sizes. 100grams ($16) is about a 1/4 pound and should serve the average tyer for a decade or so – saving considerable money in the process.

quarter pounder with coffee

There’s more than one kind of “Cactus chenille”; the coarse filament material the Roughfisher uses, and the soft fiber material sold by Hareline in the traditional 3 yard pack. Three yards is about 3 dozen flies; no sooner do you discover the Shad’s innate weakness than you’re back at the store looking at the empty hook where pink used to be…

This type of chenille is (usually) 50% opalescent and 50% nylon, and while nylon takes acid dye quite well, the opalescent component – usually polyester, won’t. That gives the finished material a lighter sheen, as polyester requires a very hot dye bath with caustic chemicals to assist the color absorption.

Not seeing the colors I needed, Steve was nice enough to custom dye five colors of the 6mm and 16mm at my request, so if you don’t see what’s needed, drop the fellow a note.

Custom dyeing requires a reference color, so always supply a picture on the Internet that your vendor can see to give him which of the thousand shades of Olive you’re after… As different monitors and different resolutions can change colors a couple shades, send him the color by mail if you’re after an exact match.

The 16mm actually wraps as a hackle, its filaments being of long enough length to lose the chenille look. It makes a hell of a comet collar for steelhead and will cause shad to turn pirouettes on demand.

Roughfisher has been busy tinkering as well, and appears to have triggered a sudden lust for white on his home water.

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Will the Real Wild please raise a pectoral

But only the trained professional can tell you thatThe only possible reaction is to sag back in your chair dumbfounded. The “Pure Salmon Campaign” is a coalition of salmon farmers that have banded together to accuse the world’s largest salmon farmer, Marine Harvest, of being an uncaring eco-brute…

Most of the really newsworthy sea-lice infestations, mass escapees, and the seven employee deaths, have been the Marine Harvest farms, giving the industry a bad name.

The “Pure Salmon” label caught my eye – and assumed it was a coalition of Ministers from nations with natural real wild salmon populations who were concerned of the impacts of salmon farming operations on their dwindling native stocks.

It wasn’t.

While fish farming is a reality long past any debate, it appears a Harvard Law degree will be necessary to read the grocer’s label.

“Pure” has already been compromised, but will an “Alaskan Salmon” or “Copper River” Salmon, be a fish grown born raised farmed in that state or watershed, or will they leave us a descriptor that differentiates between pellet fed and …

“Following an unknown biological urge, two salmon meet in freshwater, fall in love, painstakingly dig a small nest – filling it with eggs and milt. They’re immediately upside down on the mortgage, filling their remaining days avoiding big hammy felted feet – then die wasted with their progeny inheriting an enormous tax burden causing them to flee to international waters.”

I was thinking “Organic” might be reserved somehow – as “Wild” could describe repeat escapees that are thrown into solitary confinement. Organic has already been tainted and while the various groups decide which chemicals and antibiotics can be shoveled into organic pens – it’s quite certain that most of our former labels will no longer describe what we would call Mother Nature’s brand of wild.

Rather than be incensed, it brings into question what rigors “the real wild” must maintain to distinguish itself from the farmed variant. Both oceans and freshwater serve a steady cocktail of PCB’s, Estrogen, various birth control hormones, stimulants, depressants, and whatever isotopes survive wastewater cleansing – and with that much preamble are they still really fish?

Raised in a pen doesn’t leave many tell tale signs – and as you peruse the fishmarket where “wild” is $25 per pound, and farmed is half that, the unscrupulous is likely to mix the two to maximize profits.

I’m scratching my head just as vigorously as you are. One thing is certain, smack the video remote out of your kid’s hands, as his skills in reading and comprehension will need considerable sharpening to match wits with Madison Ave…

Just read the back of a Hershey with Almonds, when you get to the part that says, “(Milk Chocolate contains ….” – you’ve been savaged.

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I unwrapped that Wonka bar and found the last Golden Ticket

Them prospective advertisers can breath easy knowing Singlebarbed has sold his immortal soul (again) and embraced the “Now.” It’s been a steady diet of supermodel’s, tea socials, and autograph hounds – now that we’re gracing the cover of “Foreclosed Real Estate Weekly” – expect us to trade greasy ball caps for Armani, baby.

Foreclosed Real Estate does Manhood

I’m expecting rarified treatment, and if my sagging maleness taut and predatory profile adorns your child’s bedroom wall, it’s not of my doing…

That’s 27″ inches of golden tee – landed after an arduous chase down the fast water. Drag friction baked the enamel off the ancient CFOIV I was using; “click and pawl” is like the SR71 spy plane, you have to repaint it after every fight.

The other 63 stills involved me subduing it with big stream rocks, but for brevity they’ve been omitted.

The “Underwear” surrendered her treasures all weekend and I lolled in her chilly bosom slurping up what I could. SMJ and his friend Neal showed Saturday – and were a little shaken when I landed two “wifebeater” tee shirts in rapid succession. I figure most readers assume I’ve a penchant for exaggerating horribly…

.. and they’d be correct, most of the time.

The theme was “golden” and persisted both days. I fair hooked a monstrous Golden Salmon, whose season remains open despite all other Salmon fishing being closed. Regular salmon didn’t learn the lessons of the European aristocracies – most are anemic or “bleeders” and are on the wane – leaving all that river and clean water to their golden inferior mouthed brethren.

A shad “carrot” stripped at blazing speed was his undoing – and as the take was nearly on the surface there wasn’t much doubt of my good fortune.

The rare Golden Salmon, Underwear River coloration

Scrub a Brownliner up all sweet smelling and clean – and he’ll find something as long as your leg with an inferior mouth cohabitating with them gleaming pristine fish.

Cue the happy dance …

Golden theme continued - Hexagenia Limbata, the big bug I saw my first Hex on the river. I’d fished over these monstrous bugs many times on Fall River, but it was the first time I’d encountered one on the Underwear. It collided with me while I was waist deep and nearly knocked me over.

Largely nocturnal as they’re clumsy, slow to fly and an enormous meal, likely waking up anything that’s got a yen for Mayfly. Knowing they’re about adds some interest to the muddy stretches of the river – required for burrowing mayflies.

You’ve got to work for your fish of late, the flows have dropped by half and the fish are likely repositioning themselves into the deeper stretches. The morning bite has slowed, but flurries of activity occur when least expected.

By God, even the fish are tinted Golden Colors remain Pink and Orange, and I keep changing from one to the other just to try some of the oddball stuff I keep dreaming up.

SMJ’s timely gift of two pounds of Peet’s coffee has me on an inventive streak, but the Shad’s unsophisticated taste buds means everything works, which is a fly tier’s worst nightmare.

Even the tee shirts and socks strike whatever’s thrown, so I’ll keep adding to the candidate pool hoping something winds up the clear cut winner. Until then carry both Orange and Pink – as both seem to work fine.

All this largesse should have me basking in a golden glow all work week – buying me precious hours to repair wrists, set bones, and allowing the Ben Gay to take the edge off of “Sellout Boy” and his weekend of infamy.

Contains no Transfat, no calories either

It’s due to the unnatural preoccupation with foodstuffs – create a fly and it almost always has a food name. The debris field from the vise suggests I’m up to no good – with an equal mixture of Orange Carrot flies and Pink Grapefruit.

… it’s California, we’re not allowed to subvert our youth with manly cholesterol names – it’s got to rhyme with “tofu” usually..

Pink Grapefruit and the debris field

Both flies got into Harm’s Way this morning so I was pleased. I’m testing the flexible beading filament (pink) to see how the abusive casting and fish treat it.

So far it holds up very well, none of the flies showed damage despite the harsh environment.

Plows or Pavement, the fish don’t like either

Studying the diversity of New Zealand’s freshwater fisheries for the last 30 years suggests even the exotic locales are struggling mightily.

Overall, at a national scale, the health of fish communities declined between 1970 and 2007, especially over the last decade (2000 to 2007). The biggest decreases in the health of fish communities were in rivers in mostly pastoral (farming) or urban areas.

Farming could very well be the weapon that quashes our meager resistance to land exploitation and pollutants. Everyone understands eating  – and naturally wants to keep doing so, which puts the battle of clean water versus plentful lettuce on a unique plane – against a foe we’ve only begun to understand.

The resource-rich, food poor countries like China, Saudi Arabia, and other Middle Eastern countries are buying agrarian land in more temperate longitudes to ensure their foods supplies.

You pump their gas, and they pump your water …

Lacking water and arable land – but rich in dollars and oil, makes for a heady mixture that ensures salmonids will see no respite anytime soon – despite their out-of-the-way home…

A report in May, co-authored by international agencies estimated that nearly 2.5 million hectares (6.2 million acres) of farmland in five sub-Saharan African countries has been bought or leased since 2004: an investment of $919.98 million.

A Little Stinking toxic can dump, 100 feet from the water Africa and South America comprise the bulk of existing sales, but we’re just entering this new paradigm and have little idea how virulent the trend will become.

Cities are toxic, but we’ll continue to mitigate the obvious pollutants as we’ve been indoctrinated to their ills for the last 30 years. What city people don’t realize is that farms can be just as toxic – and have less controls or monitoring than industrial chimneys and sewage treatment plants.

Which are the Usual Suspects…

Wading through farm chemicals offered me a unique perspective of the issue, and while I still eat lettuce – there are times when I wonder which resource is the most precious.

Plows and pavement both terraform the environment into something other than native, rendering the stream less diverse than it once was, only the fellow behind the plow isn’t percieved as some sinister corporation fielding a bevy of legal firms to whitewash transgressions.

Welcome to the 800 pound gorilla in our future.

The biggest Rapala ever?

Every guy loves armaments – it’s just some have bigger ambitions than others…

aim9

I know better, were I to find a discarded pineapple hand grenade, bazooka, or discarded Sherman tank – It’d be denied a place of prominence in my living room – so I’d leave it alone, but only after attempting to “dry fire” the thing six or seven times.

Yanking a live air to air missile off the bottom is a feat in and of itself, but strapping it to your boat for a week is just … stupid. You know the Missus wouldn’t consider a six foot finned chrome pipe – as it clashes horribly with Mediterranean end tables and a Turkish throw rug.

… and the garage is a pipe dream; if you’re collecting large discarded explosives – there’s no room in your garage – it’s filled with your comic book collection.

Interest in fishing on the rise, but so is the demand for Tartar Sauce

The new mayonaisse The only thing we can agree on is no one is speaking with certainty. In simplistic terms the entire financial debacle was the “deleveraging” of the financial systems mix of  assets and liabilities from nearly 30-1, to the government recommended model of 10-1.

Economists suggest that until the consumer does likewise, paying off about 30% of their existing liabilities, things won’t be improving anytime soon.

“America is redefining what is normal,” says Edward Callaway, CEO of Callaway Gardens, a popular golf-and-swimming resort near Columbus, Ga. “What’s normal is a lot more frugal, a lot less extravagant than it used to be.”

Given that preamble, fishing tackle sales are reported to be robust, state park campgrounds are replacing exotic venues, and folks are staying closer to home – as gas prices continue to increase.

Many people may skip expensive trips and go fishing instead, says Michael Brooks, CEO of Ardent, a Macon, Mo.-based company that makes fishing gear. Sales at his privately held firm are up 200% in the past year, he says. “The recession is making people think twice about where they’re spending their recreational dollars,” he says.

Recreation dollars or subsistence dollars is the real question, as even MSNBC’s favorite stock market “talking head,” Jim Cramer is touting “the garden effect,” buying stocks in seed companies and the folks that makes Roundup.

This “new frugal” smacks of putting free chow on the table versus a true surge in Outdoors appreciation, and us fly fishermen aren’t likely to be the “new normal” – as we’re still wandering around releasing food and complaining about other folks stepping on our insects.

We’ll never be normal, I’m proud to say.

The high end merchants are a likely barometer for our rod industry – as all those new rod sales are most likely Uglysticks, and not the fancy stuff.

Neiman Marcus, whose sales declined 25% in the first quarter of 2009,  Tiffany’s (after laying off 10% of their workforce), lost 22% of same store sales, and Aberchrombie & Fitch reported a 24% decline..

With known layoffs at Winston, Orvis and Gudebrod, Bass Pro, and others, with us practitioners reluctant to drive further away, the economics are still pretty bleak – but may be building toward a less crowded vacation – for those that are still able.

The Brethren aren’t faring too well. My notes from the eBay study of 2007, suggest the number of used Hardy reels for sale are up a staggering 50% – and prices are up in the face of this glut, not down. Folks are struggling to make mortgage payments and The Precious is sold reluctantly – for prices nearing unrealistic.

Ditto for most of the major reel makers and fine rods – fly fishing items offered are up double digits across the board. Orvis eBay rods are showing in greater numbers, up 31% – and a lot of that is Orvis bamboo, suggesting anglers are selling the high end items – and fishing the yeoman graphite offering.

Not too pleasant, but don’t start counting your discounts anytime soon, with a fiat currency, the fourth horseman, Inflation – is rounding the final turn – and the thousand dollar fly rod will be here for awhile.

It’s mostly a California thing

My reports of the Shad invasion were too much for Igneous Rock (Older Bro) – he responded in characteristic fashion, armed to the teeth with Orange anti-Shad Phaser, Foreign Legion neckwear and big grin as he reached into my fly box for the fourth or fifth helping…

Plenty of Orange, but

It’s not so much that the Barton menfolk are twisted, it’s more of a California thing – where we export all our idjits to Washington, who via thought or deed make the rest of the lower 48 fear our fun loving nature.

All that comes from the narrow confines of “acceptable behavior” – we can’t point finger and laugh as most of the obvious targets are protected species with powerful political lobbies.

Lump together the creationists, garden variety nutcases, religious sects, comet followers, vegans, pet’s rights, Whale Savers, alternate lifestyles, and the other environmental groups who delight in assaulting us for peeing on a tree trunk, and there isn’t much room for us fishermen to maneuver.

Shad Paparazzi crowding us fishermen

I think the Paparazzi are the worst – they crowd us unmercifully gambling on the upskirt shot as we dismount the vehicle, the unguarded moment where we curse – or hoping our Kashi bar wrapper escapes our damp grasp – befouling the lower river so they can vilify us online and in person (there’s no dead tree’s in their media).

The press of humanity and their oblivious nature ensures we’ll sink a hook into an unguarded limb – suffering through the screams, epithets, and  lawsuit chaser.

Igneous lands some chrome

Despite the distractions, Igneous managed a sock, a pair of sunglasses – which he landed with assistance, and a Shad – who was likely missing them sunglasses in the first place.

They’re not too easy to catch, Obese fish are required to keep us all in proportion

We release the small ones I see it as a sign of the times, anglers unhappy with managed impoundments whose proprietors are following Ronald McDonald’s nutritional guidelines. Perhaps it’s the effect of four beef patties-special-sauce-lettuce-cheese-on-a-sesame-seed-bun slowing our desire to live reflexes just enough so only equally obese prey are vulnerable.

It’s a pity that girls don’t appreciate “big fish” – as us pear shaped anglers would be the new fashion esthetic – splitting time lolling in streamside currents and megabucks Hollywood fitness classes where the formerly fit revive sagging movie careers under our watchful gaze. “Brad, ‘feel the burn’ means doubling the Jalapenos on that Bacon burger, now finish up them fries…”

As the popularity of carp fishing has increased, however, so has the size of the fish. In the last 30 years, the British record has risen by 30 per cent, from around 50lb to 65lb 14oz.

Us humans lag the UK record by a paltry 10%, as the CDC statistics show a similar weight gain in humans over the same period.

Calling it a “bait cannon” versus a “Drive Thru” is splitting hairs. Most of our food resembles pellets, once you peel back the glossy wrapper or the deep fried coating – and we’ve never cried “foul” unless our Tater Tots were chilly or our JuJu Fruits removed fillings.

Like man-made lakes, our refrigerator is a semi-sterile barren environment that needs enhancing with pre-packaged, preprocessed cartoon food with engaging names and incomprehensible ingredients.

A lake’s natural food supply sounds as difficult to build as trophy fish – and to their credit, the fish farmers have forsworn the drive thru – ensuring the fish have to move an occasional fin in order to secure their next shovel full of enriched pellet chow.

No, the real issue is that we’re larger. An inch or so in height per decade – nullified by about 4 inches of girth every fortnight. Fish species are growing smaller, with over harvest and pollution – and a smaller fish in a larger, pudgy hand looks … well, completely lame.

hemingway All them black and white bleeding fish hanging from gantries died with Hemingway, and we’re straining to hold a dead fish away from our stretch pants hoping the biggest thing dripping isn’t our chin. A far cry from the heroic glare rendered while crouched predatiously over a fallen yet noble foe.

Instead we’ll force feed Carp like milk-fed veal – hoping that their sodden torso overshadows our own ponderous flanks – hiding our bulk behind the fatted calf – while complaining loudly at the quality of the fishery.

I see it a bit differently than the article; we’ve screwed their habitat, kilt their most fit and vigorous bloodline with hatcheries, screwed their women  – and we begrudge the condemned a last meal?