If this does not convince you that humans tend to make problems worse rather than better, read this.

Note that poisoning the pike did not work a few years back, but, so what, we’ll spend more of the people’s money to do it again. Also note that this particular poison only kills creatures with gills. Great, now I feel much better about poisoning a large water system. We won’t even consider the fact that northern pike are a great gamefish in their own right (see right).

As a man of action, the vigilant Skunkmeister has referred the state of California to the UN for employing chemical weapons indiscriminately again their own people. The UN will now try to beat California down with endless resolutions and requests for bribes.

Wait a minute, maybe this poisoning technique, when applied to the Rio Grande, will help stem the tide of the little brown fish. Hey, if the little brown fish return to the river after a few years, we’ll just do it again!

A while ago, the Skunkmeister promised to do book reviews, and, therefore, procured a book. Well, that book degenerated into philosophizing after about six words. By the first 50 pages we had discussed all manner of uninteresting things, and so I put it down and said, “Fie on this nonsense.” If I want anecdotes about the minutiae of a trivial and stupid life, I’ll read my own stuff. I give it a P-factor of about 7 of 10. That is my first review.

Anyway, I have been reading about the unusual 26th president of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt, whose pomposity factor was pretty significant. He led what the rest of us would consider a full life before he was 21. Anyway, a book about the last great adventure of his life, entitled River of Doubt, tells of Roosevelt’s little field trip down a previously unexplored river in the bowels of the Amazon basin. Apparently, the atmosphere was so oppressive that several North American members of the expedition swam like so:

The former president described as “a great, fat fish.” Naturally, my thoughts turned to invasive species.

This photograph was one of the first documented examples of an invasive species in a South American river system. The great fat fish, which became known south of the border as the Great White Gringo, is still a rarity, and, when spotted by locals, is greeted with much curiosity, hooting, and occasional gunfire.

Interestingly, a smaller and darker version of this fish is invading the river systems of North America, notably the Rio Grande.

These unusual variants generally swim in only one direction, and scientists speculate that these creatures have some undocumented internal compass that aims them to the north. These little brown fish spawn uncontrollably.

This is a problem that no scientist, engineer, chemist, or individual sharpshooter has been able to solve. Our government policy is to be nice to the little brown fish in the hopes that they will simply stop coming or at least stay out of sight, but that approach appears to be failing.

River of Doubt is a cool book and includes stuff about piranhas. Hey, maybe we should introduce piranhas into the Rio Grande and see if that helps reduce the burgeoning little brown fish population.

The Skunkmeister scored big last night at the Big Ditch. Here’s how it went down.

It was a dark and stormy night (really). Disdaining my map and compass, and carrying no provisions for the journey, I slogged through rain and muck, and arrived at the edge of the known world, the Cape Cod Canal. Here there be monsters.

Baitfish were hopping all along the edge, and birds lined the stony banks, hoping for fresh fish. I clipped on a brand new Hopkins and cast away. Nothing. A second cast and, pow! The Hopkins snapped off and sailed magnificently northward alone into the mist. What a cast!

I rerigged and tried an amber Hogy. A few casts later and, bam! A major league hit! But no hookup. I reeled in a shredded softbait. This was getting exciting.

I hooked on a 4 ounce leadhead with a Sluggo, lovingly prepared and donated by my friend Bill Dean. I cast that baby out and jigged it a few minutes, but nothing. I cast again, letting it slip to the bottom, and, oomph, it was sucked in by a what can only have been a monster striper! I set the hook, and the fun began.

The monster moved slowly and fitfully eastward with the strong current. I kept the pressure on and swung the monster closer to shore. Within five minutes it had hunkered down in the rocks. I slipped, stumbled, and staggered over the slick rocks in the dark, keeping that pressure on, moving toward the great monster and hoping to get around to the front of it. But this trophy was both smart and tough, and it stayed solidly entrenched. After another ten minutes of fighting, I tightened the drag just a smidgen and gave a mighty but steady pull on the rod and, snap! It was gone.

I will never know exactly what that monster fish was. I think it was a big-time, canny striper. Uber-piscator Andy Nabreski says it was probably a rogue lobster trap.

In any case, the evening was a great success. I did not drown. I did not break an ankle on the dark rocks. I hooked something large and spooky and fought it valiantly like Captain Ahab for almost fifteen minutes. I even came home with some gear to use next time. As you can see, here I am at the brink, with this here big yellow popper thingy that I plan to use next time.

Not bad for an evening’s work at the Big Ditch!

Every August a cool offshore fishing tournament takes place in Falmouth, Mass. The Skunkmeister has been going every year for two years now; here is this year’s report:

In order to prevent a repeat of last year’s stampede, the famous Skunkmeister showed up this year in a generic tourist get-up, incognito, as it were.

But this clever disguise did not work, and, as you can see, a crowd gathered instantly. Even the famous Dave “Pops” Masch, author of the hit cookbook, Cooking the Catch, was overheard saying to the Skunkmeister, “Yeah, I know you.”

Here is Dave (on the left) cooking up a storm (or wondering what to do next) with uber-piscator Andy Nabreski from On The Water magazine and a groupie (I understand that you can catch some pretty big groupies in the tropics. I gotta see that some day).

The air was so electric with excitement that one young lady on the last boat to come in actually swooned. In the photo below you can see people ignoring some fine yellowfin tuna and looking over toward the lady.

Eventually, she was taken away by rescue personnel but appeared to be fine, calling out “Save me some!” as she was loaded into the ambulance. The tuna appeared to be fine, too, but had no comment on the whole affair.

You know what the best part was (besides the free freshly-grilled fish)? The Skunkmeister didn’t even use a boat and still finished in the top ten! The man is a genius.

At next year’s tournament they had better plan a police escort or there will be pandemonium.

I have been weeding out old stuff on my workbench and found this note. This is an actual note. If memory serves me, I think I picked it up off the floor at a fishing show in Providence from a couple of months ago. I thought at the time that most guys at the show did not follow this exact order. From my observations, #4 was at the top of the list, followed closely by #3. Of course, I didn’t get there until late in the day.