fishing for words

(and tossing out random thoughts)


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is one California too much, or how do you feel about buying multiple fishing licenses?

Though it’s a remote possibility that the proposal by Silicon Valley venture capitalist Tim Draper to divide California into six states would make it over the many required hurdles — from gathering signatures of 807,615 registered voters to put the measure on the ballot to final congressional approval — it presents a conundrum for a native Californian.

This is a big state, one of diversity. Every once and a while that diversity bubbles to the surface; one example is the Jefferson state movement that is revisited every decade or so. Boards of supervisors in Modoc and Siskiyou counties, which are near the Oregon border, approved measures in support of the Jefferson state declaration. Tehama County, one county south of Modoc and Siskiyou, has placed a similar measure on the ballot.

California is one of the few places where five major climate types can be in close proximity. From my home, it’s a four-hour drive to the high Sierras, the Humboldt redwoods or the southern coastline. The same goes with fishing: steelhead to the north, Striped bass to the east, trout to the northeast and southeast, saltwater fish to the west.

Setting aside all the pros and cons about and difficulties of creating smaller California state, it raises the possibility, just to fish for trout in place I enjoy, that I’d have to buy three separate licenses. Saltwater fishing could require a fourth. This may be an accepted part of living in smaller states, but not something I look forward to.

One upside might be the possibility that the proposed state I would live in, “North California,” could regain its water rights. I’m sure we’d set a fair price for all that water needed down south.


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it’s ugly here

With our latest rain, I’m hoping it won’t be 1975 all over again. Then and now, precipitation was routed around California by a high pressure ridge for months. December of that year was the beginning of two years of drought conditions. Our reservoirs are now lower than at the same time in 1977, which was preceded by two dry years. Jerry Brown was governor back then; irony or conspiracy?

Without non-stop rain through the rest of our rainy season the coming summer will be one of dirty cars and brown lawns. Communal showering may become de rigueur, perhaps followed by an uptick in births.

Back then I wasn’t fishing as much as I do now. There are a few small streams — only shared with the most trusted — that will go unvisited this year. It’s a given that low reservoirs will push more fisherman to moving waters that remain open which, more likely, will be tailwaters.

Automatic readings last Thursday show the snowpack in the Sierra Nevada is now at 15 percent of normal, up from 12 percent on Jan. 30. At this rate, we only need 28 storms of similar magnitude to reach normal levels. And that still won’t be enough.


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you’ll just have to trust me

“…Facebook is responsible for the death of thousands of fish a year due to people mishandling fish as they pose for victory shots.”
      — attributed to Brian O’Keefe, co-founder of Catch Magazine in “An Upstream Journey, Dispatch #5: Taking a Break in Bend” by Paul Moinester

It’s become accepted in an era of InstaFaceGooTumblr that without visual evidence you’re not to be believed.

…which explains the fact that a search of “fly fishing photography” yields over 20 million results. It appears customary for articles about “catch and release” in mainstream fly fishing media and other outlets to include how to take a grip and grin with minimal impact on the fish. Even a few detail how the solitary fisherman can take better photos.

My experience fishing alone has taught me that there is no easy way to take a decent photo. When I did, it was only to prove my fly fishing prowess luck.

NoPhotoNot anymore.

It could be argued that trout are the most beautiful freshwater game fish. Yes, their coloration goes beyond simple camouflage, it is sprinkled with a subtle and unmatched beauty for which words are inadequate.

I’d like to say it’s that beauty that leads fly fisherman so often post or carry photos of fish. But more often than not, these poses — “hero shots” — show a fish in a most unnatural environment: out of water, often in midair, and in a human’s hands.

Getting a good photo when fishing solo is something I haven’t mastered. There’s the bumbling for the camera once the fish is in the net. The instant the camera’s turned on the trout, at least the ones I land, decide to be as uncooperative as possible. Most of my first shots are unattractive photos of their backs. There might be a second attempt but by the third try, sympathy for the fish wins, and I let it slide out from the net.

That’s not to say I won’t take any fish photos whatsoever when fishing solo, but there’ll be no more arm’s length shots; maybe photos only of that remarkable fish, landed quickly and handled minimally, in the net in the water. With any luck, I’ll learn how to take underwater shots.

Next time I tell you I landed a few trout, you’ll just have to trust me.


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will travel for food: Show Dogs & Cellarmakers Brewing

I do enjoy living in California. I love our many outdoor options. I live in a suburb of the Bay Area, in a balance of choice and means. But I have a love/hate relationship with our “big city,” San Francisco.

San Francisco was the seventh most visited city in the United States last year, for good reason — cool summers of fog-kissed sunshine, a history that lives on through landmarks such Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz Island, Coit Tower and Fisherman’s Wharf. Lending to its picturesque quality are steep rolling hills patrolled by cable cars and dotted by a mix of architecture styles such as Italianate, Mission, Queen Anne, Stick/Eastlake, Craftsman, Art Deco and Streamline Moderne. Parks are sprinkled about, including the Conservatory of Flowers, Japanese Tea Garden and the San Francisco Botanical Garden. Culture abounds with art museums and performing arts. The sciences are represented at the California Academy of Sciences, the Morrison Planetarium and Steinhart Aquarium.

Wandering through neighborhoods like North Beach, Chinatown, Telegraph Hill and SoMa on a sunny day rank among some of my favorite experiences in The City. Christmas can be made more special with a visit to Union Square and a walk by Macy’s holiday windows displaying SPCA cats and dogs looking for forever homes. Personally, I enjoy carspotting and rarely is there not a sighting of a Ferrari or Tesla or the occasional Aston Martin, Bentley, Rolls Royce or Pagini. (BMWs, Audis, Mercedes-Benzes and Porsches are too commonplace.)

San Francisco is also most densely inhabited large city in our state and the second-most densely populated major city in the United States; second only to New York City. High-rise office buildings blot out the sky and create dark canyons that can be 10 degrees cooler. Our visit last weekend was marked by warmish temperatures, which likely gave rise to the rather pungent odors one might expect during a rainless winter.

Some people wanted champagne and caviar when they should have had beer and hot dogs. - Dwight D. Eisenhower

Some people wanted champagne and caviar when they should have had beer and hot dogs.
– Dwight D. Eisenhower

But we will travel for food, which lured us once again across the Bay. Intellectually, I understand the need for and benefits of mass transit; but deep inside I harbor an irrational fear of missing a scheduled stop. (Yes, I know there will be another bus or train, but that means giving up control of my schedule.) However, I’ve become accustomed to the hour-long ferry ride and have recently adopted the mantra “walking is good.”

Walk we did. To get where we were going, we’d skirt the Tenderloin just above SoMa. The situational awareness I’ve been working on, unfortunately, meant I wouldn’t miss that guy relieving himself in the gutter on Turk Street. More than once we walked through a repellent cloud of “skunk” originating from green stuff, not the black and white animal.

In truth, it was more akin to hiking for food and beer, and lunch at Show Dogs Fine Sausages was the reward on the first leg. House-made hot dogs, sausages and condiments, and beer on tap. What’s not to love? And love it we did. Maximizing our opportunity to taste Show Dogs’ offerings, we split a House Maple Pork sausage and Fried Chicken Sandwich, a pint of 21st Amendment’s seasonal Fireside Chat — a nice, rich and semi-dark English-style ale tweaked with spices — and a side of fries. The maple pork sausage was an experience I’d gladly repeat, even without the sprinkling of bacon. The proportion of maple to pork was perfect. Think of that time at breakfast when your sausage rolled into a bit of syrup. The twist for me was the deliciousness of the fried chicken sandwich, it was outstanding. Sure, it’s fried, but the house-made lemon cayenne aioli, coleslaw, pickled ginger and well-matched bun make it something quite special. The fries weren’t as special, but were perked up by the house-made habanero ketchup.

We’d walk another mile or so to pick up something Karen had ordered, then it’d be another mile to Cellarmaker Brewing Co.’s taproom. But it was one o’clock, and the taproom wouldn’t open until two. So, without thinking, began to head to the Ferry Building.

A few blocks later Karen thought to check the ferry schedule. The next ferry wouldn’t leave until 3:45 p.m. Apparently, God wants us to have beer. And Cellarmaker delivered.

Cellarmaker is small, with a ten-barrel brewery and a twelve-tap tasting room inside a former garage in SoMa. It opened last October with four beers and has since expanded it lineup with a rotation of beers. We settled into the cozy taproom and upon learning that some taps were dry, ordered up five ounces of each available beer. It was nice to see that each glass was pre-wetted with chilled water before filling (I expect that it was distilled water).

We ended up with glasses of Coquette, Simcoe Galaxy IPA, Jagged Little Pale Ale, Coffee and Cigarettes and Kelly’s Blackout Stout. All were good enough to order again, but I fell in love with piney goodness of the Simcoe Galaxy. It reminded me of Skagway Brewing’s Spruce Tip Blonde, which is brewed with spruce tips. The Simcoe Galaxy is not, but the herbal, piney and almost earthy fragrance (of the Simcoe hops?) comes forward and lingers. This is an aroma-heavy beer with a light hazy yellow color and a surprising lightness. Karen was fonder of the easy-drinking Jagged Little Pale Ale, a clean almost-IPA. Coffee and Cigarettes stood out for its aggressive aroma of espresso and burnt malt backed up by a lingering smokiness.

I’m a fan of saisons/farmhouse ales, but Cellarmakers Saison Francisco wouldn’t be released for another week; however the Coquette, a grisette, was a good stand-in. This is in the style of a working-class beer: a light, slightly tart, low alcohol wheat saison about as pale as it comes. Envision sitting down and enjoy a pint after mowing that one-acre lawn on a hot summer day.

We ended up walking just over six miles this day. Nothing like enjoying good food and all that beer without gaining too much weight.


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a tacky fly box, almost what I need

So this week my news feed coughed up an item about a Kickstarter campaign to fund the development of newfangled Tacky Fly Boxes.

Reading the Tacky Fly Boxes vision statement it seemed to me that it’s not fly retention that’s my problem; it’s retention of the entire box. The entire box should be coated in tacky stuff.

About seven years ago I stumbled upon a stretch of river that wasn’t more than 30 minutes away from the cabin by road, but in the early trout season offered an opportunity to fish in solitude. It’s an area deep within a canyon where dogwood and pines filter the sunlight. Only occasionally is the shade is broken by shafts of light, lending an emerald-green cast to the air. The river is lined by boulders much of its length here, and stepping from rock to rock is necessary.

The excitement that comes with discovering new water was amplified by the willing rainbows. It was the kind of catching that’s so good you purposely slow down to savor each cast, hookset and fish itself. But this was my early days of fly fishing. I hadn’t yet acquired any habits or routines.

A sampling of our likely weapons of choice.

At $1 or more each, they add up.

The plan that day was to fish one river in the morning and another in the afternoon. When I arrived at the second river I reached into my vest pocket, unzipped and now empty. No fly box. It’d be a lie to say there was no panic. To those who say fly fishing really isn’t that expensive, try losing an almost full fly box. Buying a few flies at a time doesn’t seem like much; add them up and it can be tidy sum.

After only a short internal debate I headed back to the first river. It should have been a futile search. More than likely, the fly box was about five miles downstream by now.

Retracing my steps, on the last boulder, nestled in moss, was my fly box.

I’ve adopted on-the-water rituals since then. I have lost a net to some trees while hiking through thick bush. One rod’s been broken. That fly box, however, was the one lost item that made me question taking up this hobby.

I didn’t give up. It’s all been downhill ever since.


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is anybody home?

The excuses could include the fact that it’s the holiday season, it’s too doggone cold and that the general trout season is closed. Simply, I’ve been busy. Funny thing, though, is that I’m okay with not fly fishing for a while.

It struck me this week how I often remain oblivious to many of the changes in my life. It’s nothing I’m concerned about, and actually pleasant to know that our now kid-less life is evolving into an adventure.

The world is full of books, blogs and articles addressing what one might or should do when the next is inevitably empty. Free time can become something to be filled. Rooms may remain vacant and unused. Hours or days can be occupied reading those books, blogs and articles, or that time can be devoted to doing something that’s enjoyed.

Our time has been spent exploring, taking on a new hobby, re purposing space throughout the house; most of the time doing so together. Last fall’s adventure discovering new places not too far from the cabin will hopefully become part of all of our future visits. One new(ish) hobby is target shooting, something that hearkens back to my growing up years, but has grown to encompass a refinement of skills. Karen took up a new course of study a while ago; I’m exploring — more formally — certain interests, including Javascript and creative writing. I hope to get out on the motorcycle a bit more.

Sure, I turned 50 this year, but like many birthdays it was like every day of my life so far; marked by subtle transition rather than a sudden transformation.

The preceding years were largely artificially constrained by scheduling imposed by schooling, not something I resent, but impactful nonetheless.

Now, I’m looking forwards to more closely following the rhythms of nature.


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reality television makes me seem so smart (or, can you drown a fish?)

Whenever I’m flipping channels, I find myself stopping all too often on one reality television or another and occasionally spend too much time staring in disbelief. Few are engaging enough to warrant a season pass on the Tivo.

To me, reality television seems makes everyone else appear way more broken or stupid than myself or anyone I know, and if watched with the proper amount of cynicism, the absurdity quickly transforms into at least amusement, if not eventually outright hilarity. It’s almost a form of therapy that can make one feel so much better about one’s lot in life. (Full disclosure: Karen and I regularly watch “COPS,” and we figure there’s got to be a drinking game centered on the common suspect retort, “These aren’t my pants.”)