Backcasts archive: Through March 28, 2008
By Brett PaulyBlog calendar: March 27 | March 26 | March 24
If you feel snakebitten by alcohol, perhaps this will shed some light
Did that last shot of alcohol you swallowed have a particularly strong bite to it?
Better take a look at the bottle. No, that's not an extra long worm in the liquor, and, no, you're not going to want to eat it. That, my friends, is a bona fide Texas rattler.
See for yourself right here, courtesy of the Associated Press and the Fort Worth Star-Telegram.
Yep, Bayou Bob's rattlesnake vodka is indeed bottled lightning. The only problem … well, the major bummer for marketer Bob Popplewell, 63, of Santo, Texas … is that he doesn't have a liquor license to sell it.
That little oversight landed Bayou Bob in the hoosegow this week, albeit for only about 10 minutes, the AP reports from Santo. However, it was enough to shut down his trade in the snake concoction, which Popplewell claims he is advertising not as an alcoholic beverage but as an "ancient Asian elixir" that is a healing tonic with medicinal properties.
"It's almost a spiritual thing," Popplewell said, according to the AP.
Well, he's got the spirit's part right, as in 100-proof spirits.
And there are, or at least were, a lot of spirits on Bayou Bob's Brazos River Rattlesnake Ranch, where Popplewell has raised rattlesnakes and turtles for more than two decades, the AP reports. It was there, near where Interstate Highway 20 and U.S. Highway 281 meet, that Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission agents confiscated 429 bottle of snake vodka and a single container of snake tequila. At 23 bucks a jug, the loot was estimated to be worth nearly $10,000.
Guess the tequila wasn't a big seller. Wonder why, Bayou Bob?
There's no apparent update on the tequila question or anything else about this week's legal hassles on the Brazos River Rattlesnake Ranch Web site, which claims Popplewell, "with over 35 years of experience, is one of America's foremost herpetologists."
Unfortunately, it appears Bayou Bob is still a tyro when it comes to selling rattlesnake vodka. He faces up to a year in jail and $1,000 in fines if convicted on misdemeanor charges of selling alcohol without a license and possessing alcohol with intent to sell, according to the report.
Those who have tasted Bayou Bob's "elixir" might be interested to learn that in Taiwan a snake's gall bladder served in a glass of booze is thought to improve eyesight and sexual performance, according to Asian studies lecturer Camilla Hsieh at the University of Texas.
So if this fine print reads better, you'll know what's up next.
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Editor's note: My Back Pages recalls previous columns penned by the author.
My Back Pages: Big T no big tease
Quality flyfishing in L.A.? Indeed, the Big Tujunga Canyon's certainly got it going on
The mid-size caddis-pattern fly plops gently in front of the weathered boulder and begins the slow drift back to you.
One of your few perfect casts of the day. Not too much wrist: As the guides say, "like you're pulling a chain."
As you strip in line, the creek's prattle is interrupted by a subtle splash. You raise the rod. The prize is yours.
And at the end of your tippet is a wild rainbow trout flagged by colors and patterns you've never seen before, so bright and distinctive you gawk in amazement.
The scene might be set in the High Sierra, at a backcountry site where the average angler would never venture. Or in Western Montana on a magnificent brook. Or on a fabled stretch of water in central Oregon.
But, no, would you believe the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles fame? Well, technically, Big Tujunga Canyon, but close enough.
"Big T's bitchin'. It's the closest you'll get to natural rainbow trout in L.A.," exclaimed Canoga Park, Calif.'s Joe Contaldi, my guide on this glorious New Year's Day.
Indeed, Big T is no big tease.
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Revered by local L.A. flyfishers as an unspoiled fishery, Mill Creek, northeast of Big Tujunga Dam, is loosely understood as a catch-and-release area, though, according to regulations, there is a five-fish limit of any size. The difficultly in reaching the canyon bottom might well ensure it remains pristine. From Sunland, Calif., anglers should drive up Big Tujunga Canyon Road past the dam to a locked yellow gate on the left, just before the intersection with Angeles Forest Highway. Park and prepare for a moderately difficult two-mile descent along a fire road into the canyon. Remember, what you go down in hiking you must go up, and the 800-foot climb out is no easy task. Once you reach Mill Creek, fish in either direction. Flies: Recommended dry varieties are size Nos. 12 and 14 Elkhair Caddis, Parachute Caddis and all the Royals – Wulffs, Trudes and Coachmen. For nymphing, try size 14 and 16 Hare's Ear, Bead-head Caddis and Pheasant Tails. Leaders: An appropriate leader is a 7½-foot 5X (4-pound test). Nymphing in still, open water might require an 8- to 12-foot leader. You'll want to use an indicator when short-line nymphing in faster water. Rods: A 5-weight, 7½- to 8-foot rod is ideal, though you can drop to a 3-weight when the winds calm down. Reels: Any reel that will hold a 5-weight line will work. |
"These fish are forgiving on your drift," he said. "You don't have to put that much effort into your presentation.
"You get to watch it all … float through the riffle and bam – they strike hard." These dwellers of Mill Creek above Big Tujunga Dam, which drains into Sunland's Tujunga Valley, are not big fish. Local anglers who strive to keep the area a pristine fishery by releasing everything they land consider a 10-incher trophy size.
"A trophy is in the water and in your hand; it's not the size of the fish," said Jim Edmondson, executive director of the fish-conservation group CalTrout, the overseers of many wild trout waters.
An occasional "leviathan" of up to 14 inches has been caught, Contaldi said. But the bigger fish have become rare since the Tujunga Reservoir, where the trout love to fatten up and spawn upstream, was dredged awhile back to remove sediment.
Contaldi, who aspires to produce fishing videos for television, makes his living selling retail fishing gear and guiding and instructing anglers and has trophies caught while flyfishing all over the West mounted on his walls. Apache trout from the White Mountains of Arizona. A 15-pound silver salmon from Alaska. A 30-pound yellowfin tuna from the Pacific.
But he comes home to dangle his flies in the slow flows of Big Tujunga Canyon. Unlike trout in more popular fisheries, the tiny rainbows – considered wild because they are the self-sustaining progeny of fish planted decades ago – aren't as selective because they have virtually no fishing pressure. And since there aren't any insect hatches to speak of on Mill Creek, with its boulder-and-riffle structure, the fish aren't accustomed to particular bugs. Any dry fly that looks bushy and edible will do. Wet flies are productive, too.
"They're opportunistic feeders," said Contaldi, a stocky fellow with a trim goatee who played fullback for his high school football team. "If they're hungry, they are going to eat your fly. They're not like trout in the Eastern Sierra or Owens Valley that spit out your fly for fear they are going to get their jaws ripped out."
They may not be selective, but they spook easily, so you have to sneak up gingerly on a hole. Be wary of the unmistakable hiss of rattlesnakes that dwell in the nearby brush. Cougars and black bear call the narrow canyon home, too. Bear scat was evident on the two-mile-long fire road leading into Mill Creek on this day.
The burly Contaldi looks more suited for flattening cornerbacks than rollcasting with precision. But there he was when I rounded a bend, holding a treasure he landed on this hunt. A 7-inch Big T 'bow.
Nope, not a big fish, but they're our fish. And, boy, are they pretty.
White and red patterns on the leading edges of their fins, heavily spotted from nose to tail and gorgeous parr marks – those black badges on the sides of young fish – that remain prominent into adulthood.
It's a color you'll recall long after the actual size of the fish fades from memory – an image that you might want to refer to when you're sweating your way up the 800-foot incline to your car.
An image that will generate a smile when you're worried about those rattlers and cougars and bears, oh my.
An image that may well beckon you back to the wild trout waters in the Valley's own backyard.
This article originally appeared Jan. 4, 1996, in the Los Angeles Daily News.
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Our thoughts go out to family of pleasure boater struck, killed by leaping ray
Our condolences go out to the family of Judy Kay Zagorski, the 57-year-old Michigan boater who was killed after being struck by a leaping stingray while pleasure cruising late last week in the Florida Keys.
The woman was in the bow of a boat traveling at about 25 mph when a 75-pound spotted eagle ray hit her in the freak collision, the Associated Press reports from West Palm Beach, Fla. A medical examiner says the ray slammed her in the face, fractured her skull and caused brain injuries. Zagorski was not stung by the poisonous barb of the ray, which also died on impact.
It's a very sad result to a family outing on the water and proves again the outdoors is full of unforeseen risks.
So that you can learn a little more about Zagorski, the Pigeon, Mich., woman was vacationing with her family and was on the boat with her father, Virgil Bouck, 88, who was driving, mother, Verneta, and sister, Joyce Ann Miller, according to Jorge Pino, spokesman for the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission.
She volunteered to work with terminally ill patients and operated a marina on Lake Huron in Caseville, Mich., where she and her late husband, Steve, helped organize the first Caseville Cheeseburger Festival in 1998, according to The Saginaw News.
Protected in Florida waters, spotted eagle rays can grow to 500 pounds and have a fin span of up to 10 feet, according to the AP. The specimen in last week's incident had a "wingspan" of 5 to 6 feet.
Although they typically swim at the water's surface, the AP reports, spotted eagle rays are known to jump "to escape a predator, give birth and shake off parasites," said Lynn Gear, supervisor of fishes and reptiles at Theater of the Sea in Islamorada, Fla. "They do not attack people."
In 2006 a boater in south Florida survived a similar incident when a leaping eagle ray struck him and lodged its barb in the man's heart, according to the South Florida Sun-Sentinel.
That scene in 2006 played out in the wake of perhaps the most infamous encounter with a stingray, when Australian wildlife expert Steve Irwin, host of TV's "The Crocodile Hunter," died after his heart was pierced by a stingray barb while diving off the Great Barrier Reef.
About the author: Brett Pauly spent nearly six years editing and publishing ESPNOutdoors.com before moving on to produce the ESPN.com Sports Travel site. He is a national award-winning writer and editor with 14 years of experience in the newspaper trade, including stints at the Los Angeles Daily News and Seattle Times. The Evergreen State is where he now makes his home. Click here to email him.
