fishing for words

(and tossing out random thoughts)


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a “mini” vacation

Free is good.

A free Mini for a day is very good.

The Wife — courtesy her entry in a public transportation agency’s contest — ended up with a free Zipcar for a day. And as luck would have it, she invited me to come along. For the car, she picked a Mini and left the destination(s) to me.

A silver Mini named “McNorton” waited at a parking garage on Geary St. in San Francisco. We took BART in, hiked a few blocks to the parking garage, and gained entry with a magic wave of a ZipCar card. Pretty unique and convenient system. A few blocks down the road and my wife, decidedly not the “car nut,” was thoroughly enjoying a sporting drive to the Exploratorium, where the kid bailed and we officially began “having a day.” By now my wife had announced a few times that the “wanted this car.”

The car was entertaining on many levels — there’s always switches to play with in unfamiliar cars — but it was the computer’s calculation of average fuel consumption that held our attention at first. Up and down the hills of the city it bounced around the teens, but once we were on the highway to San Mateo, it quickly rose to the rather amazing 30 to 32 mpg range. Did I mention that my wife said she wanted her own Mini?

After a nice visit with my sister’s family in San Mateo, we pointed the bonnet west. Destination: Half Moon Bay. The weather: incredible for January. (I’m very conflicted about enjoying the great weather at a time when we should have rain.) In Half Moon Bay, in my humble opinion, one can find some of the best fish and chips around at the Half Moon Bay Brewing Co. So it was fish and chips for me, mini Kobe burgers for Karen, and an IPA shared between us. A great lunch with a great view on the bay. A quick drive back up the coast brought us back to reality, but it was a great “mini-vacation.”


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first fish of 2009

Since I’m still supporting the retired citizens of this great country through gainful employment and periodic contributions to Social Security, I had to wait for Saturday to roll around for my first fishing trip of the year. I headed to the Two Mile Bar section with some fly fishing club members.

Overcast skies foretold of a cold day to come. Like most of the other folks, I rigged up with a pale yellow salmon egg imitation — known to have pulled up fish the previous two days — and hit the water about ten o’clock. This section of the Stanislaus, being a wild trout fishery (with catch and release regulation), can be tough fishing just as easily as being wide open. But I’ve never been skunked there.

I started at the “Big Oak Pool,” a place where during my first trip here I caught my first Stanislaus River trout. After an untold number of fruitless casts, attributing the lack of a take to my rusty casting, I moved upstream to cross at the “Amphitheater,” then fished various pools as I moved downstream.

A few hours later, and after talking with a few of the guys as I went, I found myself at what I viewed as one of the more promising small pools — like the ones I enjoy on smaller creeks at higher elevations — and began to drag a Prince Nymph with a glass bead nymph underneath it through the water. After about 20 minutes of presenting my flies in the various seams, I was mentally preparing for a fly swap. But on the tail end of my drift, as the flies began to swing up to the surface, I got a slight bump. With a gentle set, I had a fish on.

While the speed of the current seems to amplify the size of a fish, I was nevertheless happy to soon land and release my first fish of 2009! It’s Monday now, but this first fish of the year is still crystal clear in my memory. At eight inches, it’s not the size of a fish that makes it into the classic yarns spun by fishermen, but it was a joy to bring to hand a wild eight-inch rainbow resplendent along its entire eight inches.


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…and our cops are stuck with crown vics

Lucky English coppers.

autoblog.com picked up and expanded upon a Mitsubishi press release regarding the South Yorkshire (England) police department’s latest vehicular addition:

The South Yorkshire police just added a ten to their squad. No, that’s not a sexist statement about some new hire, it’s a reference to the new Mitsubishi Evolution X they just added to the fleet. Joining an already-intimidating Evo VIII and IX in the motorpool is a specially equipped X that should help keep the Road Crime Unit (RCU) ahead of the baddies. The Evo X should be more than adequate for tracking down drug dealers and car thieves by itself, but deployed as a pack, the trio of Evos will probably scare scofflaws into simply giving up the chase.

 

Not only it is a very cool ride, but it’ll be outfitted with an onboard Automatic Number Plate Recognition system that will the vehicle registration and alert officers if there is anything remotely suspicious about it. But I don’t think detective work is the main reason for this beast.

Read and drool see more here.

South Yorkshire Police's pack of Evos.

South Yorkshire Police’s pack of Evos.


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bling-eating bass

I’d posit that this Associated Press reporter was a bit more excited about the amazing discovery of a fisherman’s ring in the belly of a bass (though it’s a novelty that someone cleaned the bass planning to eat it). That could explain why the story that most folks read doesn’t reveal how the heck a bass was able to abscond with a fisherman’s tech school class ring 21 years ago.

No fish story — long-lost ring found inside bass
Associated Press
Dec. 3, 2008
BUNA (Texas) — The one that didn’t get away held an unlikely surprise for a Texas man.

The blue-stoned class ring of Joe Richardson, engraved with his name, turned up in

side an 8-pound bass 21 years after he lost it while fishing on Lake Sam Rayburn.

“My first reaction was — you gotta be kidding,” he said today.

The fisherman who discovered the tarnished ring inside his catch contacted Richardson on Nov. 28 in Buna, about 100 miles northeast of Houston, after tracking him down with help from the Internet.

His fisherman hero asked to remain anonymous.

Richardson, 41, said he lost the ring about two weeks after his 1987 graduation from Universal Technical Institute in Houston. His mom had bought it for about $200 and wasn’t pleased when it went missing.

As a mechanic, Richardson said he doesn’t wear jewelry so he tucked the undamaged ring away.

“I have not cleaned it,” he said. “I told my wife I don’t want to clean it.”

But to the rescue rides local reporter Lisa Richardson of The Bee (Silsbee, Texas):

Fishy story has familiar ring to it
Thursday, December 4, 2008
By LISA RICHARDSON
Special to The Bee
…That’s when we received a phone call that would take my husband, Joe, back in time. As he told me the story, we both stood in amazement at the miraculous events unfolding. We both knew that what was happening would leave us with even more gratitude on this Thanksgiving weekend.

Joe began to tell me about the story that began 21 years earlier.

He had just received his class ring after graduating from Universal Technical Institute in Houston. The ring was too big, slipping on and off of his finger easily.

During a fishing trip with his cousin and close friend Lloyd Curtis, Joe clearly remembers standing on the bow of the boat when his ring slipped off his finger, hit the side of the boat and fell into the water.

You can read Lisa’s article at silsbeebee.com.


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all parts of the buffalo

Seems it’ll only be a matter of time before we’re putting more than one species in our engines. Rather that waiting millions of years, Connecticut-based Green Earth Technologies only will have to wait for approval from the American Petroleum Institute for new automotive applications of its G-Oil, a biodegradable lubricant made from “American grown base oils” — and you can read that to mean animal fat that would typically be discarded by slaughterhouses.

Beef, it’s not just what’s for dinner anymore.


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funny fish quotes

Got a chuckle out of a November 23rd post in Bret Burquest’s blog — Boldly Going Nowhere. The post, titled “Talking Fish“ starts:

In February of 2003, the BBC News reported that a fish heading for slaughter in a New York City market shouted warnings about the end of the world.

I’ve been shouting that for decades but no one will listen to me.

He then goes on to quote more than a few fish species. Here’s a sample:

Crappie in Medicine Lake, Minn. — “We are born naked, wet and hungry. Then things get worse.”

Largemouth bass in Table Rock Lake, Mo. — “Light travels faster than sound. That’s why bass fishermen appear brighter until you hear them speak.”

Muskie in Sunset Lake, Wis. — “Suppose you were a human being and suppose you were an idiot — oh, but I repeat myself.”

Rainbow trout in Cut Bank, Mont. — “I believe in the 50-50-90 rule — even if there’s a 50 percent chance a fly fisherman will hook you, there’s a 90 percent chance he’ll throw you back.”

Brown Trout in Yellowstone Park, Wyo. — “Things that come to those who wait may be things left over by those who got there first.”

Walleye in Stout Lake, Ontario — “A day without sunshine is like night.”

You can enjoy more here.


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autographed copies available soon…but I’ll keep the day job for now

No, I won’t leave the three readers of my blog — the wife and mom and dad — in the lurch even though an article pounded out with my own fingers found its way into the December 2008 edition of the California Fly Fisher. (For my fly fishing friends who get the magazine, check page 38. It’s the one on fly fishing podcasts.)

There’s no online version, but if you catch me motorcycling down the road or walking the supermarket aisle, chances are I might just have a copy to show you.

One article doesn’t make a career, but it made my day to see my name above an article.


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end-of-season fishing with a side of surprise

Sean and I double-teamed the driving to make a late-night run up the hill to squeeze in a final day of the trout season. If you’re lucky enough to have kids who understand the value of holding down a job, you know it’s hard to mesh schedules, so instead of the entire weekend our plan was to run up to the cabin Thursday, to fish Friday and leisurely wind our way home Saturday.

With a few short hours of sleep and only a day to fish, our eyes were on catching, not just chasing ‘em. So Friday found us on a tributary of Don Pedro Lake, a place not too far away and — fly fishing purists close your eyes — known to be stocked. I counted on the lackadaisical nature of fishermen who fall under the latter half of “put and take” to offer assurance that there’d be some rainbows left even though DFG trucks hadn’t visited this particular stretch in over two weeks.

Rigged up and ready, Sean was first to cast, and on that fish cast it was “fish on!” Though not landed, we took it as a good sign. Sean’s learned a lot since that first fly fishing lesson last spring, so it’s not only because yours truly graciously granted him first crack at one of the best runs that he landed four decent rainbows before I had a chance at a single one.

A bit later and a bit downstream I showed Sean a few seldom-fished and often productive pools, then it was back up to a more popular section. Thanks to the waders — most bait and hardware fisherfolks precariously perch on roots near this section — we effortlessly walked upstream and downstream near the opposite bank, targeting pods of trout as well as individual fish. Both of us hooked numerous fish and landed a few less than hooked. (Sean would probably agree that his fly fishing education might benefit from a focus on the hookset.) Our biggest were about 14 inches, with some broad-shouldered bruisers in the mix.

A better day we couldn’t have asked for. The sun was out but the air temperature was pleasant. The water was a bit high but the fish were willing.

But the “good day” rating was to be pegged just about lunchtime.

Fishing the tailout of a pool with a size 22 midge (very small fly for non-fisher folks) I was able to watch a fish adjust to the fly’s path and a white flash told me it had opened its mouth for the take. That white flash of the mouth — rainbows have darker mouths — suggested that this would be a brook trout left over from stocking earlier in the year. The fish sure did shake its head like a brookie. But then it jumped. “Whoa!” Sean yelled as it did. Another jump and it was heading downstream, taking me with it.

About five minutes later, after doing a “rock dance,” and about 20 more feet downstream, landing procedures commenced. It was then that the coolness factor of this fish rose quite a bit. I was a hooked-jawed wild brown trout headed upstream from the lake to spawn. All 15 inches of him. One very cool surprise.

The downside is that we left the camera at home. But ask Sean. I think he’ll tell ya it was a good day with a great fish among the many good.


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end of a season

It’s been a good year, trout-fishing-wise, that is. And tomorrow it’ll end in the Sierras with one last hurrah.

Sean and I will make a late-night run to the cabin with plans to spend Friday in the water. Maybe we’ll even hook some fish. If we don’t, it’s dinner at Diamondback Grill. And maybe a bit of manly video game action in the evening.

Saturday’s up in the air, but perhaps we’ll stop on the way home and hike to the Lower Stanislaus River, where there have been sightings of King salmon up to 30 inches. Can’t fish for ‘em but would be fun to watch.

BTW, nice sunny day here in northern California…so did the right thing. Rode the bike to work. Love that it now takes less than $7 to fill the tank!


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motorcycling, weather, and the Marine way

I must not fear.  Fear is the mind-killer.  Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.  I will face my fear.  I will permit it to pass over me and through me.  And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.  Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.  Only I will remain.”
               ~ Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear
                  (from favorite book Dune, by Frank Herbert)

I made the mistake of trying to outthink the weather folks Thursday. Their guesses predictions had rain starting Friday. Treating weather forecasts as a step up from divination -and in light of the dry spell that’s made the Golden State so very golden – I figured it’d be safe to squeeze in one more commute on the motorcycle.

By noon errant precipitation dotted the pavement, but evaporated in short order. Nothing to worry about.

Mid afternoon brought consistent drizzle. Enough to coat the roadway. Time to begin worrying.

Departure time brings decision time. Leaving now means riding in rain. I’ve been told that every motorcyclist, at some time, will have to deal with this very issue. The question “It not now, when?” bounced around my brain.

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face… The danger lies in refusing to face the fear, in not daring to come to grips with it… You must make yourself succeed every time. You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”
               ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

The fact that I’m writing this after the fact reveals that, with care, a bit of strategy and good riding gear, I made it safe (and dry), albeit requiring about 20 minutes more to reach home.

Riding in the rain. Something that wasn’t on my “bucket list.”

But feeling good that I adapted and overcame.