Letters to Smed – “The Purist” (conclusion)

It was a great day on the river. Too bad you couldn’t make it. I didn’t manage to hook anything but I did have some huge swirls at my fly. I remember when all you could catch here were bass, pike, and carp; Smed you’d be amazed at the number of absolutely huge browns lurking behind the rocks and in the pools now. And, it sure makes a difference when you have a bit of one-on-one instruction…

"Sorry for loosing my temper, Jim. I should have just persevered like you said." "I had done it." I was now a true flyfisherman! I could hear Jim saying, "Pull your line gently, giving it the occasional twitch."

Slowly I pulled in line. Foot by foot, giving the odd twitch. And then with a suddenness that almost put me back in the water, a two pound bass leapt to take my fly. I leaned back arching my 10 foot rod, as I had done countless times before and, you guessed again, my two pound test leader snapped with the sound of a dry twig.

"Don't loose your temper. Just tie on another fly and try again." I said out loud, while all I surveyed took on a reddish haze.

After my latest battle with the flyline, I moved further down stream to the fast water where I had caught the occasional trout. Once again I began my hypnotic, rhythmic motion.

"Yes this would be the cast to end all casts." I thought "This is truly what fishing was meant to be."

"Mooo-ahhh-yeee" came a sound like brakes squealing on the expressway, as I once again sank my hook into something solid. This time it was not me seeing red, but a big mean bull that looked to be the size of a freight car. And this bull had no sense of humour at all as he suddenly realized the source of the pain in his rump.

"Scrape, snort...Scrape, snort" came the sound as he pawed the ground. It felt as if the gates of hell had opened and this demon was sent to bring me in.

My perfectly balanced rod and ultra precision reel no longer mattered as they quickly sank to the bottom of the river. My only thought was of reaching that knurled old apple tree before the demon could reach me. I'm sure an Olympic sprinter couldn't have passed me at that moment, as I ran towards the tree, listening to the fast closing freight train. Tripping, slipping and all the while cursing the heavy chestwaders, I finally made it to the tree. I climbed with the agility of a chimpanzee and was out of harms way just as the bull ran, head-long, into the base of the tree.

"So here I am, sitting on this branch, ripping up my Jerkwater Jim notes, watching the sun go down, waiting for the 'bull from Hell' to get bored and leave so I can climb down and go pick some dew worms.

"By the way, if you happen to find a perfectly balanced rod and an ultra precision reel at the bottom of the Grand River, you're welcome to it." "But if your smart you'll throw it right back and go dig some worms, lest the 'bull from hell' set his sights on you."

Well it looks like a few years and a bit of grey hair and a bit more patience certainly was the ticket. Now I know were to go, I know some simple techniques all I need is a good ole fishing buddy by my side. Why don’t you throw your stuff in the car and we’ll head on up. Have a good one Smed.

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Letters to Smed – “The Purist” (cont’d)

We got picked up about 8:00 and drove to the far side of Fergus. This is a part of the river I’ve never fished before and our guide was very gracious with his information and even before we left the car I had picked up more tips than I ever did on my own. Maybe this time will be different afterall…

I sat quietly at the edge of the still, deep, pool by the bend in the river. The same place I had caught countless bass and pike in the past. The past, that is, before I 'saw the light' and became a fly-fisherman.

"Sit quietly." Jim had said softly. "Watch the water for surfacing fish. You'll be able to tell by watching, which insects they're feeding on." "Then select a fly from your box that resembles the ones the fish are feeding on. Tie the fly onto your leader. Carefully and quietly cast to a spot where the fish are actively 'rising' and hang on." Jim said with confidence. And sure enough, right at that moment, Jim caught one of the nicest trout I had ever seen.

After watching the water for nearly 20 minutes, and still not being able to tell what in blazes the fish were feeding on, I gently pulled a brown, fuzzy looking, fly from my fishing vest and tied it to the leader, as Jim had instructed.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the far ridge as I eased my way, noiselessly, into the placid, misty water.

I'm not sure at which point it was that I lost control of the situation, but instead of a throbbing bass on the end of my line, I had sunk my hook solidly into a tree branch about 25 feet off the ground.

"Be prepared for the odd frustration" I had coached myself the night before, "Just break the leader and tie on a new one and start again."

After the occasional 'spicy' conversation with the maker of the seemingly untieable fly-line, and the invocation of assistance from 'on high', I was finally ready to try again.

The greater wisdom of my subconscious mind was over active today as it suggested, "Turn over that big rock and see what type of bugs are there. Pick a fly and 'match the hatch' just like Jim told you."

I should mention that I'm a big sissy when it comes to anything that slithers through the grass and, you guessed it, just as I began to move the rock, out slithered a 2 foot garter snake, sending chills up and down my spine. The same kind of feeling you get when an unexpected letter from Revenue Canada arrives. I jumped back; slipped on something long dead and foul smelling did a perfect pirouette and wound up sitting in two feet of water. I'm sure I could hear that snake chuckling as it slowly slithered to find a less exciting venue.

I had, however, managed to keep my perfectly balanced rod and ultra precision reel out of harms way, over my head.

"To Hell with matching the hatch! Just put on a damn fly, throw it out, and see what happens." I thought, beginning to allow just a bit of frustration to show through, as I emptied the water from my waders.

Looking behind to make sure the fly-grabbing tree was out of harms way, I began my rhythmic motion. Back and forth...back and forth...back and forth, and then one final cast and my fly drifted gently to the water in the middle of the pool.

Got someone at the door Smed ole buddy, so I’ll fire this off and get back to you later…

©Lloyd Fridenburg, 2008 – all rights reserved

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Letters to Smed – “The Purist” (cont’d)

Well Smed, I’m nearly ready for the big day. I pinched the barbs on the few flies that I owned, tucked them in a nice box and managed to make a few casts across the back yard…without getting hung up on the fence. Still I’m a bit nervous about getting into this again…

"Off to the tackle shop I sped hauling my reams of notes and diagrams along with me.

One hour later and $250.00 lighter (Jim failed to explain the initial cost of this venture) I emerged from the store grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat. I could almost feel the throbbing fish on the end of my carefully weighted line as it made a wide, sweeping, bow in my perfectly balanced rod and was being slowly drawn closer to the net by my ultra precision reel.

After a few minor frustrations I finally had my prize assembled and trundled off, notes and diagrams in hand, to the backyard.

"Let about 8 feet of line extend from the tip of your rod and peel off as many yards of line as you intend to cast and let it fall at your feet." I could hear Jim saying. "Now swing your rod back in a sweeping arch and let several more feet of line slip through your fingers on the forward stroke. Continue this motion until your fly has reached the place you want it to land. Then with one final cast, let it float gently to the water."

"Why am I standing here with a hook in my pant leg and the rest of the line twirled around my rod?" I wondered. I stopped to read my notes and check my diagrams again. "Everything looks right. Lets give it another try."

As darkness began to fall, I finally seemed to be getting the hang of it. I could cast all the way across the yard, and only occasionally did I get caught on my neighbours clothesline. My, long cold, supper waited on the kitchen table as my lovely wife, who was no longer speaking to me, retired to the living room to snuggle up with a book on male psychology and mid-life crisis.

The sky was showing the first signs of brightening as I donned my chest waders, while sitting on a picnic table beside the car. The scenic Grand River, that I had fished for years, unfolded in the valley below and seemed to take on a new and more mature beauty now that I was able to, finally, wander it's banks as a fishing 'purist'. The mist hanging low over the water gave an air of surrealism to the scene. I sat for a moment and watched, with near reverence, this scene of early morning beauty.

I slipped on my fishing vest, that held all equipment necessary to catch the huge bass waiting below. (Of course those 'big' fish that had eluded me for years would be jumping out of the water when presented with the proper fly. Everyone knows a truly huge fish would never stoop so low as to eat worms and minnows.)

I lifted my rod with the gentleness of a mother holding her new baby, as I started off down the steep path leading to the rivers edge. Cattle were gently grazing in a nearby field and in the distance I could hear the first rooster crow. The air was fresh with the scent of mid-summer, while at the same time, cool and damp with the early morning dew. The sight and feel was enough to send shivers of ecstasy down your spine."

Catch ya later Smed…I’m off to pack up my stuff.

©Lloyd Fridenburg, 2008 – all rights reserved

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Letters to Smed – “The Purist”

Well Smed ole buddy I may have lost my mind but I’m going to try it again. Yep, I was rummaging through my fishing stuff and came across my old box of flies. I know what you’re thinking; I said I would never pick up a fly rod again after my last adventure, but maybe I’ll take some lessons this time…it sure brings back memories though:

"And the next time we meet, I hope it's at my house for Sunday dinner."

“Sorry! I suppose you are wondering why I'm sitting on a branch in this old apple tree speaking in such a fashion to a big, mean, snorting bull. Let me turn back the clock a few weeks to a rainy Saturday afternoon when I had nothing to do but relax on my favourite chair, in front of the TV. While randomly switching channels, a habit that is always sure to drive my dear wife crazy, I happened upon a new fishing show dedicated to the art of fly-fishing.

What luck, I thought to myself "The first in a series for the beginning fly fisherman:" an art that always seemed to intimidating to try in the past.

Being an educational TV 'junkie' I jumped at the chance to learn anything new about the fine art of wetting a line. I should explain that I have been a dedicated worm drowner and minnow killer for years, but now Jerkwater Jim, the worlds foremost authority on fly-fishing, or so the station claimed, was ready to show me the error of my ways and teach me how to fish like a true fishing 'purist'.

I watched religiously, for a total of three hours over several Saturday afternoons. This soon became a bigger irritant to my wife than switching channels. Jim taught me how to pick the proper type of line to use for all the various kinds of fishing I would now be able to experience. I learned how to select the proper fly rod and reel. Most important of all I discovered how to choose the perfect fly to 'match the hatch'. I took notes, watched every movement and cast, with the enthusiasm of a young boy anticipating his first fishing trip.

"Look how the line floats through the air, landing with the grace and gentleness of a willow leaf on a quiet mill pond” said Jim. "Believe it or not you will be casting just as effortlessly after a few practice casts."

"Yes!" I thought to myself, "I will cast with all the grace of a bird gently, dipping to taste the cool water. This is what fishing was really meant to be. "

I was already beginning to feel disdain towards those less fortunate fishermen who had to resort to drowning worms. I had become a “purist”!

Catch ya later Smed…I’m off to the tackle shop.

©Lloyd Fridenburg, 2008 – all rights reserved

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North American Wildlife Conservation Model (cont’d)

So what now? We know that the North American Wildlife Conservation Model exists; we know that it was (and still is) a visionary initiative; we know that most, if not all, of today’s conservation laws, acts, and international wildlife treaties have used this model as a basis for decision making; and we know that North American wildlife survives and thrives as a direct result of this conservation model.

But we also know that our politicians, who are ultimately our lawmakers, are being increasingly seduced by vote buying rhetoric that is based on misinformation and emotion rather than science and objectivity. Because they have little or no understanding of conservation issues and especially where the funding comes from they tend to take the easy path of creating “feel good” legislation to appease equally misinformed urbanites.

A case in point is legislation passed by Switzerland (soon to be followed by Germany) that will ban catch and release fishing and all forms of competitive fishing. This is typical of a decision that was made in spite of overwhelming scientific evidence that supports catch and release fishing. It also shows a complete lack of understanding of the financial consequences of their decision. I expect that in a few years – after funds for resource management dry up and resources begin to deteriorate – they will have a change of heart. I only hope that governing bodies adopt a more objective perspective before it is too late.

News & Info: Press Releases – May 2008
SWISS GOVERNMENT TO BAN ‘CATCH AND RELEASE’ FISHING
Catch and Release fishing will be banned in Switzerland from next year, it was revealed this week. And anglers in the country will have to demonstrate their expertise by taking a course on humane methods of catching fish, under new legislation outlined by the Bundesrat - the Swiss Federal Parliament.

The new legislation states that fish caught should be killed immediately following their capture, with a sharp blow to the head from a blunt instrument. Under the new regulations, the use of live bait and barbed hooks is also prohibited except in certain situations.

The laws come into effect in 2009 but while the Swiss government does not mention Catch and Release specifically, it does say that "it is not permitted to go fishing with the 'intention' to release the fish." EFTTA lobbyist Jan Kappel has been in contact with Martin Peter, Vice President of the Swiss Angling Federation, to see whether a joint approach to the Swiss government could persuade them to amend the legislation - which forms part of a much wider animal welfare program.

The law on the protection of animals was passed by the Swiss parliament in 2005 and officials have spent three years refining the details, taking into account the comments of interested parties. Said Jan: "Catch and Release is one of the most difficult issues we have to deal with, and one of the most important in my opinion. “The new Swiss law doesn't make use of the term 'Catch and Release', which is the same as in Germany – but I don't see how governments can enforce legislation which makes 'intent' illegal.
“And demanding that people kill the fish they catch gives no thought to the conservation benefits from releasing them."

Angling Codes of Conduct with regards to proper handling and releases can be found for practically any fish species caught by anglers in Switzerland and the rest of the world. The new Swiss law makes it obligatory for anglers to take lessons before being granted a fishing license. So there is absolutely no need for an outright ban on the release of fish in Switzerland.” It’s believed that the legislation could affect as many as 275,000 anglers in Switzerland, who generate around 30 million Euros in annual tackle sales.

EFTTA acting president, Pierangelo Zanetta, said: "EFTTA does not believe that forcing anglers to kill their catches is either good for nature or for recreational sport fishing - which makes a significant financial contribution to the EU economy. “Making the killing of fish obligatory will simply reduce fish population and, at the same time, run the risk of having a negative impact on sport fishing. "Anglers and the sport of angling invest time and money to improve water quality and create larger and healthier fish populations. We believe is it far better for the fish if the fisherman decides, according to the situation, whether to keep and eat the fish or to release it."

Think it can’t happen here? Just watch politicians during the next election campaign. “Feel good” legislation is much easier to deal with than science based objective legislation. And we know that, at least in Ontario, we have a government that loves “feel good” legislation.

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