The Trout Underground today announced the recall of approximately four million of its prior posts, warning that some readers have experienced sticking mouse buttons, the result being readers can’t stop scrolling even after reaching the bottom of the page.
As the beleaguered blog dealt with the massive public relations fallout of its mouse accelerator recall, rumors surfaced of a new investigation into the Underground’s Short Casts, which apparently hamper the braking of drivers attempting to read them from moving vehicles.
“We are very sorry that our posts are causing problems with our esteemed readers” said Underground CEO Tom Chandler, whose media empire had to scrap the launch of a new corporate tagline: “The Trout Underground: Once You Start Reading, You Won’t Be Able To Stop.”
“We are doing everything we can to make the reading experience a safe one.”
Public reaction to the announcement has been largely hostile, and consumer crusader Ralph Nader announced the release of a hastily assembled documentary film: “The Underground – Unsafe at Any Scrolling Speed.”
Company Spokesperson Wally the Wonderdog was unavailable for comment, though when questioned during a recent outing, did wag his tail.
Wally the Wonderdog is snoring softly on the couch (yes, he actually does sleep on the couch, and truthfully, he snores like a chainsaw) – a tired puppy after our three-hour xc-ski tour of next year’s trout water.
The brave, sturdy Wonderdog in hour two of his three-hour ski trip.
It’s yet another example of the Underground’s “Get Fit or Die Alone in the Snow” program, and because damned few of you slackers took advantage of our special half-off deal on the Underground’s Fly Fishermen’s Core Strengthening Program, the Wonderdog and I simply went skiing without inviting anyone.
We figure the Undergrounders will feel the Sting of Exclusion, so next time we try to scam you make you a special, special offer, you’ll fall for it think twice about passing.
See you holding the Ibuprofen bottle, Tom Chandler.
It’s clear the late Charlie Meyers developed a huge following over his decades as an outdoor writer, and if you think Colorado might want to name the “Dream Stream” (Spinney Mountain SWA) after him, then you’re reading the right post.
Get past the horseplay right at the start of the most recent Orvis podcast (the player should appear below), and it’s a pretty good listen. Fly fishing in the wind is one of my least favorite activities, and I’ve heard literally mounds of advice over the years. Some of it, frankly, seemed pretty bad.
Orvis has avoided all that in this podcast, but I’m looking for the Undergrounders to throw down their ideas.
Here, Tom Rosenbaeur and Perk Perkins advise anglers to not push the rod harder and don’t fight the wind, all of which is transparently good advice.
He and Rosenbauer also offer up a few non-controversial ideas, including:
Keep casts low to the water (less windy there)
Use a Belgian cast (a constantly loaded elliptical cast) to keep the line moving (haven’t tried it for wind, but it’s handy when you’re casting heavy flies like streamers)
Use shorter leaders and smaller flies
Cast a shorter rod
Interestingly, Perkins suggests he does just as well with a mid-flex rod in the wind as he does with a tip flex – something I did once experience fishing 6wts on a lake. I don’t get it, but it was true for me.
Is that simply because moderate tapers suit my casting style, or is there something else? (Discuss)
The Chainsaw Death Match Part
Finally, we get to the good stuff; Lefty Kreh has famously suggested underlining a fly rod by one line weight on windy days, apparently so you can throw tighter loops and generate faster line speeds.
And yes, I tried that once. The results weren’t pretty.
Apparently, Perkins and Rosenbauer don’t think much of the idea either, and in the interest of fomenting an Industry-Wide Death Match between Big-Name Heavy-Hitters, I’ve gotta ask the Undergrounders: has anyone else actually tried this, and had it work (or not)?
In my case, I’d suggest the lighter line loaded the rod less and offered less mass to “boss” the fly.
Perhaps If I’d been throwing a midge, it wouldn’t have mattered, but I was throwing a #14 parachute during a Callaebatis hatch, and eventually switched back to my original 6wt line (the rated line).
I’ve heard of anglers opting to overline a rod by one line weight on a windy day, so clearly, there’s ample room here for violent disagreement discussion.
Obviously, there’s plenty of room to screw around with all this stuff, but after years of mucking about, I simply fish a 6wt when it’s windy. Sometimes the simple solution is the best.
Where do the Undergrounders land on the subject of wind, fly rods, fly lines, and the prospect of an industry blood bath stuff?
Another winter storm’s headed the Underground’s way – the same wet, heavy snow that caused the weeklong power outages and overall carnage a couple weeks ago during the last “storm of a lifetime.”
The Pessimist sees this coming and thinks everything’s still poised on the lip of the abyss from last time, so even 16″ of wet snow will likely push us right back into the abyss, leaving us powerless and in the dark, shoveling until our arms fall off.
The Optimist believes the weak trees were all pruned back by the prior storm, so this new storm will have no effect whatsoever.
Right now, the snow is falling hard, though the live radar map suggests we may yet live.
Can't tell if that's really 13" of snow.
In the larger sense, the Upper Sac’s running awfully high, the shooting range is snowed in beyond hope, and even walking around my own yard requires a pair of snowshoes, so it won’t take much to nudge me towards the pessimist camp.
Then again, pessimism drives me to be prepared – the large pots of water, the fully fueled Honda Super Karate Death Blower, the right-at-hand flashlights and candles…
You get the picture.
If the Underground goes dark for a day or two (a possibility), know that I’m likely sitting in the darkness (probably unable to straighten up after dragging firewood upstairs and moving snow the opposite direction) and wondering at the concept of Optimism vs Pessimism.
I mean, if I can alter my perspective to stop seeing all this white stuff as a curse and instead view it as next year’s trout water, maybe my mood will improve.
See you behind the snow blower, Tom Chandler
UPDATE: WE LIVE! The storm has come and gone (it’s over Boise, ID now), and because that group of alarmist weather forecasters apparently can’t read a thermometer, we got rain & slush instead of snow, so I’m NOT spending the day yoked to my New Snowblower Overlord. Commence with the feasting!
Sure, the ranking’s based on what we’ll euphemistically label incomplete data, but I’m willing to overlook that – even as I zoom in on the tasty fact the Underground’s not simply the Bestest Fly Fishing Blog, but in fact tops the list of the 50 Best Fishing Blogs.
In fact, I’m so overcome with joy and validation and happiness and a warm tingly feeling that I’m experiencing the urge to speak Latin.
Quod erat demonstrandum.
(I gloat. I preen. I strut about obnoxiously.)
Smile - We're #1
I’d like to thank my agent, my publicist, my people, Wally the Wonderdog, my answering machine and my family for standing by me while I blogged for free instead of investing the Underground’s tens of thousands of hours in my business, thereby condemning my family to a life of abject poverty followed by a lingering death in an unheated home.
Yes. It’s a day to be proud.
Of course, I can’t forget my readers, who helped make the Underground #1 (not #1 in the sense that we’re human waste, but that we’re at the pinnacle of the food chain).
As megalomania sets in, it’s clear that the Undergrounders, simply put, are as much to blame as anyone.
See you staring lovingly the mirror, Tom Chandler.
I cannot begin to describe the gravity of what you’re about to see, even as I feel a wave of compassion wash over me for the hapless victim, who – after getting his ass wholly and completely kicked by a goose – couldn’t muster up words stronger than “gah” and “darn.”
In public, I’d laugh at this unfortunate angler in a manly manner (using my chiseled jaw and rock-hard pecs to reinforce the manliness of my laugh), but privately, I’d have to admit – in a shamed, trembling, girly man voice – that I too was once the victim of a Random Goose Attack [hangs head].
The memories of that decades-ago, Goose-driven ass kicking still haunts me deeply. So a few years ago – when I stepped too close to an unseen goose nest while fly fishing in Tennessee and heard the Awful Hiss of Doom – I suffered a flashback that would have made a Vietnam Veteran proud.
To my credit, I didn’t drop my fly rod and run screaming along the bank, anticipating the Honk of Certain Death directly behind my right ear.
No indeed.
I held onto my fly rod as I ran screaming, so later – as I walked by that busload of now-amused Japanese tourists – I could hold my head high.
To this day, I still remember the original feathered assault… the outstretched wings beating fiercely… the terrible honking noise… the awful flashing beak delivering its pile-driver like blows to my (ahem) sensitive regions…
I’m getting kinda sweaty just writing about it. So I’m going to stop, and just curl up in the fetal position for a few minutes.
