Portland’s Tri-County Metropolitan Transportation District of Oregon (TriMet) denied a request from Salmon for Savings, a branch of the Bring the Salmon Home Campaign, to place an ad on TriMet buses. The ad is aimed at prompting consumers to taking a look at the controversial Klamath River dams.
Sure, the salmon seem to be a bit sad-eyed, but it sure don’t seem that controversial to me. Maybe TriMet is somehow in cahoots with Pacific Power?
Don’t think anyone could have seen this one coming. Maybe the “No Pebble Mine” theme of the AEG Fly Fishing Film Tour impressed something on some goldsmith somewhere. A group of prominent jewelers, including Tiffany & Co., Helzberg Diamonds and Fortunoff, plan to throw their lot in with us motley fly fishermen in opposing the Pebble Mine, a massive, open-pit sore planned for Alaska’s Bristol Bay watershed. The Bristol Bay area is home to the world’s largest population of sockeye salmon.
Diamond merchants have their conflict-free diamond and jewelers’ got their “No Dirty Gold” initiative, an effort to support environmentally friendly gold and fight destructive mining practices. Support is support and any help — from the jewelers’ “Bristol Bay Protection Pledge” or otherwise — is welcome if it leads to preventing such a disaster in Bristol Bay.
At least somebody else is paying attention.
The pending release of the video game SEGA Bass Fishing got me to wondering why bass seems to be the most widely known — and not necessarily widely loved — of American fishes.
Here’s my list of possibilities.
• A trout fisherman is quiet. A bass fisherman is loud. The evidence is in three words: “largemouth bass fisherman.”
• A trout fisherman will creep up on and wade in a small stream. A bass fisherman will haul around a lake in a special-built 200-horsepower boat.
• A trout fisherman will cast soft hackle flies and let them drift with the current. A bass fisherman will hurl “poppers,” “chatterbaits,” and “crankbaits,” to name a few, into the water.
• A trout fisherman tries to fool trout into sipping flies. A bass fisherman looks for bass to “explode” on his lure.
• Trout is a bashful and graceful fish. Bass, well, are just plain mean looking.
…so, in the trout vs. bass battle, I’m afraid that bass will always win out when it comes to gaining the most attention.
Nothing like passion to fuel the use of one’s talents. While I tend not to be too gracious in accepting congratulations or compliments, it’s been very cool to see the reaction to a new Web site I put together for the Diablo Valley Fly Fishermen, a club I joined a year ago. My fly fishing remains far from polished but my skills in crafting HTML into something functional yet pleasant in appearance show promise.
Chalk it up to an innate characteristic to not leave well enough alone. Subscribing to the claim that the DVFF is one of the larger fly fishing clubs in the United States and that its presence on the Internet should reflect this, I jumped into a Web site redesign in November. The initial desire was to craft a prototype composed of a few pages. Roughly six weeks later a design – encompassing the whole site – had taken up home on my flash drive.
But again, I couldn’t leave well enough alone. By the beginning of January a full revision of my revision of the original site was underway.
In a flash of genius insanity I also decided to add an online forum. As my father might say, it required a “big learning curve.” But I did it. And I think I did it well. Now, with the blessing of the club’s board, it’s ready to go.
Look for the new diablovalleyflyfish.org in a browser window near you.
Can’t help but wonder if we aren’t living at the peak of canned culinary delights… Just as Mr. Chandler over at The Trout Underground unwrapped the delicious details of The German-Built Canned Cheeseburger, the local press shines the front page spotlight on The Amazing Organic Batter Blaster (found at sfgate.com). Consider it the next evolutionary step of a good ol’ camping standby: Bisquick Shake ‘n’ Pour. What could be more convincing that an online video?
Quick vittles is one holy grail of those fisherpeople who stretch the legal limits of fishing to that hour before the sun officials shines on this Golden State. And what could be better and more ‘Merican than a quick batch of stick-to-your-ribs flapjacks?
Pass the syrup!
Global warming is upon us.
Snow becoming a regular and multi-day occurrence on the mountains within sight of the San Francisco Bay. The Arctic loosing ice cover, which in melting is decreasing the salinity of the far northern oceans. But doggone it, doesn’t seem like temperatures are rising. It’s darn cold out there this winter.
Snow on Mt. Diablo
Want more proof?
For 23 days now long pants have covered my funky but functional legs during some part of the day. Shorts, long a mainstay of my wardrobe save for a handful of days during past year, finally have the opportunity to rest.
Let’s hope they still fit when winter ends in 50 days.
My Honda CB650SC (Became Sean’s in 2013.)
After years and years and years and years of planning, plotting and hoping, I’ve got my motorcycle. Got the M1 endorsement in late November after attending the Motorcycle Safety Foundation class earlier that month and I had settled on waiting until spring to get a bike — when the weather is better and the inventory of used motorcycles swells.
However…while driving home two weeks ago I saw a very nice looking 1982 Honda CB650SC on the side of the road with a “for sale” sign. I stopped for a quick look and with wistful thoughts headed home. I passed by that bike every day that week. Then, the Thursday before Christmas, after talking with my wife, I decided to talk to the owner. Fate must have been smiling on me because, as I was driving home, there was the owner — a real nice guy named Gary — putting the bike on the curb.
Gary and I chatted for quite a bit and I increasing felt that this was a deal too good to pass up. He became the second owner of the bike about four years ago, hoping his wife would learn to ride on it. (He has long ridden Indians, Hondas and Harleys.) But his wife became pregnant with their son, so he gave the bike to his brother, who learned on it and used it to commute.
Fast forward to today, and I am now the owner of an almost immaculate and nearly vintage bike — with only 8,600 miles on it — that’s part of the lineage of one of my favorite lines of motorcycles. Thankfully the rain let up this morning and streets were dry enough for me to ride it home. (Click on the photo above for more pictures.)
Whadda Christmas!
With my prayers and best wishes my son left on the bus yesterday, headed to extreme Northern California to begin an adventure with the California Conservation Corps in Fortuna. I and a few friends at work are a bit envious, wishing we had known about such a possibility at a younger and more carefree age. Here’s to hoping that it can lead to great opportunities for Christopher. He called this morning to say it was cold, but it was only about 4° cooler than home…but I guess you find out how cold the morning can be when you’re out of bed before the sun!
It’s about time. Clearly, I’m no fan of rushing into things with two much plenty of research. And I would expect that people who know me, when asked for a description, might also call me a late bloomer. In the mail this week my new California driver’s license arrived with a class “M1” endorsement.
Chalk it up to either of the above personality traits but don’t call it a mid-life crisis — if I live to 100-plus years old, right now I’m barely touching middle age. While my new endorsement that means I can ride a motorcycle of any size, there is no Ducati in my future. I view a motorcycle as more of an “enjoy the scenery” mode of transport.
I urge anyone considering obtaining a motorcycle license to do as I did: take the Motorcycle Safety Foundation class. In some states, completion of this class and the subsequent skills evaluation exempts one from the riding portion of the department of motor vehicles’ test. The exception is a bonus to the opportunity to become better acquainted with riding and learn some basic skills — particularly those related to accident avoidance.
I still had to go to the DMV to complete application form DL 44, give a thumb print, get a new picture taken (Note to self: Dress better and comb hair next time.), pay $27, pass a vision test, and pass a traffic laws and signs test. The test, however, was composed of the complete motorcycle traffic law and signs test as well as half of the regular driving law and signs. The bonus was that passing both tests earned me another four years on my license.
Can Santa fit a 2000 Honda Nighthawk 750 down the chimney?
Seems that “rock bottom” came for rocker Eric Clapton while he was fly fishing. (He’s an avid fly fisherman.) In his new book he writes of just how fly fishing finally led a full realization of how alcohol was destroying his life.
Early in the morning a few days later, wearing my new thermal underwear, I crept out of the house to go fishing on the River Wey. I had some new equipment, including two rods.
On the opposite bank were a couple of professional fishermen, with a tent and everything beautifully laid out. They were watching me. I was drunk, and I had just about managed to get my gear set up when I lost my balance and fell onto one of the new rods, breaking it clean off at the handle. I saw the fishermen look away in embarrassment.
That was it for me. The last vestige of my self-respect had been ripped away. Being a good fisherman was the one place where I still had some self-esteem. I called Roger and told him: “You’re right. I’m in trouble. I need help.”
This comes from the TimesOnline.
fishing for words 