Tag Archives: Fly Fishing

Snakes, why does it always have to be snakes …

King Solomon’s mines were no different, immense wealth hidden away by inclement terrain, protected by idol worshiping cannibals and unspeakable terrors, whose existence was part fact and part fable.

I’m thinking along these lines as I hear the Yolo County flood control officer tell me of the Central Valley’s “lost trout stream”, whose canyon a narrow scratch through waist-high tick-laden scrub, flanked by impenetrable sheets of rock whose reflective capabilities amplify the stifling heat, whose trail-less slopes offer unsteady footing for deer and the most practiced outdoorsman.

… that being the Good News …

… and while this self-same official confesses they don’t fish, they are adamant they took a family member there who caught trout just prior to being chased from the ravine by hordes of Rattlesnakes unleashed by enraged Buddhists.

… Buddhists, why does it always have to be Buddhists …

The thought of a splinter cell of camo-clad Buddhists gives me pause -what with Karma being the kissing cousin of an Angler’s Luck, something even the most rational, level-headed, and scientific angler will tell you is something never to trifle with …

… and while I might scoff at private property, barbed wire, and enraged land owners packing weaponry, the notion of being luck-less with rod in hand suggests throwing streamers at a balky lawnmower might be as rewarding.

rattlesnake_creek Then there was that bothersome “infested” word she used, “… the canyon is infested with rattlesnakes …”

Which doubled my enthusiasm given that how many and how big the trout were is always proportional to the danger present, and as only headhunting cannibals can rival angry Buddhists, ticks, and snakes snapping at every exposed extremity, means I’ve stumbled on the Lost Dutchman – the Flying Dutchman, and Noah’s Ark – all captured on the greasy folds of a hastily narrated paper map.

Given that John Muir gave no hint, Audubon was afraid to commit an image to paper, and Father Serra crossed himself and returned to the coast, the trout are likely both wild and lonesome, especially so given their remote location and inclement surroundings. Quite possibly they’ve given up insects all together – relying on a diet of rock-scalded rabbit and white rice, perhaps even bits of human flesh, as no one that has seen the creek returned alive … except the Yolo County Flood Control employee, and since she don’t fish can’t be considered people …

Committing all those directions to a hamburger wrapper and retracing that tortuous path in 4-wheel low, resulted in one long distance glimpse of my quarry from the ridgeline above. I was warned that it was too early to fish as it is still discolored by Spring runoff and three times its traditional flow.

I dubbed it Rattlesnake Creek, and while I can surely make it down without loss of life, getting back up is liable to be hellish – not to mention all those skinned extremities from rock hopping down the narrow canyon, or passing out from the heat while attempting to add waders, vests, and tackle to the mix.

rattlesnake_swim_good … and if to make matters worse, as I stood in mid current framing a potential scenario where I might attempt the outing alone (as my fishing pals are unadventurous and complete pussies ), I had one of the rattlers that infest my Little Stinking swim up and attempt to share my waders. A reminder that they swim just fine – and even perched on a rock in midstream safety would still be an issue.

But only because Rattlesnake Creek is a trout stream, if it was full of Smallmouth, them snakes would fear the water more than my ponderous tread ..

… if it was full of Smallmouth, I’d be scared to go too …

Technorati Tags: brownlining,rattlesnakes,Little Stinking,fly fishing,adventuring,trout,smallmouth bass,pussy fishing buddies

Proof that for all our collective efforts we’ve advanced fly fishing not at all

I told him, “… you’re not to go into a fly shop without me holding your hand, you’re simply too vulnerable. You need absolutely everything – but you need a Sensei to prioritize purchases, so you don’t blow a couple paychecks on stuff you wad into a vest, yet lack the vest to fill …”

He nods with great sincerity, and we part company …

Later I’m the recipient of an email:

“The budget fisherman went by big 5 on the way home and saw this for 4.99 and had to buy it. You can’t go wrong with FAMOUS patterns. They did not have a holder. Would you have a fly box your willing to sell? Talked to wife and if you are still up for tomorrow I can meet you at work at 3:30 and follow you home. “

I recognize the McGinty, the Parmachene Belle, White Miller, Black Gnat, Yellow Sally, and a host of patterns from the 1950’s, but where is there any evidence of the last seventy years of fly fishing, and why is that so?

Dear Eager-Beaver,

The label says, “Great for every game fish”, but you’re interested in Largemouth and Smallmouth Bass, which aren’t game fish. Anything in still water is considered by the fly fishing industry to be a ‘gamey-fish’ – something you toe into the underbrush while no one is looking.

I’ll hook you up with some bass flies this evening, and a fly box, and anything else I’ve got two of …

Stop spending money.

Sensei

Will Taimen be as compelling if we use the other five senses?

With Hollywood scheduling eight 3-D films this year, will the extremist angling film crowd be swayed by the flames and guts splashing over the audience – and play the same card with an angling feature?

Me? I’d say it’s a “no brainer.”

All them fellows were raised on zombie movies and carnage, and the neo-traditional “grip and grin” pose is yesterday’s news…

Prepare for the Attack of the Giant Chrome Slab of Steelhead Death – thrust into the theater by some fellow dressed like a crazed homeless person, complete with the Slimy Fingerless Gloves of Possible Strangulation.

All them fellows have a maniacal laugh – mostly because they didn’t have to pay for the trip, nor supply the camera crew with Yak Butter Margarita’s of local manufacture.

I’d suggest that AEG Media and it’s followers skip the entire genre. Instead resurface Odorama, and unleash Scratch n’ Sniff hell on a unsuspecting film audience.

A big fish is admirable, but once you’ve seen a couple dozen them 3-D glasses start to itch. The smell of a Mongolian Yurt, with adjoining stable of Yak’s in full rut – is an olfactory pinnacle whose memory lingers forever.

Ditto for every carcass washed up at the high water mark. Thrill to the bouquet of Taimen – caught after a week of direct sunshine …

Some follow fashion, and some set it, certainly there’s a unique opportunity for a film director imbued with real passion.

Technorati Tags: Odorama, Smell-O-Vision, 3-D films, Mongolia, Yak, Yurt

Weather and temperature conspire, but at least I remembered the rain parka

Nothing like a three day weekend to come face to face with wanderlust. One day to do something responsible, one day devoted to NFL debauchery, and the last to piss away adventuring.

That’s my new “politically correct” term for walking around with a flyrod hoping that something other than exercise is on the menu.

A break in the weather afforded me the opportunity to check on Sacramento steelhead fishing; from the bridge I’d assumed a cluster of fellows waving flyrod’s meant something with fins was on the menu, none were in evidence, it was a spey casting clinic put on by a local shop.

I was afforded the rare luxury of watching unfortunates arse deep in too-cold water flinging stuff at even colder water, now I know what I look like to the casual dog walker.

The blue sky ran for cover, taking me with it

That’s the reoccurring theme in all my fishing of late, weather and temperature conspires to keep me fishless, with only the burn in calories to show for all the legwork.

The Little Stinking always offers a good hike, in expected fashion the weather held until I was 3 miles above the vehicle, then the rain started. I hadn’t seen a fish during the entire journey and had the foresight to take the rain parka so I meandered back to the car without mishap.

That’s my Pikeminnow, dammit

I had to examine the film I shot with the same care as the “Zapruder” footage, but I had seen a fish without knowing it. The Merganser armada was fighting over one of my treasured Pikeminnow, I couldn’t hold a grudge as they burn far more calories keeping ahead of me than I do keeping up with them.

At least somebody caught something.

Technorati Tags: sacramento, steelhead, merganser, pikeminnow, fishless fishing

A Sailor would blanch at the string of epithets I launched

Here's three more of them It’s editorial prerogative to have “moments” – a fit of pique that prompts you to hurl a magazine across the room, vowing never to buy another. It wasn’t the magazines fault, it was the vendor advertisement that was the source of my ire.

Two fellows in a drift boat with the appropriate wading ensemble:

WHAT YOU SAY

I don’t care how many fish I catch, it’s just great to be out here on the water.

WHAT YOU MEAN

I’ve hooked seven and you’ve only hooked one.

Once it was the sport of Earls, Dukes, and Kings – now it’s just another counting exercise followed by a reason to tailgate others on the freeway. We’ve covered the counting issue before, as has the Trout Underground, but is that all that Madison Avenue can glean from the entire experience?

I find some guy I don’t particularly care for, take him out far enough so his Blackberry phone has no coverage, then piss on him about his skills until he slugs me?

…I probably have to work with him come Monday, so in addition to getting him burnt by the sun, not sharing the good flies, depriving him of Starbucks, and living off of Chicken Fried Steak cooked by teenagers, I am going to sum up his entire existence and find him wanting?

Pals can piss on each other with impunity, but these lads sound more like they’re dating.

Hey Mister Fatuous, obtuse, know-it-all, metrosexual, pissant – your idea of the Great Outdoors is throwing your dog’s crap over your neighbors fence, and hoping he doesn’t notice. You understand NOTHING, and a majestic panorama, an arrowhead, a glimpse of a real bear, a sunset, a solitary quail call, none of this will you comprehend, none will give cause for thought or pause your march back to your BMW.

I bet you put Ketchup on Steak.

…well, we covered the guy that thought up the ad, now about them guys in the boat…

Technorati Tags: pissed

It’s OK you didn’t miss a thing

In stream structure, the biggest fish prefer GM products though For them as resolved to do more fishing in 2008, you were slow getting out of the sack and I beat you to it. You missed nothing, although it was reminiscent of a scene from “I am Legend.”

Thick layer of frost on the ground at 0600, colder than blazes (for California) and I had to let the windshield defrost enough to be function before hitting the road. No humans on the road, nothing stirring at all, just the way I like it.

Another fishless prototype I had two dozen experimental flies to test on fish, mostly copper wire creations, as I had received 18000 feet of 36 gauge Ultrawire from an electronics supply house. I always liked the “Copper John” fly, and made up some caddis and mayfly imitations using mostly copper wire.

I’m testing a theory, actually just confirming some laziness on my part. Rather than make a “bead head” version of a traditional pattern, I wanted to see the aerodynamic and fishing qualities of using a traditional pattern and stringing the bead on the leader – not attaching it to the fly at all.

Seems silly to have to tie the same flies twice, once with the bead, once without – and being a minimalist (lazy) by nature, it seemed like a hell of an idea.

He figured the Mice may be slower after so much celebrating I hadn’t been downstream in a couple months, and figured my battle with “Old Nondescript” could wait another week, there was still about 2 miles of river I hadn’t seen between my access point and another further down.

Nothing stirring, no fish activity of any kind. I could see an occasional fish huddled on the bottom unmoving, so I flung copper stuff at branches and headed south.

I’ll spare you the picture of the dead goat in the middle of the river, and the floating tabby cat (who had seen better days), it just served to remind me how “below the bridge” is the debris field for everything that doesn’t sell on Ebay.

The “strung bead” theory works fine, it casts just like a beaded fly, seems to behave well underwater, so that was a happy conclusion to the physics portion. I still hadn’t raised a fish so my copper flies were still in “beta.”

I covered the two miles down to the other gravel elevator with nary a nibble. The fish were asleep and I started heading North to the car. I found a couple of nice pools and saw nothing in them, so I took the hint.

Outside of “Corky” the floating feline, the only live critter was a monstrous owl that sat in the tree above me, giving me that vaguely disinterested look as it puffed itself into a round ball. It was too cold for him as well.

Technorati Tags: fishing, fly fishing, skunked, New Year’s Day

Hell, we tried lawyers a dozen times, maybe a fisherman would bring some marketable skills

It’s officially an election year, and we’re about to be courted by all the candidates and their apparatchik. Each campaign has a smartly dressed fellow with a overly stuffed briefcase methodically checking off the the important voting blocks each candidate has to acknowledge.

We’ve seen it in prior elections; a baseball cap doffed in Iowa, a tank driven in Michigan, a Hummer valet parked in California – each photo opportunity carefully crafted to appeal to some minute segment of society, “Vote for me, ’cause I’m like you..”

Fishermen are one of those demographics that will get addressed later in the year, the larger blocks of voters get first “dibs.” The question for us is “exactly what does a fisherman president bring, that a non fisherman wouldn’t?”

I’m not talking about the obvious stuff, the Right to Arm Bears, or any of the controversial nonsense, I’m talking about character.

I’ve fished with most socio-economic levels, professions, and all four sexes, so I was mentally comparing common traits, a good president doesn’t need to be a fisherman, but there are some innate talents anglers have that’d be beneficial for a senior statesman.

Whenever they renegotiate the next SALT treaty, I’d rather have a fisherman at the table, as he can mention that we’ve got a space based death ray, and can do it with a straight face. Fishermen don’t see a small exaggeration as lying, and that’ll come in real handy.

The Republicans appear to be beating each other over the head with the immigration issue, a fisherman president would solve that in a fortnight, as over-limit may be embarrassing but it’s still a good thing.

Vote I’m thinking the federal deficit would still be an issue, especially if they stock the Executive washroom with Orvis catalogs, and the Iraqi conflict would be settled in a week, as there isn’t any gamefish worth the continued expenditure.

It would be gratifying to have a “rip snorter” president akin to Teddy Roosevelt, them powderpuffs that inhabit the Beltway would have to lobby whilst swatting mosquitos, a welcome change from conducting state business in a Minneapolis washroom.

But don’t expect to see any trout fishermen, “America’s Fish” is now the Largemouth Bass, so we’ll likely see more wake then wading, it’ll play well with them Southern fellows, and we’ll have to determine who can tie a clinch knot via television special.

Technorati Tags: election, apparatchik, fishermen voters, seduction of the innocent

I’m talking America’s Fly, not the unzipped kind

I never had a problem with the Dallas Cowboy’s until someone started calling them “America’s Team,” then I started to dislike them. While loyal to their cheerleaders, it wasn’t enough to remain impartial.

Now we get “America’s Fish” the Largemouth Bass. I always thought the largemouth was an entertaining and noble fish, now I’m going to be forced to hate them too. I’m assuming that since the Feds posted the statistics on fishing, some canny fellow has determined that we spend more money on Bass fishing, therefore it’s everyone’s favorite.

Good idea, but a poor application of statistics. That would make the Toyota Camry, “America’s Car” and Microsoft Windows, “America’s Most Reviled Operating System.”

I think the problem lies when someone tries to think for me, I get my hackles up and start dragging my feet, the object then takes on a sinister form, a conformist’s merit badge.

But that does beg the question, despite your involuntary shudder, is there an “America’s Fly ?” Based on the traditional Japanese “bubble pack” assortment it would have to be the Coachman, Yellow Sally, or the Parmachene Belle. Not a bad lot, but methinks it short of the mark.

It’s hard enough thinking like me, so I won’t think for you. If I was guessing, it would likely be an Adams. Steeped in nobility; two presidents, a biblical figure, and a pretty fair beer shares the name, not a bad choice.

Technorati Tags: adams, america’s fly, dallas cowboy cheerleaders

Singlebarbed as Charismatic, our Grape Koolaid is made from Creek water

It’s over now, another Singlebarbed reader has got the “pooty” on him, and while the Brownline stain may come off his waders with a little soap, his soul is another story.

This is Kelvin, Singlebarbed reader, former Blueliner and aficionado of the pristine reaches of Lassen National Forest, now eschewing his old haunts in favor of a little Pikeminnow love.

I’m feeling a little bit like the Pied Piper and a lot like Jim Jones, somewhere in all of this is a good fringe religion, a Rolls Royce, and a tureen of Grape Koolaid.

Kelvin thinks I’ve been stretching the truth a bit on the crap water angle, as he saw the Little Stinking as something far prettier and cleaner than I had described.

The horse stables hadn’t pumped muck into the creek for a couple of weeks now, and the water was in good shape. The wind was a bit blustery, the dry fly fishing suffered accordingly, and after the rain clouds blew through the fishing started to perk up.

The Fly Fisherman Cover shot

The Carp are still missing in action, and the smallmouth were largely absent, plenty of large Pikeminnow prowling about – they were fixated on the spinners in the water, almost to the exclusion of all else.

Pikeminnow exhibit a strange behavior that I haven’t quite figured out; a half roll while swimming that seems completely out of place. I figured it was the steady diet of toxic waste – kind of like a nervous tic, only the aquatic kind. You’ll see the silvery flash of the flank of the fish as they rotate 90 degrees while swimming.

Initially I thought it was a feeding pattern, but after watching this all morning, I’m not so sure. If I start doing the same maneuver while walking then I’ll know it’s the water…

We covered a couple miles of creek and managed to seduce the occasional fish. The fishing was not spectacular, my guess is the storm that had hit the area the evening before was the culprit.

Say Hello to my Not So Little Friends

Nothing beats a visible quarry, this is a pod of good sized Pikeminnow that we teased for a bit. The occasional bass added to the parade of fish, most were in the 16-18″ range. These fish are in 4 foot of water and would flee as soon as the fly impacted the surface. Kelvin and I wore them out as they ran from my fly – straight into his – and vice versa. If you can’t catch them, might as well drive them nuts…

Every pilot has to earn his wings, for being a good sport Kelvin was awarded the SingleBarbed “Finger” hat, for some it may be a transition into manhood, mostly it’s for entertainment purposes. Any guy wearing this chapeau, you can point at – then flip off, he got the Brownline on him.