fishing for words

(and tossing out random thoughts)

Category Archives: General Discourse


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a little fishwrap on Friday

I’m in the doldrums…taxes need to be done, it’s another four weeks before the Trout Opener, the cold, rainy November weather we didn’t get in November is here now…and seems to be hanging on in Vermont while Hendricksons are hatching early in the East. The anticipation of our Opener usually brings about a focus, but the gear’s long been sorted, flies tied, new reel set up…with little to do but wait, my attention span seems pretty short these days.

I can’t resist and The Wife chuckles knowing that it’s never going to be in the budget, but I would gladly own a vehicle for every day of the week; and two for Sundays…as long as I had the garage space. I can’t buy but can still look, and anyone my age as young as I might love their next fishing vehicles to be one of these recent concepts from Jeep.

Jeep J-12

The Jeep J-12 Concept…a knock off of the always macho J-20…

Jeep FC

The FC concept is as a tribute to the unique Jeep Forward Control that was sold from 1956 and 1965.

You could, however, get your mitts on this oldie but goodie…I remember the first one I saw, in Tuolumne Meadows I believe, in green.

A 1970 Jeep Jeepster Commander…with a special and patriotic Hurst package…

A 1970 Jeep Jeepster Commander…with a special and patriotic Hurst package…

On stopping a damn dam: Could it be that all those Californians that long-ago brought a housing boom to Washington State brought more than their luggage? We in the not-anymore-so Golden State are too familiar with the fight over water and the damming of rivers, and now Kirk Werner of UnaccomplishedAngler.com is asking for help…and we should give it. A movement is afoot to stop in the preliminary permitting process a small hydroelectric dam proposed for an upper section of Washington’s Skykomish River. I’ve not fished the Sky, but have hopes that as the years wear on that I might get to know it and other Washington rivers in my pursuit of a native westslope cutthroat.

…And you can’t help but like the little guy, but maybe I pushed my luck actually following through with the threat that I’d drop by to get his signature on a set of “Olive the Woolly Bugger” books…but Kirk seem more than willing to sign copies of his books without you hovering over him if you make a Kickstarter pledge that could launch an Olive iPad app…a good idea for fly fishing fathers who figure they could receive the wife’s approval to get more new gear if only they could only pass their current gear down to their kids. I don’t need the books but I’m keen on something that might keep me entertained in the off season interest kids in the hobby.

I lied, so forget what I wrote. I will buy some new gear at the club auction next week, if I can fend off other bidders. A club member (and fantastic woodworker) donated some nice handmade nets big enough for optimism but more in keeping with the size of fish I land. I’m guessing I’m in for some combat bidding.


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the good side to a bad wet season

The '97 ready to roll.

An excellent combination: sun, clear skies and a motorcycle.

The separation between Northern and Southern California is customarily delineated by rainfall or lack thereof. But not so much this year. The hope of a Miracle March making up for a dry, spring-like January and February is fading fast. I’m just a little bit worried that not all of the recently tied flies will get wet this year.

Still, I shoved aside one hobby for another, rolled the motorcycle out of the garage, geared up, set the choke and pressed the starter. Spark plugs fired, the engine caught, then sputtered and died. I tried a second time, it sounded as if it were flooded. After more thought than it should have taken, it dawned on me that this March day was already warm enough that there was no reason to apply much, if any, choke.

My son and I hadn’t really decided where we might ride, just that we would. But Sean’s suggestion of the Russian River Brewing Co. had lodged in my head, so we headed out Hwy 37, skirting the northern edge of San Pablo Bay (which is part of and north of San Francisco Bay), through the San Pablo Bay National Wildlife Refuge — a significant destination on the Pacific Flyway — and along the southern reaches of the Sonoma and Napa valleys. A cloudless sky and migrating birds looked down upon us.

It was good to be in the saddle again, and though we’ve ridden together less than either of would probably like, I think it’s fair to say that we’ve developed enough awareness to anticipate each other and communicate simple messages through hand motions. A bit of this signaling after we passed Infineon Raceway (the old Sears Point) had us heading north toward Petaluma, past green fields dotted by sheep and their lambs. The last dozen miles or so were the least enthralling; this section of Hwy 101 just south of Santa Rosa is always at some stage of deconstruction, and the redwoods on either side of the road always seem dusty, dirty and thirsty.

Soon enough we pulled into the free public parking (bonus!) offered for motorcycles, which just so happened to be behind the Russian River Brewing brewpub. Winding out way past the bar and through the tables, it was immediately clear that this is a popular place. (I’d later find out that, unless you’re a diehard triple IPA fan, stay away when the brewery releases its ‘Pliny the Younger’ — some folks wait up to five hours in line for the new batch of BeerAdvocate’s top-rated beer for 2009.) We tossed our names at the hostess, stashed the coaster-style pager and gulped down a few glasses of ice water.

Russian River Brewing Co. Menu

The tap menu. We opted for the right side...and it was good. Very good.

The pub is appropriately dimly lit, and the dark wood throughout quickly absorbs any sunshine that makes it past the crowd drinking and generally carousing out front. We were seated about halfway between the front and back of the place, and I had an unobstructed view of the tap menu. We’d learn that the left side tended toward ‘aggressively hopped’ beers; the list to the right was comprised of Belgian-inspired ales and barrel-aged (sour) beers. Selecting the beers in your flight is easy: pick one list or the other or both. It was an easy compromise — I was paying after all — and we opted to try the ales and barrel beers, to be accompanied by a ‘Piaci’ pizza (mozzarella, marinara, gorgonzola and pine nuts) and some hot wings.

Russian River Brewing Co. Flight

The traditional thumbs up from Sean, and a well-deserved thumbs up it is.

The grub was pretty darn good. The beers were crazy good. Our tasting included Redemption (blonde ale), Perdition (bière de Sonoma), Sanctification (blonde ale brewed with Brettanomyces yeast), Supplication (sour aged in pinot barrels), Defenestration (hoppy blonde ale), Damnation (golden ale), Damnation #23 (golden ale, triple aged with oak chips), Temptation (sour aged in chardonnay barrels), Salvation (strong dark ale), Consecration (sour aged in cabernet barrels) and Collaboration (IPA style). Only the Consecration was not to our liking, mostly because the cabernet seemed give the brew an overpowering sweetness.

Our favorites — at least mine — included Sanctification (uniquely tart but crisp), Defenestration (a clean blonde with a hop finish that didn’t linger or kill the taste buds) and Damnation #23 (a full-bodied, semi-spicy golden ale offset with a bit of oak). Thankfully, the sample glasses were 2 ounces, and we lingered over bites of the pizza, the gnawing of the hot wings and discussions of each beer.

A few hours later, well rewarded for the hour-long ride there, we started up the bikes and headed east toward the Sonoma Valley, offloading some beer along the way. After a while, Sean peeled off the main road and I stopped to refill the tank (42 mpg) before the final few miles to home.

Perhaps it’s time to think about hunting steelhead on the Russian River; any unsuccessful day fly fishing could be brightened with a visit to this namesake brewery.


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moving at the speed of fly fishing

While the youngsters flit about, expecting a burger delivered before they order, fly fisherman become one of the last bastions of stubbornness patience in a world moving at the breakneck pace of broadband.

People will visit a commerce or news website less often if it is slower than a close competitor by more than 250 milliseconds (a millisecond is a thousandth of a second).

‘Two hundred fifty milliseconds, either slower or faster, is close to the magic number now for competitive advantage on the Web,’ said Harry Shum, a computer scientist and speed specialist at Microsoft.
But speed matters in every context, research shows. Four out of five online users will click away if a video stalls while loading.”

via The Economic Times

As a youngster, I always assumed that those old fly fishing guys — a group to which I still feverishly claim not to belong — were slow because of age. Time’s revealed that I was a bit hasty in judging.

Sometimes it’s a method, sometimes superstition, and more often than we might care to admit, an unwillingness to think that it’s us that’s the problem…or a belief that any problem can be rectified with just one more cast.

It might be obvious that changing flies or moving up river is an answer to refusal after refusal after refusal. But obstinately I place faith in my ‘confidence flies.’ I don’t think I’m all alone; count the number of magazine articles, blog posts and forum discussions extolling anglers to swap flies after three refusals. And that same fisherman who knows the steelhead shuffle will sight cast to that single big brown while shadows grow longer.

Then there’s that one fish that’s the ‘fly in the ointment.’ The same fish that takes the fly on that last cast — the cast after which I was going to move up river; the cast after which I was going to change flies.

It’s that single fish that seems to have slowed me down; requiring the devotion of more time than appropriate thought to every move, every change, every cast.


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can calling it a native fish make it so? or: how you can learn to stop worrying and love the fish that eats a fly

This week, I might be stepping into quicksand. If nothing else, it’ll be entertaining for the rest of you to watch.

While a good many local anglers applauded the California Fish & Game Commission’s decision at its Feb. 2, 2012 meeting to strike down proposed changes to striped bass regulations, changes that, at the very least, would degrade the quality of a fishery that supports considerable segments of the local economy, there was a curious footnote to the proceedings.

A desire to declare striped bass, introduced from the East Coast, as a ‘native’ California species.

California Fish & Game Commission’s then-Director Daniel W. Richards summed up the issue:

Another great comment that I heard today was this issue of what is native. [California Department of Fish & Game] Director Bonham and I had great conversation just yesterday about this. We are regularly, and just several months we were being challenged with a frogs and turtles matter of non-native species…it’s controversial and there’s both sides to it, and these striped bass have been here for 130 years. At what point in time do we…and some of the analogies we gave I thought were terrific, especially when you take it down to the human level, who’s a native Californian and who’s not. I thought it was really very apropos. I mean, they’ve been here 130 years, that’s, I don’t know, what is that, that’s three or four generations I think you’d probably call that. [Striped bass] starts to be fairly native to me.

After that, then-President Jim Kellogg, after pointing out that he worked on the first pump station on the Delta (1966-’69) and saw the numbers of fish those unscreened pumps dumped into the canal announced in his last act as president:

…because nobody’s got an answer as to how this is done, or who declares it or something like that, I’m going to declare the striped bass a native species in the state of California.

Central to the proponents of the new regulations painted striped bass — asking it be considered an invasive species — as largely responsible for the decline of the state’s salmon stocks. Opponents cited striped bass’ long history in the California Delta (declared a sport fish in 1935) and its coexistence with salmon and Delta smelt over that time. (The definition of ‘coexistence’ may be considered ill-defined in the absence of any hard, long-term, historical data.)

While most will agree that these proposed changes to the striper regulations was a thinly veiled water grab, it does bring to light a conflict that can arise between native and now wild populations of introduced fish, particularly without a firm scientific understanding that can overwhelm any argument from either side of the debate. And while the predation of introduced species changes ecosystems, there’s no scientific model to predict the consequences of eliminating such a long-entrenched species.

In the short span of our lives, does ‘native’ becomes anything that was here before us? Big brown trout and competitive rainbows have so well supplanted Lahontan cutthroat trout — it and the Eagle Lake Rainbow were once the only trout in the Easter Sierra — that rarely does one hear of an angler landing a decent Lahontan, expect those in Crowley Lake and the Upper Owens River. And it’ll be a shame when Lahontan cutthroat no longer exist in California, which is likely to happen.

But it’s hard to label the non-native trout that provide us so much recreation as ‘invasive.’

In any case, might these naturally reproducing fish populations better fit a status similar to that of ‘historical (living) landmark?’ Is there an appropriate measure of time before anyone can declare an introduced species to be a ‘naturalized citizen?’ And will the difference between native and naturalized fish populations eventually become indistinguishable, legally or otherwise?

Regardless of the answers, I’ll be the one overlooking the illegal immigration status of the trout that eats my fly.

If you’re interested, the video recording of the meeting can be found here; click on the link for Feb 2, 2012 and fast forward to about 1:35:00 for the start of the striper discussion.


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surprising ‘emergence’ suggests fly fishermen are a gullible an affluent bunch

The last few weeks have left me not thinking too deep about anything in particular except what the lack of rain and snowfall here will mean for fall conditions on my favorites Sierra streams. The vest finally got its annual washing, and the old granola bar found within tossed. A new list outlines small streams and larger rivers near the cabin but still unvisited out of laziness for lack of time. But there’ll be no piles of new gear this year. Just a few closeout flies, a new license, of course, and a few newly acquired hooks for tying as yet undetermined patterns.

It’s clear that I’ll not be doing much to support the industry, but the proliferation of fly fishing television shows suggests that the sport as a whole has become interesting, at least to cable programmers, even when one dismisses the dangerous fly fishing date on “The Bachelor.”

Fly Fishing TV ShowsMy DVR ‘fly fishing’ wish list has picked up more shows in the last month and half than recorded during all of last year, despite a limited cable line up in which the Outdoor Channel and NBC Sports Network née Versus are the main suppliers of these shows. I’m not so certain how or why some of these shows came into existence and made it to my cable line up, but there must be some belief they are worthy of some sort of cash outlay. (I do miss “Fly Fishing the World” and Trout Unlimited’s “On the Rise,” both on Sportsman Channel, and the hard-to-find “The New Fly Fisher.”)

There are a lot of dollars being thrown at fly fishing video, from homemade DVDs to the once underground and now nearly mainstream Fly Fishing Film Tour. While instructional DVDs may be the bread and butter of this genre, it’s easier to grab the remote than insert a disc — and tell ourselves that we can easy to ignore that the gear manufacturers sponsoring these shows hope to convince us to buy stuff we don’t need.

Our efforts at resistance may be in vain. Research suggests those of us still active in the sport bought more in 2010 after a 10% drop in sales in 2009. It helps to have a captive audience; most of these shows run during the winter months when local waters aren’t available to many of us. It might be sour grapes on my part; I’m suspicious that some shows are well-thought-out tax write offs that just happen to include fly fishing in exotic places.

There’s no immediate way to determine if this explosion of fly fishing shows is good or bad† ; much of the content of these shows is fly fishing porn; beautiful shots of scenery and fish. It speaks to the already interested, generally not something watched with the girlfriend/wife or kids. These shows likely will lure into the sport some novices who will suddenly face the reality that their companions on the water will be unkempt and rather plain looking, not the well-dressed and good looking host‡ casting perfect loops to big fish.

These novices will also quickly learn that good editing always excludes those back casts that snag the tree that’s always behind us.

† Such a discussion will bring up the ever-present debate about the growth of a sport that utilizes finite resources. It’s worth noting that fishing license sales continued a two-year decline in 2011, according to a selected sampling of states by the Recreation Boating & Fishing Foundation.

‡ There are a few hosts who might be considered ‘average Joes’: Greg Heister of “Seasons on The Fly” and the goofy Curtis Fleming of “Fly Rod Chronicles.” Though a celebrity, occasional fly caster Larry Csonka comes across as that friendly guy we’d all enjoy on a fishing trip.


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really? asking for raw honesty from fishermen? a response

Dear fly fishing bloggers,*

I have a confession to make. I have been reading many of your blogs. You don’t know this, because I don’t comment much. My wife disagrees, but often I don’t feel my words will add much to the conversation. I lurk, looking for writing that will take me away from the everyday, writing that will inspire, now and again enjoying others’ stories about water I hope to fish, and some that I probably won’t.

I won’t pretend that my encouragement will reach that many eyes. But, occasionally and perhaps more than admitted, blogging isn’t about catering to readers; it’s about the act of writing. This post, itself, is a modest reaction to a claim on [name redacted]’s another blog that “…99% of fly fishing blogs are boring…” and have followed “…the boring/cyclical path of print.” This seems an unfair assessment, though it is unclear whether this judgment and call for bloggers to “…put it all out there…” is leveled at blogs in general and includes those written by the vast majority who fly fish when they can, and for whom their blog is a hobby and another welcome diversion.

While these charges offer valid advice for all writers, the simplicity of launching and maintaining a blog has redefined freedom of expression. It’s clear that the intention behind some blogs is a simple sharing of experiences with family and friends, and the occasional visitor. They may be written for the joy of the task itself, or to satisfy ego, record for posterity, or to push an idea, belief, or agenda into or onto the world. (Or perhaps, as a response to something read somewhere else?) This blog grew out of ego years ago, initially as a website, to share my life with those few who might be interested. Sure, I’m grateful when more than three readers visit in a week, but this has evolved into a more permanent record, a journal of sorts, through which even I occasionally revisit old memories.

I’d also respectfully submit that many bloggers could be considered the essayists of today, making observations of daily life. It’s easy to recall more famous essayists such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Sarah Margaret Fuller, Arthur Miller, Jonathan Swift or John Updike. But for each one of these writers, many others shared anonymous and perhaps less polished observations and opinions in leaflets, pamphlets, or other media that has since disappeared.

In one respect, blogging is a most public form of learning, with all of one’s mistakes on display. It’s inherent in the learning process that bloggers might unconsciously test styles used by others as they find their way, leading to a sameness. Writing, particularly regularly and regularly well, can be difficult. It requires a well of ideas, opinions, and experiences. These experiences may be limited, and not everyone cares to divulge every personal hiccup in their life. Here I decided early on that certain topics would be verboten; a voluntary limitation on “raw honesty.” I’d suspect this is true with other bloggers. (I can’t help but wonder if in today’s world the term “raw honesty” no longer has any real meaning.)

More widely read bloggers have a better understanding of communal attraction of wistfulness and humor and how rooting posts in common experiences can make writing memorable without need for flowery language and a vast vocabulary. These are plain ideas not so easily applied. And, frankly, I don’t expect this level of writing in every blog, understanding that countless blogs were started out of passion, not because the author was a writer.

Blogs become my favorites simply because the writing or topics touch me in some way. At times I want to escape through the eyes of another, especially when I can’t fish. There’s an attraction in stories that offer differing perspectives of familiar or nearby places. Many times it’s merely catching up with the goings on in a friend’s life.

Reading over what I’ve written here, I asked, “Is this raw honesty?” Honest, yes. Raw, no; that’s just not me. I’m just a regular guy, working a job, with a family, who fly fishes when he can, usually less than he hopes; and for whom his blog is writing and sharing without expectation. Judge my blog as you will.

P.S. A discussion with a friend about whether the wording of this post should be strengthened, interestingly enough, led to an answer in the understanding that being true (honest) to my style offered a subtle metaphor.

* I excised “fellow” originally inserted before “fly fishing bloggers” with the consideration this is not a fly fishing-only blog.


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when asking questions becomes so over rated

Wi-Spi Helicopter

When you really, really want to avoid conversation...

The secrecy of our choice in flies will be a thing of the past as binoculars are replaced with high-tech toys.

Every grumpy (and not always old) fly fisherman holds something back when asked, “What fly you catchin’ em with?”

The younger more tech savvy fly fisher won’t even ask. …and that won’t be the drone of mosquitoes in your ears.

Sick and tired of spying on the neighbors the old-fashioned way? Good news, all. Interactive Toy Designs showed off two new products in its not-so-subtly named Wi-Spi line of remote control vehicles. Really driving the notion home is the Intruder, the name given to the little red sports car. The helicopter, on the other hand, is called just that, though we’re sure you can intrude upon people with the thing, if you really put your mind to it. Both vehicles have built-in cameras that beam live feeds to your iPhone or Android devices. You can also record the video and upload it instantly…

~ via Engadget.com

Given that technology has done wonders for the art of conversation, letter writing and maybe all social interaction, makes one wonder how long it’ll take before anglers’ once-well-respected, on-stream and on-the-spot ability to spin yarns of half truths begins to atrophy and die.


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I got nothing, ‘cept wishes for a happy and healthy 2012

There are still some sentences to edit and words to change, but I’ve nicely crammed nearly five days worth of work into this abbreviated three-day work week sandwiched between the Christmas and New Year holidays. It’s been grueling.

Not complaining, just explaining why I got nothing this Friday and not much to add to the overworked end-of-the-year rehash of 2011 done so much better elsewhere.

It’s been so busy that there’s not been time to ponder the meaning of what’s shaping up to be a very dry winter. While not good for the big picture, it may mean more fishing for me earlier in the coming year; and it’s a sure thing that after this year’s lack of it, mo’ fishing will be at the top of my list for 2012.

At any rate, we’ll wind down a bit this long weekend, finish reading “Dracula,” celebrate the start of a New Year, perhaps lament the underutilization of the past year, and make sure that lentil soup is the fist meal of 2012.

Early wishes to all for a happy and healthy New Year!


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last-minute gift suggestions for the fly fisher in your life

Despite the late hour, there are a few things that might be procured in time for Christmas Day for that fly fisherman in your life.

Truthfully, fly fishermen typically don’t need many new things and most of what we might want can’t be bought: more time to fish, landing that extra-large fish one’s been chasing for a life time, or hitting “the hatch” just right.

In most cases, anything that can be bought is probably already in their possession, often without the spouse having a clue. Sometimes it’s a matter of simply being unable to wait to get the latest and greatest thing, other times it grows out of the search for that one thing that will make them look good regardless of the catching, or it was a shiny object necessary item that caught their eye at a fly shop visited during their travels.

Some of the stuff may never get used; the same fly fisherman who will cast to the same stretch of river time after time won’t necessarily have the patience to tie flies. The more practical among us will be content with what they have and will be content with only a dozen or so rods and reels. Consumable such as dry fly floatant, leader and tippet will always be appreciated, and used. Flies, however, can be tricky; many a fly fisherman will spend too much time sorting through choices, looking for that perfect fly. (The same one, broken and misshapen after fooling a few fish, won’t look like much of anything…but will still dupe the fish.)

If that person in your life is a steelhead fisherman, they’ll understand a joke gift of magnets. However, if the recipient does try to use this gift during fishing, seek professional help. There’s also the The Hungover Cookbook. Do you really thing that fly fishermen and their buddies only fish on longer, overnight outings?

Topping my list is an ever-present Sense of Humor, for those days when it’d be easier to say one was skunked instead of admitting to landing fish that were all less than 10 inches. Also very handy when skunked; it takes the sting out of the later realization that one was outsmarted by fish with brains the size of a pea. If you find it on Amazon.com, let my wife know.

My personal wish is that your holiday and the coming year are filled with the joy that comes from the many other gifts that can’t be purchased.

Merry Christmas!


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resistance is (inevitably) futile

When it comes to tech, it’s slowly come to our attention that we’re probably somewhere between an “early adopter” and the “early majority.” And we’re certainly not an “innovator.”

After conducting an honest comparison of my tech inventory with that of my wife, it’s clear that, despite an apparent knowledge of technology, I lag behind in the willingness necessary to throw my lot in with unproven new tech. Maybe because, after years of trying to stay at the forefront of computers, I had admitted defeat underneath a pile of outdates video cards and RAM.

History tells the tale. It was only a few years after that iPod thing came out that I finally thought it’d be worth a look. Then I rolled my eyes when my wife had — just had — to get one of the first iPhone 3s. She loved it. I really wasn’t even envious. I didn’t need one. (Some folks get the latest and greatest stuff, typically when its the most expensive. And if you haven’t noticed, it’s the übergeeks who become the guinea pigs beta testers, left to discover, deal with and help sort out any early bugs.)

But she upgraded, and being smart enough to recognize free as a very good price, I soon began to learn that a smart phone could, indeed, be pretty handy. I’ve since moved on to the iPhone 4, but only because I was eligible for discounted upgrade price.

resistance was futile

That same eye rolling greeted my wife’s wish for a Kindle. She got one. She loved it. Loved it so much that my sleeping pattern began to suffer most every night.

Then, inevitably, she suggested I read an ebook she enjoyed. I did, and discovered that this new fangled digital book stuff was pretty neat. In a device lighter than a small paperback one could carry a library shelf’s worth of books. But not neat enough to replace the free books one could pick up from the library. (That’s not to say I’ve been reading much lately, what with work, the gym, making dinner, and the normal busyness of life.)

Then libraries got into the act, lending ebooks. Amazon launched the free Kindle Owners’ Lending Library.

And a Kindle, the standard version without whistles and bells (and perhaps better fitting my grudging adoption of tech), arrived last month as a late birthday gift. I’ve since read three books and have begun to read the original “Dracula,” one of many books that was always on my reading list. Another upside to the Kindle: my dad can no longer crow about his library system’s mailing of books to patrons. A few clicks and 60 seconds later is all it takes to download my next book.

It doesn’t bother me that I took so long for me to jump on the bandwagon. Guess when it comes to tech, I’m just too cheap smart to jump in first thing.