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The trout brigade at Walker
Rural tourism encompasses many venues in the Sierra Nevada, but none so popular as fishing during its season. Tallying in at number one for tourism is angling and all of its associated angles, fishing holes and lodging opportunities. And while the Mammoth Lakes region tends to get most of the press locally, the northern reaches of Mono County have their fair share of angling hot spots. Recently, the DFG trout stocking truck was in the town of Walker and a crowd gathered to help with the delivery. Sam Foster manned the trout brigade at the Walker River-a makeshift line of all ages, each delighted to see trout leave the metal confines of the truck's tanks and land in the water.Walker's trout stocking is repeated in many of the towns and it's not just the local fishing guides who get into the action for the planting locations or the actual trout drops.
Native brook trout are in hot water
My first brook trout arrived on a frosty late-spring morning in mountain water so cold it made my fingers tingle before going completely numb. No bigger than my hand, the brookie was a work of art to rival New Hampshire's Chocorua Lake, its home just before I enticed it to swallow my fly and to which I would return it moments later. Its olive skin peppered with blue-ringed red dots and a rakish orange belly is a vivid image that has stayed with me for more than 25 years. If I had a lick of artistic ability, I could draw that fish from memory. Since arriving here 18 years ago, my encounters with brookies have been fewer and farther between. Some of that has to do with the other fish that occupy my time: white perch, croaker and, of course, striped bass. (Let's not even mention menhaden, OK?) But even when I've carved out the time, it's been hard to do a meet-and-greet with Maryland's only native trout.
Bird flu puts small dent in flyfishing business
DELTA, Colo. Lines of long, narrow, white buildings spread out across the ranch in the lush, green farmland of western Colorado. Inside are chickens, up to 85,000 in each of the dimly lit coops with interiors that feel like greenhouses and smell like outhouses. This is Tom Whiting's lab, where he creates new kinds of chickens or, more specifically, chicken feathers. Whiting is no mad scientist. He's a poultry geneticist and his company, Whiting Farms, is the world's largest producer of the chicken hackle that fly fishermen use for tying flies. Whiting keeps a watchful eye on his birds, from the time the chicks are hatched until their feathers are packaged and shipped to companies in roughly 40 countries. With the operation broken up among three ranches, Whiting has biological security from poultry diseases and protection from natural disasters that might wipe out his entire line.
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