Submitted for your reading pleasure: “The Little Things V2.0” and “I’m Not Dead Yet — The last hurrah for wild Connecticut River strain Atlantic Salmon” in the current issue of American Angler.
“The Little things V2.0” serves as a springboard for a new presentation coming this fall (I will kick it off in Coventry, RI at the TU225 meeting in late September.
Many thanks to the Connecticut DEEP for sharing their time and knowledge for the salmon article, and a shout out to currentseams.com follower RM Lytle for the same (and a very spiffy photo of his prized catch).
The little things is like compounding interest. It all adds up. Then one day you’re rich.
Look for it at your favorite fly shop or newsstand.
Once again, the Governor of the jolly old yo-ho-ho State of Connecticut has decided that a good way to save money would be to close our hatcheries. Never mind all that stuff about Connecticut and the Farmington River being a destination for anglers all over the northeast, or those bothersome guides and small businesses that would go under without a viable fishery, and never mind all the pesky retail sales and business entity taxes — who has time to count all that up, anyway?.
(The author of this post now gives out a long sigh, and searches for a word that best describes Governor Malloy’s thinking. Ah. “Obtuse.” Yes, that’s it.)
So, here’s how you can help. Sign this petition.
Fred here is in favor of keeping our hatcheries. But Fred can’t sign the petition. Help a brother out, will you?
Last week, I was guiding two clients on the upper TMA of the Farmington River when the bucket brigade swooped in. Not meat farmers — at least not in the harvesting sense — but rather, sowers. Their crop: Atlantic salmon fry. Love them (food for big browns) or hate them (annoying beasts that nip at your fly ad nauseum), Atlantic Salmon have been a part of the Farmington River watershed for years.
Never-ending ringed walls and two alien beings peering in from above. Soon you’ll be free! Each bucket holds one kilo of fry.
A closer look at the biomass. Will they lead prosperous lives and make it out to the sound? Or will they become so many croquettes for Mr. Lunker Brown?