Recently in Humor Category

Soul patches are out. (Actually they've been out for about three years.) So what's next?

According to Jeff Lund, the 1800s provides a perfect answer in the neck-beard, a "Thoreauly" independent and fishy expression of personal style. "This-dude-is-so-sweet-we-say-all-three-of-his-names, Ralph Waldo Emerson penned, 'Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.' Is there a better way to live than letting the wild air get stuck in your throat beard? I think not."

For all of you science nuts who happen to also love cooking, researchers have come up with formulae for all the important (if you live in England and enjoy biscuit dunking and tasteful slurping) food recipes. Apparently one of these food geeks is a also a fly fishing nut. "To make a pancake you need to know how to crack an egg. Enter Glasgow University's Poultry Research Unit. Researchers found a palette knife is ideal, combined with a fly-fishing action and 30 Newtons of force." Kate Youde in the U.K.'s Independent.

"'Two years into my Montana residency, I've already achieved journeyman status at standing next to my grill with a can of Pabst in my hand, floating down the Blackfoot on an inner tube, and reacting to every new City Council resolution by exclaiming 'this is Big Brother government at its worst!' But those skills will only carry me so far. To approach true Montananness, what I really need to do is get better at killing things in the woods." On New West, Sutton Stokes describes his eventful journey toward becoming a true Montanan, complete with wild fish that chase flies out of the water.

You may have mad skills, Alex O'Loughlin, but you might want to pick up a copy of Joan Wulff's "Dynamics of Fly Casting" before going trout fishing again. The idea is for the fly line to gradually release it's kinetic energy; that bullwhip crack is the noise of wasted effort. "I grew up fishing for trout. I'm not the best fly fisherman, but I can fly-fish, because I crack a whip. I learned to crack a whip as a boy, out on the properties."

We'll still watch you on "Three Rivers," though.

John McDonald recently discovered something unusual about the dog that he rescued from the Lewis and Clark Humane Society in Helena: the dog took a particular interest in his fly fishing techniques and even exhibited perfect streamside etiquette. "'He's intense,' my brother said from a short distance a way. 'He hasn't taken his eyes off that fly.' 'It's kind of freaky,' I responded, looking down at Jimmy James. 'I get the sense he's judging me.'" On NewWest.com.

Something's irksome about seeing a couple of guys driving three new SUVs around in a famous salmon river. But then I wouldn't have thought to use the new Land Rover 4's Surround Cam as a "live-action fish finder" either.

Seattle Seahawks fan blogger Tom Welsh is having a particularly bad year (or two), first being forced to breathe the air in the Ennis bars, then getting stuck sharing the air with Steeler-loving fly fishing guides in southwest Montana. "I nicknamed Leon I Shakes the Clown because he had a real hard time tying knots in the morning. A couple shots courtesy of my father in law loosened him up. But as my father in law will tell you, there is nothing like a ride on the back of a boat on the Beaverhead with a Camel trailing smoke in your face. Lovely. At least it masked the stink of the cows." On SeattlePI.com.

Susan Cocking's never-ending permit quest continues with a trip to Biscayne Bay, where from all the evidence it can be assumed that she did finally get a permit to eat her fly. She just didn't come tight. "The next permit encounter would have sent any otherwise-sane fly fisherman to the psycho ward. I am not kidding. I cast the fly a foot or so in front of the fish's nose and it darted after it. At some point between making a strip on the fly line and then making the next quick strip, Ball said the fish inhaled the fly and spat it out."

"Add relaxation to the list of things President Barack Obama has gotten wrong lately. As anyone who's ever tried to fly fish can tell you, fly fishing isn't a relaxing escape from work, work is a relaxing escape from fly fishing." Cartoonist Mike Thompson has a slightly different take on Barack Obama's recent fly fishing "vacation." In the Detroit Free Press.

Writer and stand-up comic Rich Hall spends much time in the UK these days, performing as his redneck alter-ego Otis Lee Crenshaw, but his thoughts are never far away from the U.S. West and fly fishing. "Hall returns to the US fairly often - most recently, to go 'back to the source' for some inspiration for his Edinburgh show. 'It's about fly-fishing, which is still a big hobby of mine,' - something anyone could have guessed from the eccentric, unappreciated Rich Hall's Fishing Show, one of BBC Four's forgotten gems - 'and I've never really tried to turn it into a performance oriented thing.'" In the U.K. Herald.

To be honest, stories like this make me wonder if some British carp weren't meant to be born with handles on both ends, but the mysterious death of a 25-year-old fish named Benson involves quite a bit of intrigue. Explanations range from toxic Tiger Nuts to failed pregnancy (yes, Benson was a girl). "'Within the fishing fraternity, she was like a film star, like Raquel Welch,' said Dave Wilmot, a fisherman from Nottingham, standing on the shores of Kingfisher Lake in a pouring rain this week. 'Like Sophia Loren,' another angler piped in, and 'equally difficult to catch.'" Alistair MacDonald and Paul Sonne in The Wall Street Journal. (Thanks to readers Tom Rosenbauer and David Dalu for this link.)

Orvis will no doubt be flattered by Kevin Hassett's recommendation that high-end fly fishing gear be handed out to food-stamp recipients, but if my two hours on upper Poudre River in Colorado yesterday was any evidence, it will take more than a carefully presented bead head nymph to solve world hunger and other "big-think" economic problems.

Wine expert and "not very good" fly fisher Lorn Razzano decided that he might compensate for a lack of natural skills by preparing the perfect streamside snack. Suddenly, the repast is threatened by the splash of a fine Burgundy into the middle of the stream. "I was leaning over on the river when the unthinkable happened, my Burgundy, wrapped in a cool red neoprene jacket, flipped from my pack and dropped into the water. I stood there dumbfounded as the current bounced the bottle on the bottom of the river, downstream and out of my line of sight." In the Ashland, Oregon Daily Times.

Chester Allen traces the route many of us take in becoming better-geared fly fishers: infatuation with the fashionable, followed by fascination with the new, followed by the somewhat inevitable "crankdom." "My wader story during the past 30 years started with baggy, fabric waders, moved to sleek rubber waders, then to neoprene waders - and now we're back to baggy, fabric waders, albeit made with cloth that lets hot air escape while keeping wet water out." In the Washington state Olympian.

Whether a real memory issue or a symptom of information overload, the affliction hits most of us at one point or another. Most of us have had days when one unfinished project leads to another... and another. "About this time, I got to thinking I need screws for the door, some dubbing material for the flies and construction paper for the feathers. It wouldn't hurt to pick up a fresh drill index either, and the hardware store is just 10 minutes away." Lee Stokes in the Island Packet.

As further evidence that reptiles of all sorts are migrating west and north from the non-petting zoo that we call south Florida, two boys attempted to kill an alligator in Jasper County, Indiana with a bow and arrow (they were spearing frogs). Unsuccessful, they returned with a 120-gauge [sic] shotgun, and dispatched the creature. I'm guessing both kids grabbed hold of the gun at the same time and backed up against a large tree before pulling the trigger.

Meanwhile, a shark takes his revenge on a spear-fisher who figured one good head shot would scare the beast away from his clients.

Apparently it is not a good week for people with pointy sticks.

Nah. The secret fly that Bryant Earl Baines used to catch multiple 20-plus-pound bass in Georgia was apparently not in the arsenal of professional angler Manabu Kurita, who caught a 22-pound, 5-ounce bass in Lake Biwa, Japan's largest lake. He used live bait.

If you missed our April Fool's Day article, be sure to read "Operation Quittman" on MidCurrent.

Best fishing hat story ever? Ralph Bartholdt tells of an unlikely jet boat sighting, Sandra Day O'Connor's fish-ID skills, and backtracking to find an old favorite. "The Boulder is a rocky stream with silver water pounding large, washed stones and the boat's gunwales could have notched the trees on both sides. On her bow was a bikini blond in Farah sunglasses and the man behind the wheel had a serious, oh-oh look, like maybe he had taken a wrong turn in his quest for the Yellowstone Club."

Just when you thought that we were begin flung helplessly into a future run by technocrats.... In what could only be described as a sure way to limit the candidate pool, Bozeman, Montana city officials are asking city job applicants for their private logins and passwords to social networking sites. "The city argues that it only uses the information to verify application information -- and says it won't hold it against anyone for refusing to provide it. City officials say such checks can be useful, especially when hiring police officers and others in a position of public trust." Dan Frommer in the Silicon Valley Insider.

Maybe they just want to see who's giving away all the secret fishing spots.

Artist and author Bob White tells the story of two crusty Alaskan guides who get their fill of whiskey and rugrats in "Rusty's Big Pike Adventure." "Rusty stood stoically behind his sunglasses, arms crossed, looking like a ZZ Top album cover except when he ducked a lure or dodged a fly rod. 'I'm fly fishing, I'm fly fishing,' the Little Princess sang as she hopped between her brothers, slicing the air in wide and deadly arcs. 'There aren't any fish here,' announced the second-oldest boy, a real weasel if I ever saw one. 'I want to go where there're fish.'" In this month's Gray's Sporting Journal.

See Bob White's art at Whitefishstudio.com.

"The trail continues through fish pools filled with local species and displays of what they feed on. One instructive panel shows a model of a fish brain next to that of a human. 'This is one of our little jokes,' says Ms. Ratcliffe. 'Notice the difference in size, but probably 11,000 books have been written by one on how to catch the other.'" From Ann Landy's article about the Adirondacks Wild Center in yesterday's Wall Street Journal.

A great quote gleaned from Chester Allen's column this morning in the Washington state Olympian: "A lot of the best fishing happens when the neighbors are watching people lose weight, get lost in the jungle or scream at each other on nighttime television. Good fishing also happens when the neighbors are watching impossibly bright-eyed people read news off teleprompters, cook perfect meals in less than three minutes or when a talking sponge puts on square pants during early morning television."

An uncredited writer (why do newspapers do this?) in the Payson, Arizona Roundup writes a hilarious, tongue-in-cheek set of suggestions for avoiding disaster while fly fishing. "Some experts recommend draining a stream before fishing. This will enable you to survey the bottom and locate any likely trout hiding places. Mark these spots with sturdy stakes before letting the water back into the stream."

"New Yorkers have to wait for hours to get into the hottest sushi bar in Chelsea. Montanans aren't into eating bait, but we are into fish, and will drive for days through the middle of nowhere to get to that primo trout stream. And we won't tell you where it is 'cause then we'd have to kill you." On New West, Betsey Weltner fires back at New York Times columnist Gail Collins "wimpy cowboys" comments by offering Letterman's "10 Reasons Montanans Are Tougher Than New Yorkers."

Personally, the whole idea of a "man cave" as antithetical to my need to have access to a 360-degree view of the horizon at any given moment, but Henry Miller writes entertainingly about it in this morning's Oregon Statesman-Journal. "It is in this guy space that the traditional manly arts are performed: fly tying, cleaning and oiling firearms and re-spooling rods with fresh fishing line, along with turning perfectly good wood into piles of shavings. A master of efficiency, I can glue the new felts on my wading boots to the top of the workbench and set off the smoke detector by singing the hair off my arm with a propane torch, all in one evening."

In an apparent late entry for April Fool's Day, Kinston, North Carolina's Jon Dawson reports on what may be the ultimate expression of wilderness-free fly fishing. "Sewer Trout Enterprises is doing everything they can to protect potential customers. 'Obviously, if you're going to go fishing in the middle of Vernon Avenue, you should take precautions,' Runyon said. 'We'll be selling disposable fluorescent orange fishing suits for $99.95.'"

Author John Gierach acquires a new custom cane rod and decides on a less-than-perfect test: fishing the slush of Colorado's South Platte. "I've repeatedly promised myself that I won't fish if it's so windy I can't keep my hat on or so cold the line freezes, but most years I end up doing both a few times anyway, sometimes by accident and occasionally on purpose, because, as Annie Dillard said, 'Tomorrow is another day only up to a point.'" In Gray's Sporting Journal.

I've had the misfortune of reading dozens of opening day fishing articles in U.S. newspapers this month. But there are so many surreal moments in Stan Grossfield's coverage of opening day on Connecticut's Farmington River that I feel like I was there. Which -- I think -- is the way the good reporting is supposed to work and used to work before newspapers tried to become printed Web pages. From trout-shaped pancakes to "butt whuppins from the wife" to the desire to mount fish that just arrived from the hatchery, the scene at Riverton is oddly touching and hilarious at the same time. "Across the banks, a man with no sense of etiquette is casting into everything but fish. After several tangled lines, Szmajlo talks politely to him through clenched teeth, before being forced to move on. 'People who can't fish shouldn't be using lures,' he says. 'He snagged me once in the boot and my buddy once in the neck.'" In the Boston Globe.

"I took casting lessons on dry land in a park near my Alexandria, Va., home. 'You've got natural rhythm,' called out a homeless guy who was watching me. Everyone, it seems, is an expert on fly-fishing." In USA Today's new magazine OpenAir, newcomer Mindy Fetterman is convinced by a friend to take up fly fishing, and eventually finds herself in a hypnotic trance in the middle of Montana's Madison River.

Why has it been so long since Dave Barry's written about fishing? He wants to deprive us of smiles? This excerpt is a couple of years old, but the New York Daily News thought it was worth recycling, and we agree. "We purchased fishing licenses and hired a guide named Susanne, who is German but promised us that she would not be too strict. Susanne had me and Ron Ungerman (Ha ha!) put on rubber waders, which serve two important purposes: 1) they cause your legs to sweat; and 2) they make you look like Nerd Boy from the Planet Dork."

But the laughing's not. April Fool's Day exposed the humorous sensibilities of several fly fishing writers/photographers, including the folks at Alaska Fly Fishing Goods, who revealed a new steelhead stream under construction in downtown Juneau, a killer Mommas and Babies mouse pattern, and waders made -- conveniently -- entirely from Aquaseal. "Try on a pair. You will be amazed. Note: Because Aquaseal is clear by nature, we strongly recommend you don't wade 'commando.'"

Meanwhile, Kirk Deeter of Fly Talk reported that portions of the Mississippi will soon be declared fly-fishing- and catch-and-release only. "Noodling for catfish will still be allowed in all sections of the river and its tributaries."

And over on Singlebarbed, where April 1 sometimes seems to come two or three days a week, Keith Barton struggles with the ethical conundrum of whether or not to kill a potential world record pike minnow: "... and what kind of fame does an IGFA accredited World Record Pikeminnow really bring? Kissing babies and cutting ribbons, Paris Hilton on one arm, little mean-spirited rat dog clutched uncomfortably to my bosom, or is it really infamy, the kid with the largest unsightly blemish caused by ingestion of a single candy bar?"

Meanwhile Dan Bacher's keyboard seemed to run away with him as he reported on a 10,000th California lawsuit, the last New England groundfish, Mexican drug cartels expanding into fishing, and monthly $13,201.69 oil drilling royalty checks for Alaskans, "as long as they stay in Alaska."

Lastly, if you didn't notice Scott Bowen's entertaining MidCurrent reportage on the breaking of the George Perry bass record, read it here. Not content to enjoy the swarm of emails that resulted from his tomfoolery, Bowen kept me going for about two hours yesterday with this additional report: "Pretty wild news about Winston, eh? But they might be on to something. Production shift to 80% bamboo. Seems they're going to move entirely away from graphite over the next four years. 'Greening' process, and improved trade with China (the best bamboo)."

"Really?" I said.

PERHAPS YOU'VE HEARD of the George Perry bass record. More than seventy-five years ago, Perry caught a 22-pound, 4-ounce fish on a Fintail Shiner lure made by the Creek Chubb Bait Company. His fish --- landed prior to the existence of the IGFA but recorded by Field & Stream as a world record --- has become mythical in stature, inspiring tens of thousands of bass anglers to try and catch a larger fish, and even becoming the subject of a best-selling book.

Even we've been bitten by the bug. Last summer we did a round trip of some popular south Georgia bass sloughs, throwing hair bugs, poppers, clousers and bunny-fur leeches and having a whale of a time watching big and small bass try and commit suicide over a variety of flies. Along the way, we stopped to buy some bug spray in the tiny town of Crayville and were astonished to find that almost all the local fishermen used fly rods. Casual questioning produced the surprising reason: rumors of a secret fly that had broken Perry's bass record not once, but many times, and that had even thrown long-time friendships and family loyalties into question. The fly, we heard, was about to be the subject of a court case.

Recently Scott Bowen agreed to go to south Georgia for MidCurrent and look further into the story. What he found surprised us, startled us, and confirmed what we had always suspected: that the right flies will out-fish hard-body lures, jerkbaits and even live minnows when it comes to the very biggest warmwater fish.

Read the full story in "Operation Quittman."

When I lived in Montana, one of my favorite seasons was winter. In addition to the utter stillness and quiet, there was the spectacle of a bald eagle who would fish outside my office window one or two days a week. It's how I learned that eagles are not very good swimmers. Perhaps the water was two shallow, or the eagle's technique not quite perfected, but inevitably he would try to pin a trout to the streambed, then waddle and flop to shore.

Apparently the eagles on Utah's Green River are much more sophisticated. According to Carl "Boomer" Stout of Green River Outfitters, the eagles there have learned how to do the San Juan shuffle. Of course it's considered cheating for humans to do it, but I'm guessing wildlife officers would be hesitant to approach a full-grown eagle practicing the technique -- at least not without backup. Tom Ross in the Steamboat Pilot and Today.

Wednesday night on "The Late Show," David Letterman let loose on the American Museum of Fly Fishing's decision to invite the former vice president to their annual fundraising dinner.

"Cheney has now been invited to speak at the American Museum of Fly Fishing. After his speech, he's going to demonstrate how to waterboard a trout." From The New York Times.

It is, after all, the thought that counts. "What is it about [hosting a talk show] that's so addictive? I don't know. I think if I had a hundred million dollars, I'd head for the hills. I'd grab a fly-fishing rod. The last anyone has ever heard from me. Now I say that, but I don't mean it. I know six months would go by and I'd be like, 'Hey, you know what would be funny?' and try to convince somebody of something." Melissa Grego in Broadcasting & Cable.

In The American Spectator, essayist Christopher Orlet ponders whether it is too much to ask that a man be allowed to escape winter by engaging in blood sports -- in silence. "I remember hearing Garrison Keillor recount how in the old days Minnesota men were known to go stir crazy during winter and were sometimes found by their wives squatting naked and grunting round a campfire they'd built on the living room floor. All these men needed were a few days in a heated duck blind."

Clearly uninspired by the lecturers, Rick Methot suggests an economic fix in the form of free hogs, private stills, and seeds for hybrid tomatoes after a recent trip to the Harrisburg, Pennsylvania Fly Fishing Show. "During one seminar on the famed fly streams of the Keystone State, the lecturer nearly swooned while prattling on about the wonders of a five-inch brook trout and the 'challenges' of the low-crawl approach to trickle-water streams where fish might spawn on wet leaves. One wanted to shake the bloke and suggest he get a grip on himself." In the Lebanon Daily News.

Some Montana beer names enjoy a longer life than others. (GrizWhiz made a big splash, then sales trickled to nothing.) In the Great Falls Tribune, Stacy Byrne talks about the serendipity and inspiration that goes into marketing hand-crafted beer.

Move over, 14-weights. Houston, British Columbia, lays claim to the largest fly fishing rod in the world, which, according to the Travel British Columbia Web site, "sits menacingly between the Chamber of Commerce building and Steelhead Park." "The rod is 60-feet long and made entirely of aluminum (aluminium for you readers outside of North America). To date, the rod has never caught a fish - nor has anyone been Herculean enough to even use it - but tales from local fishermen of valiant struggles and harrowing escapes from titanic monsters of the sea indicate that the rod will eventually be brought into action." (Which PR agency wrote that copy?)

Here's a better picture.

"Our hackle for fly-tying in those days didn't amount to much in quality, so this might just be the way for us, in our callow youth, to improve our fly-tying supplies. I told my boss that we wanted a really mature old rooster, with fine, full plumage. He was amused and good enough to oblige us kids and got us the bird we thought we wanted -- that turned out to be one hell of a big, tough, mean and dangerous old bird." Gordon Wickstrom recounts a life lesson learned, courtesy of a mature cock rooster. In the Boulder Daily Camera.

That's the question a female harbor seal might have asked herself after she was booted out of Cape Cod's Sandwich trout hatchery after gorging on "untold numbers of four-pound trout." "No one is quite sure exactly how the seal ended up at the state fish hatchery. She had to travel about two miles from the area of the Sandwich Boardwalk on Cape Cod Bay, follow a creek that passes under a mini-golf course and Route 6A and runs through a wooded area skirting the fish hatchery, before somehow making her way to the hatchery lagoons." Karen Jeffrey in the Cape Cod Times.

The Huffington Post's Katherine Thomson ran across something unusual in the Wikipedia entry for Paul Reiser yesterday. Someone had updated the actor/comedian's entry to note that he "was discovered dead in the Squallahassee River where he reportedly enjoyed fly fishing. No foul play was suspected." The reality? There is no Squallahassee River and Reiser is alive and probably happily fishing still.

Despite providing another example for why unattributed Web content shouldn't be trusted, the story does give us a convenient euphemism for moving on to the next life. I can hear it now: "He's gone to fish the Squallahassee."

Beyond helping to define state borders and being used by geologists to trace the slope between two points, 'thalweg' is used by stream restorationists in determining the deepest part of a river or stream -- and therefore the line of highest water velocity.

So I can easily imagine someone inventing a whole series of instructions based on proper approach to a stream's thalweg. Or specialized casts and mends designed to plumb the depths of the thalweg. Or an ambitious writer describing how "the scaly beast headed straight for the thalweg." Or a new fast-sinking fly line series called "Thalweg Exstream." Oops, I hope no fly line marketers are reading this.

Author Alan Liere writes about doing whatever it takes to get permission to fish a farmer's private stream. "'Dwayne wants to kiss you,' the lady said. 'See how he's cocking his head. Just stick your face over the fence, mister, and I'll bet you can kiss him.' 'I'm trying to quit,' I mumbled. Nevertheless, I knew the rules of permission- seeking, so I closed my eyes and stuck my face over the fence. Dwayne snorted, lassoing my eyebrows and nose with a great gob of hog slobber." Excerpted on the Spokesman Review from Liere's new book Fish Tales (Stackpole Books, January 2009, 176 pages).

Fish Tales: A Collection of Humorous Fishing Stories on Amazon.

"Boldly Going Nowhere" is the title of Bret Burquest's blog in the Salem, Arkansas News. Talking to fish, which Burquest claims to have done many times, fits right in with profiling of masonic Confederate generals and having a mom who is "part bobcat." In addition to writing about cabals of secret societies, UFO cover-ups and the "falling" in falling in love, Burquest notes the following utterances from things that swim:

"Crappie in Medicine Lake, Minn. -- 'We are born naked, wet and hungry. Then things get worse.'"

"Rainbow trout in Cut Bank, Mont. -- 'I believe in the 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.'"

Anyone considering a prenuptial or other kind of agreement with their spouse over baby naming rights should pay close attention to this one. Jackie Sealy gave her husband the absolute choice over middle names. The result: Brooke Trout, Carter Barack Obama, and Cooper John Elway. "Yes, Roger Sealy is a fisherman, and now, so is Brooke, who has caught many a 'huge' bluegill with her Barbie fishing rod. Even so, dad isn't delusional about how charming Brooke may find her middle name when she's older." Laura Snider in the Boulder Daily Camera.

According to the English Fly Fishing Shop, there is a reasonable chance that a fly fishing trip to North America will be your last. Among the possible vectors of certain death: the sun, jellyfish, canyons, bacterium, sea urchins and hunters, not to mention the more typically lethal bears, mountain lions and elk. The authors did forget the notorious gray wolf, which prowls the more famous streams of Yellowstone National Park and has developed a taste for anglers who carelessly dress themselves to resemble small elk. (Look for the link "DANGER - Fly Fishing in America" at the bottom of this page.)

Jerry Maxwell admits that common sense doesn't play a large role in reaching the big brown trout of fall, at least when you are toting lawn chairs and beer coolers across slick basaltic rock. "So, with mud-slickened tennis shoes I set out down that 480-foot path with all my tackle, fishing pole, fishing fold-up chair, cooler with 14 beers, live worms and fishing hat to hit that gorgeous piece of river...and made it about 22 feet. Then, Murphy's Law of Physics took effect and I found myself (and 100 pounds of gear and beer) sliding and bouncing off basalt all the way down (458 feet) to where the lunkers were lying in that hole in the bend of the river." In the Sierra Mountain Times.

As we all know, just being in a boat ramp or launch site is guaranteed to lower the average human IQ by 50 points. I've driven the skiff away from my still-running rig (though unlike my friend I didn't make it as far as the Marquesas before realizing the mistake). Other acquaintances have dropped their Clackacrafts off of cliffs that were a bit too steep and even seen their pickups bubbling at the bottom of canals. This morning Brett Prettyman cites a case of excusable theft when a dory gets launched without a tether. "The dory, loaded with fly rods and lord knows how much in flies and gear but sans any anglers or a guide, was now adrift. Dave, being the wily river veteran that he is, did the only thing he could and stole the then-unmanned boat belonging to Luke." In the Salt Lake Tribune.

In a 1989 column about fly fishing for smallmouth bass, New York Times writer Nelson Bryant uncovers old-style justice as practiced by Mainers protecting brook trout waters. "'There are,'' [Bob] Newman wrote, ''a few closet bass fishermen in the area. I won't say who they are or where they live, but they have been catching these "trash" fish in Lufkin Pond in Phillips. One of these fellas said he was thinking about transplanting a few into Haley Pond (a brook trout pond). I shot him.''

"You're hot!" says the animated trout leaping from the button fly of Levi's latest viral marketing vision. Depending on your age and your ability to appreciate trout wearing neckties, this either shows you how edgy you have to be to get a job selling pants in a market flooded with denim, or just gives you nightmares. Here's the default message sent in the email: "There's something I've been meaning to tell you, but I don't want to freak you out. That's why I'm sending my beast to do my dirty work." Too late.

"The trick with this ploy is to wait until, at the end of the day, the others have made their claims about the alleged sizes of fish caught or numbers landed and then to cap each by a telling, yet credible amount. Something in the range of 15 to 20 per cent works well for me, although a straight doubling may be possible if only beginners are present." U.K. Times fishing columnist Brian Clarke suggests multiple ways to take prevarication to the level of high art.

All that's missing from this news out of the Iranian Agriculture News Agency is a plea for more and better translators. "'This number of child fish has been released in the foresaid rivers. 10 thousand in the first river and 10 thousand in the second,' said Rezvaani, the head of the center of repairing fish reservoirs of Kolaar Dasht."

Take one rottweiler, dress them in camo neoprene, and place them next to their doting owner with a bag of doggie biscuits. Arkansas guide John Berry offers some advice on taking your dog fishing in the Baxter Bulletin. "I observe a lot of anglers that fish with their dogs. These canines are content to just sit on the bank and watch. Why does mine have to be in the center of the action?"

Hidden among Jon Stewart's Democratic convention barbs may the best explanation yet for why the Federation of Fly Fishers and other organizations and companies are coming to view Colorado as the epicenter of fly fishing in the U.S. "Stewart warmed the crowd by remarking on how 'suspiciously friendly' the locals are. The Colorado stereotypes continued: 'You're all in very good shape.'" Joanne Ostrow in the Denver Post.

It's a known fact that if you are driving around in Mexican waters at 3:30 AM you are likely to end up stuck in a giant Korean tuna pen. So who's surprised at what happened to these guys? Jon Walker tells a story filled with guns, money and high-seas drama as some U.S. anglers ponder their choices. "'Right then, the Coast Guard helicopter swoops down between me and the boarding party,' Nichols said. 'He comes out on the loudspeaker and says, "You will stand down. You are not gonna board. This is an American vessel." The hair on the back of our necks stood up.'" On ESPN.com.

Meanwhile, sushi lovers may or may not be startled by this story in The New York Times, in which two teenage scientists have discovered that one-fourth of all sushi sold in New York is mislabeled. Maybe the fish in that Mexican pen were giant saltwater tilapia?

In Barrons, Jim McTague describes his horrifying encounter with Ursus wallstreetus horribilis on a trip to Maine's Grand Lake Stream for smallmouth. "They included big-bank economists, bond traders, money managers and financial consultants who have been brought together in this enchanted world of pristine lakes for almost 10 years by David Kotok, an expert fly fisherman and the chairman and chief investment officer of Cumberland Advisors, a money-management firm in Vineland, N.J."

Wayne Hooper collected ten astonishing strange-but-true stories about outdoors foolishness, including a man who heard that worms work better when warmed in the mouth, a hunter who mistook his neighbor's St. Bernard for a deer, and a distraught bass angler who tried to end his life by prancing around in a thunderstorm with graphite rod and a customized miner's hat.

Word has it that food stores all along the Texas coast are running out of garlic spray.

Writing in The New York Times, Stephen C. Sautner describes his effort to turn a Bermuda cruise ship holiday into a fly fishing sojourn, complete with casts from the ninth-floor balcony and an encounter with Bermuda's sophisticated bonefish. "All of this leaves the do-it-yourself fisherman -- the guy who happens to slip a rod tube and a box of lures or flies into his suitcase-- feeling a little desperate. Which is why I found myself casting, yet not fully thinking through what might happen if I actually hooked something. Would a thrashing jack need to be hauled in hand over hand, past the disco on Deck 7 and the honeymooning couple on Deck 8?"

The semi-recovery of the Wandle has helped inspire imagination among an odd assortment of Londoners, including Design for London, the agency that advises the mayor, and developer James Bowdidge, who started an angling club -- the Tyburn Angling Society -- which has all the reflections of eccentricity one might expect. "John Buchan might easily have invented it as a pastime for a group of Edwardian boy-men with too much time and money on their hands ("Women members are allowed but must always be addressed in the masculine"). There are no records of any fish ever being caught in the Tyburn, but Bowdidge has a picture of himself standing in waders with a rod directed at a drain outside Claridges and later sent me a photograph of a pinkish fillet labelled with the name of a supermarket as 'Tyburn Salmon.'" Ian Jack in the Guardian.

Reminding me of that great Ed Zern quote -- "Fly fishermen are born honest, but they get over it" -- R.J. Mere encounters a pastor on vacation and wonders if his fishing report might be taking the usual liberties.

"'I met this guy who says he's been catching salmon up to 31 inches.'

'Did he show you the fish?'

'No,' I said and then added, 'But he's a man of the cloth.'

Her impish eyes lit up, 'Well, maybe that's why he comes up here on vacation -- so he can tell lies and get it out of his system!'"

On Seacoastonline.com.

Wes Smalling says that before realizing he should probably buy most of his flies, he once fit the prototype of the Fly Shop Guy: "He's that guy who's recently become obsessed with fly-fishing and fly tying. He pops into the store at least once a day -- he never buys anything -- he just hangs around complaining about how expensive everything is and asking a million annoying questions: What size lead wrap do you use for a wooly bugger? Who invented the conehead wooly bugger?" In the Jackson Hole Star-Tribune.

If more fishing reports were written like this, I think I'd actually start reading them. Rob Conery's report for Cape Cod is one of the most entertaining I've ever read. Never mind the "free boat" essay and the two-year tuna, the credits will tell you everything about the veracity of the information. "Information for this column was assembled from a variety of liars, exaggerators, mis-informants, ne'er-do-wells and roustabouts. In other words, from fishermen." In the Cape Code Times.

I just began reading the very entertaining advanced reader's copy of Lefty's upcoming book My Life Was This Big (And Other True Fishing Tales) (Skyhorse Publishing), which will come out in October. (For some reason I was under the impression that I had heard all of Lefty's jokes, but co-writer Chris Millard has managed to give them an eloquence that makes at least some of them seem new all over again.) Glancing through Mike Leggett's piece on Lefty this morning, I was reminded of how the veteran teacher manages to gather all the women in an auditorium when he does a casting demonstration: "'I can teach any woman I'm not married to how to cast,' Kreh says. 'Wives don't listen to what we say, they listen to how we say it. Learn to cast and then find somebody who knows the fish you want to catch. Fly fishermen are willing to share their knowledge, and outside of sex, it's one of the few things that men and women can really enjoy together.'" In the Austin American-Statesman.

Arkansas guide John Berry comes close to landing the fish of a lifetime, only to have his over-excited "assistant" get a leg caught in the tippet. "When it was almost in, it took a huge tail walking leap. I gasped as I realized just how big it was. It was well over 27 inches long and must have weighed at least 10 pounds. It was a gorgeous, vividly colored male brown and it was not happy. This was more than Ellie could handle, and she launched into the river like a torpedo." In the Baxter Bulletin.

Fortunately I had the same experience when I first tried "snoose" at age 15 as Bruce Florquist did while fly fishing on the Blue Mesa Reservoir one evening. His story about sneaking a chew in the school library is pretty funny though. "There developed a protocol for this procedure. Some books were sacrosanct. Nothing by Zane Grey, McKinley Cantor, Jack London or Robert Ruark could be touched. Other books were fair game. Such titles as 'Jane Eyre,' 'Little Women,' 'A Tale of Two Cities' and anything by Laura Ingalls-Wilder were common depositories."

That's 'outlets' as in 'factory outlets,' which have proliferated across the U.S. landscape to the point at which they now straddle Blue Ribbon trout streams. Tom Ross notes that he can't quite get right with the notion of shoppers in breathable waders spotting trout from a pre-fab bridge in between sips of mocha latte in Silverthorne, Colorado. "For the uninitiated, allow me to explain. A gold-medal fishing stretch of the Blue River just below Dillon Reservoir flows right through the middle of the factory outlet stores in Silverthorne. I've always wanted to survey the anglers to see whether their spouses were shopping nearby." In the Steamboat Pilot & Today.

“'You gotta use a worm.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Hell, I caught a 24-incher (using his hands to show how big) down there last week with a crawler. You ought to try a worm.'

'I just might.'

Then the man erupted into a strange, maniacal laughter. I kept walking."

In New West, Joseph Friedrichs encounters the most predictable form of wildlife on the early-season Deschutes.

"Agustín stalks our quarry like a crosscountry skier, hardly glancing down. His Mayan ancestors used stingray barbs to pierce tongue and penis for sacrificial blood-letting while consorts knelt to catch the offertorial drippings in a bowl. You come from a line of folks like that, and you don’t worry so much about your feet. I’ve had plenty of time to read up on Agustín’s ancestry while I wait for a blacksmith to hammer out a prop that looks like the lid of a C-ration can hacked open with a bayonet." O. Victor Miller captures the angst of an anxious gringo who goes bonefishing to get his mind off of women. In Gray's Sporting Journal.

Tim Romano over on Field & Stream's Fly Talk blog digs up an official letter and a wry response regarding the unlicensed construction of a dam on a Pennsylvania man's property. "If you want the stream 'restored' to a dam free-flow condition please contact the beavers -- but if you are going to arrest them, they obviously did not pay any attention to your dam letter, they being unable to read English."

Nick Lough uncovered some arcane rules that Montana apparently forgot to update, among them a law against women fishing on Sunday and a law against women opening their husband's mail. Another one that I think is in the books but that he didn't find is the law requiring everyone to have a loaded rifle bouncing around on the floor of their pickup truck. (Thanks to reader Luca Adelfio for this link.)

"I've seen one fella (who) carved himself an anatomically correct mermaid, and he stared at that the whole day," said Ron Bruce, Department of Natural Resources sturgeon biologist for Wisconsin, in commenting on the variety of sturgeon decoys fashioned by the state's anglers.

It doesn't get much more entertaining than Guardian sports blogger Steven Wells's take on the furor over fox hunting, which, like fishing, he points out, is much better than golf -- especially urban golf. "Since the aristocracy drove us off the land so they could graze sheep -- goes the argument -- the hunting of medium-sized mammals has helped preserve the landscape that makes every British ex-pat in America go weak at the knees when they see helicopter shots of it in adverts for golfing holidays during televised football matches."

Moldy Chum, predictably, has a different take on holiday gift lists. This year they offer presents, of a sort, to their various friends in the media and elsewhere, including Save Our Wild Salmon, AEG, and Way Upstream. Apparently they also think our staff could use some augmenting. (For the record, we didn't describe ourselves as the "CNN of Fly Fishing" -- one of our readers did.)

"Don’t try dying your own fly tying materials. If you can’t resist, know that the most easily dyed color is purple. It is achieved by trying to dye something black." Larry Myhre offers several bits of essential advice for the dedicated fly tier -- all with tongue firmly planted in cheek. In the Souix City Journal.

Here's a pretty funny blog entry by Glen Davis in the Mississippi Clarion-Ledger about what it's like to be a fly fisher in the land of noodlers. "As I turned my head I could see a shirtless young man hanging out of the window of a vehicle. As the line reached me and settled on me like someone had dumped a bowl of green spaghetti over my head, I heard his words 'fly fishing is bull----!' Stung by this profound statement, I turned and hung my head and stared at my boots, which were covered in fly line."

"When I get a migraine and still have a job to do, I wear mirrored Gargoyle sunglasses to block out the light, but it tends to freak out the vampires, what with their natural problem with mirrors. So I'm extra careful with known headache triggers around monsters." Don Barone gives hilarious (but scary) advice on how to interview ghosts, goblins, werewolves, and other assorted spectrally challenged subjects, even the ones that appear at fishing lodges. On ESPN.com.

After ranting for a bit about Budweiser and bad sports, Nick Mills relates a hilarious story about an English lord and his Scottish ghillie (or gillie, if you prefer) on MaineToday.com. "The current was relentless. The lord thought he was going to drown. He yelled to the gillie, who was nowhere to be seen, for help. The gillie did not appear."

Dieter Bradbury notes in Maine's Morning Sentinel that a very popular parody Web site is having some fun at L.L. Bean's expense. The Onion video is of course arousing all kinds of angst among social activists. "The Onion, arguably the most popular news parody site on the Web, is having some fun at the expense of L.L. Bean. A two-minute 'special report' went up Monday on the Onion News Network about a fictional African-American boycott of L.L. Bean products that has been in effect for 80 years." Suffice to say that The Onion sees every demographic as an opportunity to make fun.

I don't know about you, but I will be very happy to see the day when my son outfishes me with a fly rod. Apparently it is a source of consternation for writer Nick Provenza. "But what was sobering that day was running into a guy who was camping along the river. He told me two things I really didn't want to hear: (1) He had caught a 20-inch rainbow earlier that day on a dry fly (Yeah, right!) and (2) My son casts better than me." In the Seattle Times.

Every couple of months it seems that another female journalist takes to fly fishing and rediscovers the quirky appeal of the sport. First it's Fiona Sims in London's Times Online getting the straight talk from instructor Jim Williams: "'You can’t catch what you’ve just scared sh**less.'"

Then new fly fisher Bonnie Sitter stumbles upon the thing that makes good fly fishers out of bad ones: organization. "With his four-ounce rod, he carves out the most amazing knots, the kind of knots my mother dreamed of untying while watching Dallas when I was a child, knots that are twisted and turned and dangerously equipped with a hook, a puzzle even Houdini himself couldn't get out of-- and it took one cast and less than a second to create." On ParadisePost.com.

I recently had to stop drinking coffee in order to help my internal plumbing recover from years of excess caffeinated pleasure. I know this is temporary, and somehow that makes it easier. Still, I fantasize about the French press. And even a whiff from an open coffee bean bag would send me into delirium. I know plenty of fellow fly fishers who would also find quitting coffee harder than ditching cigarettes or alcohol, so a hilarious piece by Matt Suddain on Greatreporter.com made the cut for this morning's news. "Factoid: Coffee was discovered by goats. True story. According to legend, an Abyssinian goat-herder saw his herd acting frisky after they’d eaten red cherries from a shrub. He tasted the fruit and was later spotted dancing with his goats. When challenged by local monks he said only 'A man gets lonely.' Movie idea: Dances With Goats?"

A blogger on BostonNow.com thinks he may follow role model Barry Bonds in pursuing feats of fly fishing that are impossible without a little chemical boost. "Soon I’ll be making 500-foot casts with my five weight. Next fall, I’ll be able to wade West Virginia’s Gauley River when it flows at over 3,000 cubic feet per second. My casting will be so accurate that I’ll land #28 gnats inside of a hummingbird’s ear."

New England stone is rare, especially if you are a businessman living in Manhattan. So what's wrong with pilfering a few pieces from a local landmarks to line your trout pound? "A New York City businessman served prison time after admitting in court that he stole stones from walls, cemeteries and church sidewalks in 2001 and 2002 so he could build a patio and line his trout pond." Article by the Associated Press on Boston.com.

I might think Bill Schneider's suggestion of a 12-Step program for fishermen is a good idea, except that it would impossible for me or any of my friends to follow. For example, Step 5: "Admit first to yourself, then to the Fishing God and then to a loved one or close friend, the exact nature of your wrongdoings, out loud, shamelessly, unrestrained. That means all the laughable exaggerations about the length of your fish, the lame excuses to your spouse about why you needed a new boat or rod, and those reprehensible lies to your boss about why you weren’t coming into work." In New West magazine. (Thanks to TroutUnderground for digging this one up.)

The next time you face the stinging rebuke of an animal rights activist who describes your fly fishing as trout torture, try Dr. John Burk's rebuttal: trout can be monsters, and we are the only ones standing up for the insects.

These days, an attempt by a state legislature to control lying is worthy of the evening news. Still, we could guess that a bill to prevent lying in fishing tournaments might be seen by some politician with higher authority as an attempt to stifle enthusiasm.

"Uptight Seattleite" dispenses advice to a reader whose overly engaging neighbor has too many contradictory hobbies to count, including beer brewing and fly tying. "But it's your neighbor's paradoxical ponytail that points the way toward your solution. Worn with more focus than your neighbor shows, a male ponytail can swing with harmonious ease between sensitivity and virile power. You don't need a real one—you can stand up to your neighbor's ponytail with your own inner ponytail." In the Seattle Weekly.

Just in case you won't be buying in to the Alli craze but instead are deciding whether to fly fish or golf on your summer vacation, 'Diet Detective" Charles Stuart Platkin gives you the food equivalents of practicing each activity for an hour. "Golfing with a cart burns 245 calories an hour (about 1/2 cup Baskin Robbins Cherries Jubilee Ice Cream), whereas fly-fishing in a stream (including walking in the water wearing waders) burns as much as 420 calories (one slice of Papa John's Pan Crust The Meats)."

In search of a bonding moment, a fly fishing dad breaks out the ultimate in golf course pond fishing implements: the Pocket Fisherman. "Although he is not an avid fisherman, the sheer novelty of the Pocket Fisherman had convinced him to give it a try. But I could tell that he was having regrets. For him, this was the perfect storm of dorkiness." Timothy Delaney in The New York Times.

Dog-walker Ed Quillen counts fly fishers among the most courteous of those with whom he shares his daily strolls. "The drivers, when we get to chat, are always friendly. Usually they're anglers, headed for a pullover along the river. A manic dog could disrupt the transcendental fly-fishing experience, but none has ever complained." In the San Francisco Chronicle.

Hard to know whether Seabury Blair Jr.'s commentary on the sport is self-deprecating or just worrying, but he does make some pretty funny observations about the extent of the passion. "Fly fishing is by far and away the most interesting and scientific form of angling. I am certain it was mistakenly invented by the Marquis de Sade, when he tied a yellowjacket that stung him to a line, intending to whip the insect to death at the end of a flexible rod." In Washington state's Kitsap Sun.

"'What I like to do is throw it out at 45 degress and put the rod tip 2 inches above the water, put the rod tip down and let it follow the fly around, this way you don't got to set your hook. When that fish hits, it's tight, but if you leave your rod up he's going to feel the rod, and you don't want him to feel the rod. If everything is tight when he touches it, he's hooked.'" In the final part of Don Barone's hilarious series on fly fishing the classic pools of the Miramichi, his guide and Black Rapids Salmon Lodge manager George Curtis gives advice on making sure the novice angler hooks an Atlantic salmon. On ESPN.com.

Like any wise fly fishing addict, Jane Fonda postponed taking her new partner on any angling excursions until they got to know one another better, according to the U.K.'s Daily Mail. "Fonda did say she has taken him to her ranch but he has not as yet received any fly-fishing lessons - the actress's favourite sport - from her. She explained: 'We didn't spend a lot of time outside.'"

This very funny Part II of a series on Atlantic salmon fishing on the Miramichi by Don Barone includes a profile of a remarkable 82-year-old angler, Annie Pearson. "In the business we call people like Annie 'a walking sound byte.' Here are some Annie-isms: 'I have that Restless Leg Syndrome thing and I find when I dream of fishing, especially when I dream of the fish that got away, I can't stop my legs from a jumping.'" There is also some interesting retrospective here on Ted Williams's salmon fishing days.

Be sure to read the equally entertaining Part I, which was published yesterday.

"Jack Smola recently was guiding a group of fly fishermen through a valley in Patagonia when tragedy struck. 'We broke a bottle of wine while on horseback,' Smola said, grinning over coffee at his home on Hazard Avenue. 'Man, I've never seen five guys lick a horse before.'" Mike Cummings writes in Connecticut's Journal-Inquirer about guide Jack Smola.

"It's as if now you can just purchase at a fly shop the kind of skill and instinct it takes to become a fishing god. Or rent some space on a pay-for-play lake and catch some huge genetically-engineered pig." Randall Sumner rants about the popular but mistaken notion that one can buy expertise in grilling meat and fishing with flies. In the Seattle Times.

Trout bum Randall Sumner ponders whether guiding is in fact the stuff of dreams after all. "Once in a while someone will ask me if I miss the old job, and after some soul searching I must admit I do miss the use of our big company dumpster. It was a beauty." In the Yakima Herald Republic.

"Mix beer, chimney soot, walnut leaves and a little powdered alum in a small pot. Bring to a boil, then chill. Dipping any natural materials you're using in this solution prior to tying is supposed to make a tighter, more attractive fly." So says an article in Men's Health magazine by Joe Kita. The question is, are they really better looking or does the beer you drink while tying them add the apparent luster.

One thing you learn after scanning the newspapers for articles on fly fishing for four years is that some stories never die. They usually involve sex, suggestive humor and fishing in beautiful places. So we weren't surprised to see Larry Myre's "The Girl, the Trout and the Bikini" appear again -- for the third time -- in the Souix City Journal yesterday. "A girl popped out of the driver's side and she began untying the little craft. She was young, blonde and if I was describing a fly I'd have to say well-tied. I could tell because she was wearing a tiny bikini, a very tiny red bikini." This is a story with legs.

"Blue wing olives — or maybe midges — danced on the surface with impunity, the way insects do when there's no danger of trout in the vicinity. I tied on an artificial variation of the insect, letting my fly join the real thing in not getting eaten." Janet Urquhart describes her first day on the water this year as a sartorial disaster, punctuated by a series of mishaps. In the Aspen [Colorado] Times.

Jack Nicklaus must have the same thoughts occasionally, evidenced by a new golf course near some favorite New Zealand fishing spots on the North Island.

"Arrogance or no, it was all properly rationalized within the realm of good fellowship. As it has been for a decade: When it comes to fly fishing I am the mentor, Bob is the student. It is understood that I fish well on wild trout water, that Bob would not." David Foster "mentors" a less apt friend on an easy delayed-harvest stream, only to find his own harvest more delayed than he would like. In Gray's Sporting Journal.

"My photography style is revolutionary French; I tend to cut off the heads off of my subjects. In the world of serious outdoor photography I would be known as a snapshotist." Randal Sumner offers an elegant answer to any photographic challenge: the poser. In the Seattle Times.

If you happen to disagree with Sumner's disdain for the role of cameras in fishing, check out Zach Matthews's list of tips for improving your fly fishing photography.

That's how Howard Meyerson describes Buck Peterson's Complete Guide to Fishing (Ten Speed Press, September 2006, 191 pages), which pokes fun at just about every fishing technique, and especially at cultures of bass fishing and fly fishing: "When comparing fly fishing to bait casting, Peterson's pluck is at its peak. He writes: 'If you are a died-in-the-wool catch-and-release activist, remote lodge owners and equally remote masters of the art form will welcome you into a world filled with warmed Cognac and hand-rolled cigars. Fly fishing marine biologists are discussing such issues as whether bait casting is a birth defect and whether women who bear tournament fisherman should be sterilized ...'" In the Grand Rapids Press. On Amazon.

Alex Heard has discovered that women behave like mad fish in a swarm of insects when he begins distributing his custom-made Christmas wreaths. "The trout gets yanked out of the water, patted on the belly, and released. I get hugged until my eyes bulge, patted on the head, and released. Though, sometimes, the woman chases me down and hugs me all over again." Funny stuff. On Slate.

The Chamber of Commerce of Cotter, Arkansas has a new marketing plan to bring traffic to their tiny town. They are going to call themselves "Trout Town, USA." There's only one problem with the plan: a little place at the junction of the Beaverkill and Willowemoc, Roscoe, New York, has been known by that name for decades.

In the U.S., we worry about flubbed jokes. In Canada, they don't even care if the cameramen digitize out their "bits." Liberal party leadership candidate Bob Rae goes fly fishing and spontaneously jumps buck naked into a lake with RMR host Rick Mercer. "The skinny dipping stunt may have given Rae the kind of bounce Bill Clinton got from his 1991 sax stunt on Arsenio Hall. 'It was certainly a moment,' said Mercer." Bill Brioux in the Toronto Sun.

"'Those were Maccaffertiums over the riffles this evening,' he lectured this would-be impressor as he pulled the specimens he’d collected out of that jar, 'and you said you were using an Isonychia. No wonder you didn’t do well.'" John Street describes how a journey through elitism led to betraying a favorite stream, resisting the temptations of fame, and finally foreswearing Latin forever. In the Clarion (Pennsylvania) News.

After dispensing sage advice on hook removal techniques and barbless hooks, Casey Allen tells one of the funniest anecdotes I've ever read about hooking oneself -- while suffering the after effects of a bar fight. "The doctor did not say much. He selected a big needle and eventually numbed my chin. He then returned with the biggest forceps I have seen and clamped down on the hook. He pulled until it felt like my chin stretched to my knees." In California's Times-Standard.

Why is that when a wife decorates an entire house according to her liking it is called "nest-building," but when a husband chooses the details of his domestic environment he is one step away from being labeled a hydrant-sniffer? Some would say -- given the design instincts of most men -- it is simply natural selection at work. But a new book by author Sam Martin touts the glories of male-crafted spaces, be they an English pub in the basement or Barry Beck's shrine to fly fishing, a picture of which you can see in this article by Marge Colburn in the Detroit News. "'There was a spare patch of ground in the backyard so I went to work,' says Martin, a former editor at This Old House and Mother Earth News. 'Five months, $3,000, a few banged-up fingernails later I had a writing space that was all mine, a place where I call the shots and control the guest list."

A great gift idea for the man who doesn't yet have everything. Manspace: A Primal Guide to Marking Your Territory (Taunton, 224 pages, October 2006) on Amazon.

"If you have any doubts about the fly-fishing dexterity of Sandy Frazier, you should see him balancing a coffee and a doughnut, and reading an adult magazine, all the while driving at excessive speeds. That's the kind of talent you don't see much anymore." Moldy Chum discovered two writers, who happen to be prototypical fly-fishing buddies, exchanging barbs on Outside.com. Be sure to read both entries, one by Jack Handy and one by Ian Frazier.

After sampling life in Missoula and considering writing a book on trout fishing, Keillor realizes that he needs city life to inspire the cantankerousness with which he is so comfortable. On Tuscon.com.

Stuck on the far side of a large Columbian lake, Peace Corp volunteer Nick Mills and his wife discovered that big fat trout command a market rate in the high mountains. On MaineToday.com.

Trout bum Randall Sumner tells why he still can't bring himself to fly fish lakes. In the Seattle Times.

"The instant the flies touched, the skinny water exploded in a beaver-alarm ker-sploink, my rod bent double, the line rifled toward the riffle and then snapped back in my face like a bullwhip crack from Lash LaRue, and I found myself sitting down in the river with my pulse racing and that certain tightness in my upper left quadrant that folks of a certain age really don’t want to feel." James Babb, editor of Gray's Sporting Journal, writes about the big one in his own inimitable style.

It's just when you think you've uncovered something truly unique in fly fishing that someone throws water on your campfire. In Nick Mills's case, it's nymphing for clams. "I was bouncing a nymph down the riffle when the line went taut. Raising the rod tip I felt a weight, a slight pull, and although there was some give to it, unlike if I had been fast to a rock, whatever was on the line didn't fight back." On MaineToday.com.

We admit that we will not be rushing out to purchase the new Woolrich fly fishing vest for dogs, but only because there is not enough room for the water bottles. "The aforementioned tutu displayed here was a tempting choice for our Most Frivolous Outfit Award. But that dubious honor goes instead to the Woolrich doggie fly-fishing vest ($10.39). It comes complete with cargo pockets, embroidered flies and slip-knot chin strap for the matching khaki hat." From the Oregon Register-Guard.

Gary Lewis pokes fun at the excessive concern displayed by U.S. outdoorsmen and sportsmen over their outerwear. Tips: don't wear Realtree camo in Canada, where it will elicit laughs, or in Africa, where it is likely to get you shot. "Growing up in southwest Washington, we fished for steelhead in December. You looked like a logger, except you donned hip waders that filled up with water and a vest bulging with coiled lead and stained with salmon eggs. To complete the ensemble, you tucked a dish towel into your belt so you could wipe your hands." In Oregon's The Register-Guard.

Nick Mills does some good-natured fuming about the newly arrived Orvis catalog, which advertises "the end of the season." "End of season?? Wait a *#&$@% minute! Tempus fugit and all that, but end of season? Can't be, I thought, and a quick check of the ol' calendar on the wall proved that they were only half right." On MaineToday.com.

Dan Blanton took a photo of fellow angler Mike Matica's new earring while on his annual trip to Australia. Ray Sasser shows the image -- poorly optimized, unfortunately -- in his article in the Dallas News. "The fly guys could take self-inflicted body piercing to the next level. Each fly worn through the eyebrow, ear or nose could signify an exceptional fish caught and released. Thus, you could look at the anglers and quickly tell how many big fish they've caught and what fly patterns they favor."

"After days of sweating yourself dizzy you finally come down to 15 pounds, then 10. Finally you say, 'Lord, just let me land a couple of eight pounders and I’ll never ask for anything more the rest of my life.'" Gray's Sporting Journal editor James R. Babb delivers a predictably hilarious story about competing with tournament bass fishermen on a distant Mexican lake.

More notable for me because of the hometown recipe included -- Sullivan’s Island Shrimp Bog -- A. D. Livingston's take on copyeditors and the damage they do must be read by all current and aspiring fly fishing authors. "But all other editors and copyeditors are hereby put on notice: Since I’m advancing in years and may have mad cow disease, I no longer care whether I publish or not. Really. So, copyeditors be prepared to defend your marks, and be warned that I don’t hunt with a 28-gauge." In Gray's Sporting Journal.

I fished with Captain Bob Branham in Biscayne Bay this weekend. Bob has been guiding on the flats east and south of Miami, Florida for almost 30 years. Something funny always happens when guides get together to fish -- this time courtesy of MidCurrent reader Chris Miller -- and Saturday was no exception. By 7:45 AM my finger was bleeding (sliced unhooking a jack), my nose was bleeding (hooked on a bad cast), and I was wet from the waist down (retrieving fly from sharp coral).

But the funnies didn't really begin until we all got comfortable and the stories started flying. The best of the day was Bob's tale about tournament fishing, which we both agree is one of the more painful obligations of being a guide, if only because it tends to bring out the worst in people. As Bob told it, one year he was stuck fishing a particularly loutish angler -- demanding, whiney, and virtually blind. At 3:00 every day, the fishing ended, and for the purpose of ensuring that he stayed within the rules, he carried a wind-up alarm clock on board. Every day of the tournament, the sound of the alarm brought the enormous, visceral relief that only abused guides seem to truly know. So when the tournament was finally over, Bob decided to leave the alarm set to go off at 3:00 PM, and when he wasn't fishing he enjoyed the shiver of excitement and pleasure the ringing bell sent up his spine. The tournament had been in June. It wasn't until February that the sweet sound of the bell ceased to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot: the fishing Saturday was really good.

You can reach Capt. Bob Branham at 954-370-1999.

Certain social predicaments seem to arise naturally among anglers. Consider, for example, the passing of a bit of good advice from one angler to another -- it's an act of generosity that is often quickly and conveniently forgotten once the hot tip is put into play.

This week South African trout preserve owner and author Wolf Avni shares the hilarious perspective of a guide caught in a grating exchange between erstwhile angling partners, a pompous classicist and an unrefined, but repentant, "coarse" fisherman. It's a nice change of literary pace excerpted from Avni's eccentric and entertaining book A Mean-Mouthed Hook-Jawed Bad-News Son-of-a-Fish.

Prisoners, prostitutes, bikers, sailors ... and fly fishers? I remember the first time I saw someone sporting a fly fishing tattoo. It was on their shoulder, and I noticed it only because we were fishing a very still, hot day on the Turneffe Atoll and a shirt change was required. I was mildly aghast, I think, not because of the tattoo, but because it was a dry fly -- some sort of mayfly -- and we were fishing for bonefish, for gosh sakes. Naomi Schaefer Riley writes about the ever-more-popular practice in The Wall Street Journal (subscription required).

Angler finds out what happens when you pull on a jumping 60-pound tarpon with 60-pound line. Provided by FishingJones.

OK, so maybe the average buyer doesn't understand how insects and hooks create such a powerful enhancement to indoor decor. Real estate broker and fly fisher Sid Davis learns an important lesson about selling your own house: it's about as wise as serving as your own lawyer. In the South Bend (Indiana) Tribune.

Proof that search engines are not perfect, and that some of fly fishing's more insightful comments are made by people who can't write. LiveArticles.org published their treatise on fly fishing, which pretty much tells you everything you need to know: "There is something special about this type of thing that not everyone will enjoy."

"I'm from Detroit and I've never seen anything like this." In a quite funny piece about immersing two ex-execs in Yakima River culture, Randall Sumner uncovers some of many subtleties of the guide-angler relationship.

One of my favorite sayings when weighed down with an overwrought sense of angling purpose -- either my own or my companion's -- is "Just remember, we're not out here to have a good time."

It's a problem in our sport, notes trout bum Randall Sumner: some of us take our craft a little too seriously. "Don't think about a bunch of sailors singing, 'There's nothing like a dame,' just go with it. That pretty much sums my feelings about fly-fishing: Lighten up and make a cast. It's just for fun." In the Seattle Times.

In another example of how Bass Pro thinks outside the big box, news is that they've introduced another piece of must-have gear for the fly fishing set. Think of how your companions will appreciate the tune plucked streamside from an instrument that also decaps a cold beverage. "Field tested by a team of skilled luthiers and volunteers, the Tailpiece Bottle Opener™ performed flawlessly in a series of over 8,000 carefully documented tests over a two-year period." On MandolinCafe.com.

Dave Letterman decided to poke fun at presidential choices in room decor in his monologue Monday night: “They were talking about the kind of stuff that the President receives during the course of the year. He receives thousands and thousands of dollars of gifts. Were you aware of this fact? That President Bush gets a lot of gifts. I guess all presidents do. One was a $900 fishing rod, a fly fishing rod that he displays in the Oval Office. And I was thinking, hmm, you know, the last time a president displayed a rod in the Oval Office -- he was impeached.” You can hear Dave's recording on this page (click on January 2, 2006).

A Bury (England) Free Press columnist has identified the source of most angling woes and reports a simple solution: talk to the animals.

According to USAToday columnist Theresa Howard, girly men and their girly gifts are out this year. "Marketers are eager this holiday season to tap the übersexual trend, including with the men themselves. That's because men are expected to outspend women by 60% this year on 'self-gifting' — buying gifts for yourself." Among her suggested perfect gifts for the hirsute of mind are fly fishing travel, gear, and instruction.

So next time you decide to self-gift, remember that you have placed yourself neatly into a marketing category.

Here is a mildly disturbing, vastly entertaining series of pieces by Outside magazine writers who were asked to talk about their various preferred guilty pleasures. Among the less questionable is Ian Frazier's article on the cheap thrill of watching things get eaten. "I know this minor outdoor pastime is not entirely healthy, but it scratches an itch, somehow. On a river I can get so absorbed in watching trout feed on mayflies that I forget to fish." Frazier, by the way, contributed an excellent article to this week's New Yorker magazine on the accelerating spread of wild hogs around the U.S. and the world.

Don Wirth, a senior writer for B.A.S.S. Times, takes aim at iambic pentameter and other poetic devices embraced by fly fishers with a few notable stanzas of his own, including "The pungent aroma of a can of potted meat that's exploded in a hot storage locker of my bass boat." On ESPN.com.

"Has been known to follow a small drainage for four days with a 50 pound pack on his back, with a compass or GPS in one hand and a fly rod in the other, catching 18-inch indigenous cutthroat trout, the color of which has never been seen before." Toney Sisk, who contributed our piece on fly fishing for bass, hosts this amusing piece on fly fishing types — including Rambo with a Rod and The Hummer Guy — on WaywardFlyFishing.com.

"Every Grayling Day, of course, has its own special character, but there is a common denominator. It is that vast quantities of food and drink are consumed." Despite the bacchanalian tide threatening to swallow British participants, Grayling Day becomes an opportunity to do good things, like help support The Wild Trout Trust. Brian Clarke in the London Times.

Funny how outsiders often deliver the most perceptive take on our sport. Neophyte Larry Johnston, a former juvenile court judge, offers a smart glance at fly fishing. "A hit! Jerry reeled and chattered. Fishermen sure are perky when the fish are biting. I silently hoped we would have snagged a Starbuck's first." In Florida Today.

Nine principles of war, applied to fly fishing. Excerpted from a book by Harry P. Davis on LandBigFish.com.

Randy Wayne White notes similarities between western trout guides and other societal misfits as he considers an invitation to a fly fishing Ironman contest that includes an "upriver distance run, through Vail, dressed only in underwear." In Outside magazine.

Why male fly fishers insist on peculiar headwear is a subject best tackled by some graduate student of psychology, but we've all been dumbfounded, at one time or another, by someone else's noisome hat choice. Bob Salemo lists many of the possibilties. "A friend of mine picked one up on a recent bonefishing trip to the Bahamas. It has a second smaller bill in the back, which from a distance makes it difficult to tell whether he’s coming or going and twice as ridiculous as the single bill variety." On Connecticutt's NewBritainHerald.com.

"Yes, the crazy animal deserved to die. But must he ride beside me?"

"Si, la bestia loca mereció morirse. Pero es necesario que esté sentada junto a mi?"

This is just one of the jewels from the author's guide to linguistic flair for North Americans traveling in in Central and South America. In Outside magazine.

We all wish "notoriously boastful and irritable" fly fishers were the only targets, but the fact is that fishing near farm animals involves odd risks for everyone, including having your fly rod eaten. Here's a hilarious piece by Brian Clarke of the London Times which includes this advice from H. T. Sheringham on dealing with bulls: “Other methods of managing a bull are: (1) beating him with an iron bar until he repents of his sins; (2) taking him by the horns and wrestling with him until you have him at your mercy; (3) twisting his tail until he is calm.”

Maurrie Sussman's and Becky Clarke's Sisters on the Fly just gets more and more attention from women and the media these days. Gee, I wonder why? "The only men allowed at a Sisters on the Fly camp out are ones who cook, carry firewood and dance with the women when the 'sisters' tire of dancing with other women, Deborah Tackett of Arkadelphia said. 'They’re our grunt labor. The men are our cooks,' Tackett said as she sat outside a trailer, emblazoned with the slogan, 'Manure Happens.' 'They’re not spending the night. This is a girls’ outing.'" By the way, Maurrie Sussman is the mother of southwest Florida and Montana guide Austin Lowder.

Here's a nice yarn about the heritage of brook trout fishing in Maine and a dandy joke played on a fishing partner. "Each late April, when black flies started swarming and alder leaves reached the size of a mouse ear, folks such as Kimball Wilcox, Elrick Grotton and Lawrence French knew exactly where to find these woodland char." Ken Allen on MaineToday.com.

A new print-on-demand book by Robert W. Callaway includes this joke about the "Fly Fishing Priest:"

"There was a priest that loved to stream fish. One year there was a problem every time he had a chance to go fishing. The weather was bad or it was on Sunday, when he had to work. All year he was unable to go. Finally it was the last week before the streams closed. The weather was bad all week until Sunday, when the weather was great. The priest could not resist; he called a fellow priest, claimed to be very sick, and asked if he could take over his sermon. The fly fishing priest drove 200 miles, not wishing to see anyone he knew. An angel seeing the priest playing hooky went to God and said, 'You're not going to let him get away with this, are you?' God agreed he should do something. The first cast the priest made was perfect. The fly floated past a log and a huge mouth gulped the fly down. For 45 minutes the priest ran up and down the stream fighting the mighty fish. At the end he held a 50" world record rainbow trout. Confused, the angel asked God, 'What are you doing?' God replied, 'Think about it: Who's he going to tell?'"

"Fly fishing advice from a three-quarters, no, make that seven-eighths, naked blond bombshell soaking up sun in a plastic boat. Yet, somewhere deep in my subconsciousness I admired her. She obviously knew something about fly fishing." Back in the 70s in Montana's Paradise Valley, Larry Myhre finds himself getting fly-selection tips from a surprising source. In Iowa's Sioux City Journal.

Dry of wit, that is. Dave Engerbretson describes coming across a fellow angler in a silk paisley ascot who turns out to be one of fly fishing's funniest authors. On PublicTelevision.org.

"'Fly fishermen can recognize hundreds perhaps thousands of insects in the pupal, larval and adult stages,' Tosches writes. 'Bass fishermen, meanwhile, can sometimes recognize their own house (Generally by the color of the propane tank in the front yard ...)'" Bryan Lee quotes some of Rich Tosches's unrelenting humor from Unzipping My Fly: Moments in the Life of an American Sportsman in the Tucson (Arizona) Citizen.

Boutique beer brewers in Montana (we're not in Montana right now, so we can call them that) try to come up with off-the-wall and slightly wry monikers to sell their inventory. We're familiar with Moose Drool, but 'Trout Slayer' is a bit different: imagine trying to appeal to a fly fisher's ego ;-) Robert Struckman in the Billings (Montana) Gazette.

Apparently someone was injured by a trout falling from the sky in Whitefish, Montana, recently. These observations by George Ostrom in the Whitefish Pilot suggest that even ospreys sometimes make mistakes.

This bit of humor, which first appeared in the Wall Street Journal, describes a businessman's first experience with trout -- in this case on Connecticutt's Housatonic. "In a sport brimming with such bromides as 'the worst day of fishing is still better than the best day at work,' fly-fishing is reputed to be one of the office's most potent antidotes. After all, no e-mails or office troubadours interrupt you midstream. The only thing you're chest-deep in is water and the slippery rocks along the riverbed are no more treacherous than the men's room floor." Jared Sandberg on SanDiego.com.

Lake Davis in California's Sierra high country abounds with high drama and speculation over the "spiking" of the lake with pike. Formerly a favorite of trout fishers, the lake is now surrounded, it seems, with folks of lively imagination.

"'I think he's tall, about 6 feet, shaggy with a beard,' chimed in Dorothy Kibodeaux, grinning widely.

'Not anymore, I bet now he's shaved. You know, so no one would recognize him,' offered another Soroptimist.

'Oh, right. So by now he's clean shaven, thin as a string bean, and, of course, he's got a lot of energy to do stupid things,' said Kibodeaux. 'Oh, and he probably has a little body odor, too.'"

Kathleen Hennessey on SFGate.com.

Dan Fallon has been writing the Fletcher Quill series of online fiction for LandBigFish.com since May of 2002, appealing, as he notes, to "ultra select 300 or so hardcore, eccentric and possessed enough fly fisher on the planet that socialize and fantasize with their resident guru who has one vision. The pursuit of the most unique sports fish caught, filmed and gently released and refooled by flies tied with rare extinct plumage that always fool game fish without fail."

If you're familiar at all with the heady, eccentric self-importance of George Macdonald Fraser's "Flashman" series, "Fletcher Quill" performs as a fly fisher's tribute: stimulating, oddly observant and absorbed in the angling prowess of the author. Fun stuff.

Providence Cicero lands herself in Ovando, Montana, at North Fork Crossing on the Black Foot River, as a thank you for her fly fishing husband. Leaving behind the pedicure for a bout of trout fishing has surprising rewards, she discovers. In The Seattle Times. Please, more of this kind of writing: humorous, erudite, and well-styled.

Dave Hurteau offers a side-splitting narrative of an encounter with the world's most annoying guide in Field & Stream. Surely I've run into this same guide in a least six other places.

Dave Hurteau describes an event that he will never live down in this month's Field & Stream.

James R. Babb writes about clean air and water in this mildly disguised discourse on worm fishing for dinner. In Gray's Sporting Journal.

Scott Butner of Richland, WA developed this LIE ("Length, Inch Equivalent") tool a couple of years ago. It's quite a hoot.

Guiding vs. Sex

#20: You can't get drunk and guide, period.
#19: Limp rods have no place on the boat.
#18: You do have to hide your fishing magazines from your friends, or at least laugh about how wrong the articles' authors are.
#17: You would never pay to fish with someone else.
#16: In fact, the 10 commandments were written by guides for guides, and guides have just as hard a time following them. Example: Take one day off a week.
#15: Be very curious about what your angler intends to do with all those video tapes.
#14: Best not to talk about your other clients at all, past or present, escpecially the ones you've enjoyed.
#13: Don't let anyone find out that you let someone you didn't know, or at least someone one of your clients didn't know, onto your boat.
#12: You feel guilty all the time about wanting to fish with the really good anglers.
#11: If your regular fishing partner can't fish with you, they want to know who you fished with, where, and how often you caught fish.
#10: Don't ever tell anyone you fished by yourself. Client: "What are you? Crazy?"
#9: If you discover that another professional fisherman has somehow gotten on your boat, immediately head to an area that you know is devoid of fish. Never trust anyone.
#8: Sleazy shops always have the best prices and the lowest BS coefficient.
#7: Under no circumstances should you ever mention that you are a guide in public (especially not in bars or restaurants) and remember: fishing jokes are not funny.
#6: Don't drink out of the same water jug as your client, especially if they are from Hollywood.
#5: There is a very high risk that you will fall in love with the 5:30 AM commentator on the Weather Channel.
#4: If you ever lose or fire a client, you will be asked a thousand questions about why, when and where it happened.
#3: If your partner discovers another sport, you are expected to become as aroused as they are about it.
#2: If you fished on your vacation, always report back that you fished earnestly and without interruption despite having fallen asleep while watching fish rise.
#1: After fishing with you for a while, your partner will excuse themselves to go to the bathroom at all the wrong moments and let slip comments like this: "I'll be bloody glad when we've had enough of this."

Oh, and the last thing is, "Once a guide, always a guide."

Check out Strong Bad's take on Lures and Jigs (be sure your sound is turned up.) Or go here for the full menu of humor for any Monday. This is quirky humor with quite a cult following.

Sorry, but if you get bored catching big fish, then you jsut aren't fishing enough. Dave Hurteau in Field & Stream.