The genteel trout anglers take aim at one another in this PDF of a New York Times book review from 1914:
An Expert’s Reply to a Criticism of the Dry-Fly Method With Some Pertinent Comments
The genteel trout anglers take aim at one another in this PDF of a New York Times book review from 1914:
An Expert’s Reply to a Criticism of the Dry-Fly Method With Some Pertinent Comments
Last year I liberated my dad’s old Horrocks-Ibbotson fiberglass fly rod from a dusty corner of the boat shed. [I'd say "borrowed" but that implies the intent to return it.] Since then it has become my favorite stick for trout fishing. I’m pretty sure it was a low end rod in its day, but it just has a great feel to it for trouting applications. Plus, at only 7 1/2 feet, it’s much easier to wield on the small brush lined streams I frequent before the stripers show up.
I’m having a hard time finding quality information about the manufacturer, though. So far this is the most relevent link I’ve found. If anyone knows more about the company and its rods, shoot me an email or leave a comment.
Tell me who said this, who he said it to, and when and I’ll send you my hardcover review copy. First correct gets it done.*
You’re not an idiot. Huh! You’re not a goddamn looney now, boy. You’re a fisherman!
*Last time I did this someone answered in about 30 seconds, so I’m not trying to generate traffic or anything, just giving someone a book.
Buster Wants To Fish reports the story of a European corporation’s efforts to hijack a Chilean river, and of the grass roots efforts to stop it.
UPDATE: The Caddis Fly has an post about stocking and Oregon steelhead. And Fly Talk has an article on breeding and stocking whirling resistant rainbows.
If I want to fish for trout within an hour’s drive of my house, I have to fish stocked waters. Actually, almost every accessible stream within reason is stocked at some point in the season. It’s a fact of life.
It’s usually easy to tell how long a trout has been in the stream by how it reacts to a fly. If it’s fresh out of the hatchery it typically blasts just about anything that drifts or swims by it, regardless of presentation. When it is hooked, it doesn’t know what to do at first, probably thinking along the lines of, “that pellet I just ate seems to be pulling me in a direction I do not wish to go. This is disconcerting.”
But as the season goes on and they survive day after day of being pummeled by catch-and-release fly anglers, they start to take on a more wary persona. They become feral like domesticated animals such as cats or pigs when left to their own devices. They start acting like, well, trout.
The whole stocked vs. wild trout debate is interesting to someone like me who primarily fishes salt and warm water. But some guys get pretty fired up about it. I once read an article by a wild trout advocate who said (paraphrasing) that the fact there is stocking at all represents a colossal failure of trout management policies.
I checked out a couple of Trout Unlimited articles on the subject and came away with the following passage:
“In those streams where water quality is exceptional, TU advocates sustainability. Those streams have qualities that enable them to withstand fishing pressure without the need for stocking. Those streams have large numbers of all sizes of fish. But TU also recognizes that most streams fail to meet the quality standards that enable native populations to be sustained. This is especially true for streams that reside within the reach of large population centers.”
And here’s a link to an article from a Pennsylvannia paper on stocked vs. wild trout.
My questions are, if trout survive the season and then the winter as holdovers, are they then considered wild? Does their wildness then progress by degree with each subsequent season and winter? Should it be an accepted reality that in order to have sustainable trout angling, stocking must be done, or is it, as the one guy wrote, representative of a fishery management failure?
I took a late afternoon trip to the Connetquot River on Long Island yesterday. The rules have changed since they discovered a virus at the hatchery this winter. For one, the use of chest waders and felt-bottomed boots is prohibited. There is limited wading on the river below the hatchery, but only in hip waders. (Very few people can wear hip waders without looking ridiculous, and odds are you are not one of them.) I’ll put up the official new rules in a future post.
What else has changed? The days of retarted meat slab fishing (or hero fishing, depending on your perspective) appear–at least for the time being–to be over. The park is still stocking the river, but you can no longer approach a hole, cast a piece of yarn on a size 16, and expect a stocked brook trout to assault it. The trout are still numerous, but in each of my visits to the river this season they’ve behaved like, well, trout. They spook if you approach the river without caution, they don’t forgive you if you flub a cast, and they hightail it somewhere else if you brazenly false cast over their heads. Where it used to be normal to catch upwards of 20 trout, with days of over 40 (then it could rightly be called stupid fishing), this year I’ve averaged around four a trip. Yesterday I worked hard to catch a couple of wary browns and a chunky brook, and connected with a reel-zinging rainbow of serious proportions that would have qualified for Slab of the Month status had it not straightened out the hook. But no one wants to read about almosts, so I’ll end it there.