Ladyfishers Article from wayback.... Sept 1, 1997 should be required reading just to get a fishing license....anywhere. In many ways, it seems rudeness is rampant these days.

Last week, while on a camping trip with my family at Burney Falls, CA, I was fishing Burney Creek just a bit above the falls. One of my six favorite places on earth. It is a small stream that issues forth from the lava in a series of voluminous springs starting less than a mile above the falls. Never is it more than about 30 feet wide untill the last 100 feet above the falls. For the most part it is less than 20 feet wide. Cold and crystal clear, it is a pocket water brook at its finest. Deep pools the size of a bushel basket with wily rainbows and browns the order of the day. The banks are accessable on foot, though rocky, uneven, and brushy. Cool and shady even on the hottest days. I had gotten up at the crack of dawn and walked about a mile and a half from our campsite to the farthest upstream point where there was water this late in the year. I met nary a soul on my little hike, and there was no one fishing but me. The campground was nearly empty and I wasn't surprised to find myself alone on the creek, as reports indicated fishing was slow.
I was only there about a half hour, and working on my second stop downstream when a woman showed up and plunked down within 10 feet of me and started slinging a lure. My thoughts were " Hey !!! Hello !!! Fishing Here !!! What The %#@!!'s the matter with you ?!?! Now, I'm no midget, I go about 280 and just a smidge under 6 ft. With a 9 ft. rod in my hands and yellow floating line out in the stream, so I was quite visible. Peeved, and verging on angry, I gathered up my line and fly, and moved about 80 yards downstream.
Second cast there, second attempt to interest what looked to be a very nice trout holding in the slack water just below a clump of grass, and here comes Miss Panther Martin again, crashing through the brush right behind me, saying, nearly at a shout "Ya catchin' anything?" Well, Mr. Trout split the scene, and with a tight lipped "no" so did I. My better judgment kept me from saying anything more than that one word. I walked over a mile to get to a footbridge and cross the creek to the less accessible side, and then fished my way back up to nearly where I was before. I saw her again about 40 yards below where I last encountered her, and assume she fished her way down a ways before she gave it up for the day. Now to me, fishin' is fishin' and I don't much care what folks fish with. I just happen to choose flies and fly rods, for my own reasons. As long as they're legal, folks can fish however they want, and I don't care, nor judge....it's all fishin' far's I'm concerned. However, the plunk of a lure in such a small brook don't do much for the fishin' right close, and lack of respect has no place on the stream. To further hamper my mood, I gathered up no less than 100 yards of tangled line strung up in various trees and bushes, and attached to everything from bobber and worm rigs to little rubber crappie jigs. I tell you....... sometimes it seems people are nearly the bane of my existence...
.............................................Modoc Dan