There truly is no place like a cold tailwater for hiding from the heat.

A little trout fishery near the cabin offered a (literally) cool escape from the scorcher that hit the Saturday of Labor Day weekend ’08. Willing rainbows and brookies provided the entertainment. They even taught my fly-fishing-student-for-the-day a thing or two ‘bout fly fishing.

Credit for the teaching goes to the trout ‘cause though certainly cheaper that any guide around, limited knowledge and an inclination to flog the water with my own line severely handicapped any willingness to offer long or detailed instruction.

Our arrival streamside fell towards the later part of the early morning, limiting our initial wade-in an oft-ignored but fun and fish-filled run. Narrow and fast, it’s a great classroom for learning the drift-and-lob nymphing technique. Being deeper there’s no sight fishing here and it offers a lesson in keeping they eye on the indicator. Plenty of bank, a few boulders and a nice tailout make for unpredictable takes.

Take those trout did. No more than a dozen drifts and the first lesson of the day was on. We both were students that day. Happy to report, Richard received an almost nonstop tutorial in hooking and landing trout and a nearly unhealthy amount of schooling in LDR¹. My lesson plan for the day seemed to center around the ease with which trout can throw a size 22 hook.

Had hoped to offer a lecture and example of fishing dry flies but insect hatches apparently get a pass for the last long weekend of summer.

But the day went well. We had the creek to ourselves from mid-morn on, the heat was kept at bay and the fish came out to play.

Don’t know if Richard found that “Fly-fishing is the sweetest of addictions.”² or perhaps that “The truth is fly fishing is folly; useless, unreasonable, irrational and without purpose.”³ Mabye a little bit of both.

As for me, I’ll follow the trout in the dog days of summer.

Trout live where you don’t need A/C.

Planning for trout chasing next weekend gets all eight cylinders firing when in comes to research. Water levels are low. Temps may be high. And little good can come of catching and releasing already stressed out wild fish.

So the interweb gets tickled for any insight into Sierra West Slope possibilities. A search gives up an old Mapquest query left behind by an unknown soul. Tantalized by the possibility it might pinpoint good trout water near my Sierra foothills permanent base of operation, a click is made.

I recognize the location. Not near any stream that I know of. But I’ve driven past this place four or five or six dozen times over the last few years, not knowing that Galvan Fly Reels quietly cranked out¹ a modest line of respected fly reels.

Here’s to hoping they offer a factory tour that ends with free samples…

The weekend didn’t turn out as long or relaxing as I had hoped. I had to wait at work for the phone guy to switch some lines, postponing my departure Friday afternoon until five-thirty. While traffic was relatively light, my arrival in Twain Harte was later than I would have liked. And five o’clock the next morning came awfully quick.

I was on Moccasin Creek by six-thirty but spinners were being flung and bait drowned in many of the prime locations. But having spent more hours that I’d care to count on this rivulet, I knew a few productive spots were blatantly ignored by the meat fishermen.

My first target was a relatively fast-flowing run — maybe about 20-feet long — where an indicator with a couple of beadhead nymphs can lure a few fish out of hiding. Sure enough, after no more than four casts it was “Fish on!” A nice brook trout to start the day. I proceeded to pull another five fish out — rainbows and brookies — before moving upstream to nice pool that is divided midway by a fallen tree. Fish stack up below the tree at the tail of this pool and above the tree in the cascades pouring into its head. After a bit of catching here, I continued moving up river.

As it neared eleven o’clock, when I was left alone after the fishermen with their limits had headed home or those without headed to lunch, I stopped counting the fish I brought to hand. No real reason to keep counting past forty, I figured.

After a lunch break I switched things up, challenging myself, by rigging up a dry fly with a dropper. (A floating fly with a sinking fly tied onto the hook.) I don’t usually use dry flies, but the trout seemed to be both slashing and slurping, indicating that they were both chasing insect nymphs rising to the surface and sucking in insects already floating on the surface.

I’ve yet to master the technique of setting a hook with a dry fly — one needs to pause just a bit to let the fish turn away, otherwise a set simply pulls the hook out of the fish’s mouth — but it was amazing to see a fish rise to my dry fly and take it. The ones I did manage to hook went wild!

I spent much of the afternoon using the dry/dropper combination. Sometimes targeting specific fish I could see. Such as a fish that would hug an undercut bank and zip out for an occasional snack, leaving me to plan my cast to place the flies in the fish’s feeding lane at the right time. Other times I’d target likely areas though I couldn’t see fish. And more than a couple of fisherman commented, as they waded past me, that I seemed to be hooked up every time they looked.

I ended the day, after more than ten hours on the water, going after a fish sticking close to underwater weeds in an area that would be called a “prime lie”: a place where a fish can get shelter as well as easy access to food floating by. It took good drifts to get this guy to even glance at my flies. Finally an excellent drift and the fight was one. And true to expectations, he was a big one, maybe fourteen inches of brook trout.

The best part of the day? Driving the other fishermen crazy with my constant catch and releasing numerous fish. Ha!

However, I ended up spending two fun days - Thursday and Friday - fishing (and catching) on the North Fork of the Tuolumne River, upstream and downstream of the River Ranch Campground, at the confluence of the Tuolumne and Basin Creek. Since the object of this trip was no-stress exploration, I was on the river about 10:00 a.m., suited up and ready for wading. For those who haven’t been, it’s a nice little stretch of river with both planted and wild rainbow trout.

Looking down to the river:

Boy, did I get lucky on two counts. First, no crowds…only two campsites occupied and I had the river to myself. Second, the recently planted rainbows (confirmed by a visit to a DFG hatchery were Eagle Lake strain…they sure put up a better fight than some other planters I’ve hooked.

In six hours on the water Thursday, going about a mile downstream and a mile upstream, I worked the water with a lot of side-arm casts and roll casts. (No room for even one overhead cast!) Thankfully there were only two campsites occupied and much of the time I was the only fisher on the river. This stretch offers plenty of distinct and easy to reach seams, pools and runs, out of which I hooked 22 and landed 17 (C&R’d), ranging from a three-inch wild guy to a beefy 14-inch stocker that gave me a run for my money. Based on girth and length, this fish probably weighed 1¾ to 2 lb. When I arrived a good mayfly hatch was going on and the fish were feeding.

This was the biggest fish of the trip…14 inches and 1.75-2 lbs!

I decided Friday, since I couldn’t get to another river I wanted to explore, to head back to the Tuolumne. This time I went a bit further upstream, where I got into a bunch of smaller wild fish, and a bit further downstream. This day I hooked 18 and landed 15 rainbows (also C&R’d), with another one in the 14-inch range as the trophy of the day.

All in all, I had a great first time on this stretch of the Tuolumne. I’ll be back!

While circumstances conspired to prevent my celebration of Opening Day of trout season (April 26) by actually fishing, I did head to the cabin with Sean and Christopher Saturday night, with plans to hit Moccasin Creek. Sure, Moccasin is stocked, but trout is trout. We stopped at Diamondback Grill to enjoy some burgers, then headed for the cabin and hit the hay.

Sunday morning, Hit Moccasin Creek we did. Christopher, Sean (with my old fly rod), and I (with my new 5 wt. fly rod) were on the water by 7:00 a.m. Sunday. The surprising lack of fisher folks allowed us to pick the best spots. Again, the creek was full of larger brook trout and soon all of us had a fish on the line.

Sean did well for his first time fly fishing, even if it was nymphing, which isn’t what one imagines when fly fishing is mentioned. (Nymphing employs weighted wet flies, which are presented to the fish in their feeding lane underwater.) While Christopher left close to mid morning after pulling in a few fish, but Sean and I spent much of the day on the creek, and in about ten hours Sean had landed a dozen trout. I stopped counting at a dozen. Later in the evening, I fished by myself and right about sunset literally hooked ten trout in thirty minutes, all out of a small pool.

Knowing it was to be a short trip, Monday morning Sean and I headed back down to Moccasin Creek to spend a “little time” on the water before we had to head home. Well, a little time stretched into hours. But I blame it on Sean’s illness…he caught the bug. When I asked if he was ready to leave, his response was “One more cast.” We had fun trying to entice some fish in a deep pool by the dam, fish we could clearly see. I think we both pulled a couple of fish out of there, thanks to my expert fly selection!

A busy but tremendously fun two days.

What I had hoped would be an afternoon and evening in the water turns into an hour and a half of twilight wading. But it turned out to be a good ninety minutes.

The destination was Beardsley Afterbay. I had heard hints that the afterbay was a great place to fish in the fall and I wasn’t led astray. I first picked a good pool with a strong seam about three quarters of the way across. After fishing the near water, less than a dozen casts later, a small 6-7” rainbow hint my prince nymph harder that one would normally expect. (I apologize for the blurry images related to this post.)

Without another fisherman in sight, my son and I moved, bypassing some “flats” and ending up across from some undercut banks. I picked up a small, maybe 7-8” rainbow in an eddy behind a boulder. Taking a bit of time to watch upstream, I spotted some subtle rises about two feet out from the undercut bank. Getting lucky, I set my dry/dropper right in the lane. The dry dipped and with a quick strike I had the biggest fish of the evening, an honest 12-13” rainbow.

With bats chasing our dry flies and the sun’s light disappearing, we headed back toward the car and I was rewarded with one last fish, a decent rainbow; wild from the looks of it.

Then the climb began. I estimate it only took 30 minutes, but it was a tough climb. (Remember that before this hike we were wading and boulder-hopping in the river. And now it was nearly dark.) Obviously, we made it up the hill. Panting, we shed our fishing gear and started the drive back. Again, the GPS was looking for the shortest route down these single-lane, rock-strewn forest service roads. Just as it began to look unfamiliar we were confronted by a deep ditch…the same ditch that our friend with the 4×4 had to gently navigate. But I had to turn around. Thank goodness there was a wide turn just behind us. We finally made it to the highway and breathed a sigh of relief.

Saturday morning we slowly showered, dressed, changed the bed sheets, etc., and about 11:15 a.m. were fishing Moccasin Creek. I was counting on some fish still being in the stream even though it hadn’t been stocked in quite a while. Last month, when Sean and I visited, it was brimming with fish.

My guess was correct, and a few casts into a deep pool and I had a chuck ol’ planter in hand. We spent the next hour or so casting ‘n catching. Christopher had a few strikes and brought one fish to shore. I netted about six, with a few lost to LDR (long-distance release). About an hour and a half later we were on the way home.

It was a quick but fun fishing adventure.

Sean and I made a quick weekend getaway to the cabin Friday afternoon and hit Moccasin Creek early Saturday morning. Before the sun was up we had parked the car and ambled down to the creek. The cloud cover kept the sunrise at bay a bit longer than usual, but we didn’t have any rain until later in the morning.

With a spinning rig, Sean began working a favorite pool with a gold-on-gold Panther Martin. I set up my fly pole with an indicator fly (Parachute Adams), with a Copper John nymph (small, a size 18) about 12 inches below. It couldn’t have been more than 20 minutes and we had both landed a decent stocker rainbow, in the 13- to 14-inch range. It was good to see Sean enjoying fishing as he sort of abandoned the sport a few years ago. See, I figure there are those who are lucky at fishing and those who aren’t, or maybe some are born with an intuitive skill. Sean, like me, has to work at catching fish. But that work can pay off, as it obviously did that Saturday.

Rain began to fall in earnest about mid morning, but thanks to the trees lining the stream banks, we were spared from getting too damp.  During the morning we switched up our lures. Sean went to my favorite gold-on-red Panther Martin while I opted for a Zebra Beadhead Nymph. I don’t think we went more than 30 minutes without one of us hooking a fish. In the end, Sean’s tally was sixteen trout hooked with nine landed; my record was thirty-four hooked and 16 landed. (Keep in mind that we only counted fish we touched or netted, meaning that we played some to shore, only to have them self release.)

After quick showers about noon, we headed to Columbia for some sarsaparilla and a gander at the town and a visit to the candy shop. We grabbed an early dinner of great hamburgers at the Diamondback Grill in Sonora. (I’m loving those buffalo burgers!) Driving back to the cabin we were entertained by a bit of lightning and thunder, and after watching a movie, it was early to bed.

It was a nice little break from everyday life, and maybe I can get Sean to go fishing again…

About 7:30 a.m. we were picked up by Chris H., a fellow fisherman I had corresponded with and who had provided me with good advice for off-season fishing. In his four-wheel-drive GMC pickup, we headed for the back roads and towards the South Fork of the Stanislaus River. Our goal was wild trout in the seemingly rarely fished section of the river. Unfortunately, our progress was quickly stopped by a gate that was closed after being open a few weeks ago. Diverted but not undeterred, Chris H. took the back way in. This was a stretch of the Stanislaus that I wouldn’t have expected to see as it definitely requires a trail-capable vehicle to get there.

Soon we were on the water. This part of the Stanislaus holds a lot of promising spots and has some beautiful sections. And rarely did we even see another vehicle go by. But I didn’t see a single trout. Chris H. apparently saw some fish, but couldn’t get them to bite. We moved upstream a bit, and tried again. No luck. We moved upstream again. Nothing. Late in the afternoon we finally moved up to an area where DFG supposedly plants trout…and you can see where I’m going by the use of the word “supposedly.” We were skunked again. Not the best opening day to be sure, but I asked Christopher if Sunday morning he’d want to head to Moccasin Creek and invited Chris H. to join us if inclined.

Christopher and I hit Moccasin Creek just before eight o’clock the next morning, only to find half a dozen folks already pounding the water and my favorite spot (our spot according to Christopher) occupied. Chris H. arrived as I was walking past the hatchery, and he joined us in trying a few spots. After a while, I slipped on my waders and we all proceeded downstream. Christopher turned back after a while, but Chris H. and I continued on. After a while, Chris H. found a couple of trout holding to a cluster of branches that were under water, but even after we both artfully cast lures and nearly hit the heads of these two fish, we hadn’t a single bite, much less any interest in our offerings.

After returning upstream, we found that Christopher had slipped into the “favorite spot,” and we joined him. Christopher had noticed the fish — about a dozen or so along this fifty-foot stretch — rising to the surface. Chris H. went back for his fly rod and I found my way through some blackberry bushes to get a better angle on the pool from the narrow bank. After a while, Christopher took a break from the frustration of limited interest in his flies and lures, so I moved upstream and started working a pool through which three to five fish would move in and out.

After all too many casts, one fish finally began to pay attention to my little gold on gold Panther Martin. A few more casts and he attacked. Line stripped from my ultra-light setup and I knew this wasn’t what I was used to catching in Moccasin Creek. This fish jump a few times and took off anytime he saw shoreline. I couldn’t so much as reel this fish into shore as guide it’s struggles so that I might get my hands on it — and release it — before it was too played out. It was about two minutes before I could get it to shore, to find it was the biggest brook trout I have landed. I would estimate 15 to 16 inches. What a fish and what a fight! 

Shortly after I landed my brookie, Chris H. got a hit on his fly rod and pulled in a decent brookie of his own, also the biggest he’s caught. This seemed to rekindle Christopher’s desire to get a line wet, so he rigged up his fly rod and tried casting into a pool just downstream from a boulder. I think he had a bit of interest in his San Juan worm fly, but not enough to hook up.

I continued to work the more downstream pool, and just about when I was going to call it day, I felt my lure receive a gentle nudge. So I duplicated my cast and again felt a nudge, but as I continued to reel in, my pole began to bend and the fight was on. This fish apparently had gently mouthed my lure and neither he nor I realized he was hooked. This brook trout also put on a good fight, and seeing my little battle, Chris H. volunteer to net the fish. I guided it upstream, but it took about three attempts before he was in the net, and just after being netted, the lure “self released” — that’s how light the hook was set.

I know it was a very frustrating opening weekend for Christopher and I wish he could have lucky enough to have caught something. But it is called fishing and not “catching.”  I do feel blessed to have landing two awesome brook trout in the last hour before our fishing adventure ended. Time to start planning our next trip!

P.S. Found out later from Moccasin Creek Hatchery that

The brooks are used as a bio filter for rainbows in certain waters. They were reaching maturity and the decision was made to plant them out as a change of pace. Only moccasin, Lyons Canal, Powerhouse received brooks. Next week it will probably be rainbows again but brooks will be planted on occasion. This years egg numbers for brooks are about the same as last years about 1 percent of our total production. Glad you enjoyed them I was hoping someone would.

After one particularly good cast, I felt a tug, as if the hook was caught on a weed. Then the line moved towards deeper water. Fish on! It wasn’t much of a battle, and the fish didn’t jump. But bluegill don’t usually jump. Sure, I would have rather caught a decent trout, but a fish is a fish, and the fact that I fooled it with a fly gave me renewed confidence that perhaps I can get a handle on fly fishing. And it was a decent sized bluegill.  I spent the rest of my time on the edge of the largest pond, throwing a mouse “fly” into some weed beds. Again, I was practicing (it seems particularly hard to cast this fly) when suddenly my lure was literally attacked, probably by a bass. The fish immediately took to the bottom and wrapped my line around the weeds and somehow slipped off the hook. But it was an exciting 20 seconds, that’s for sure.

Sure hope I can get a trout on the end of my line next weekend, which just happens to be Opening Day.

Left town Tuesday about 7:00 p.m. for my “spring break,” setting the GPS for the cabin and expecting to arrive in Twain Harte in about three hours with time for a quick dinner. My late departure paid off as I breezed past Tracy on I-205 (usually an awful bottleneck). Got to the cabin about when expected, laid out my fishing gear and hit the sack.

Thanks to a suggestion from member on one of the fishing forums I visit, Wednesday morning I headed off to the Two-Mile Bar area of the Stanislaus River, despite light rain and threatening clouds. I parked and headed down to the river, amazed at the greenness of everything around me, even the abundance of new growth on the poison oak.

I originally set out to use my fly rod, and started heading upstream about 11:30 a.m. But faced with very few locations from which I could suitably cast from shore (particularly with my limited experience and without waders), I turned to my new ultra-light spinning gear. Just about the time I made my first cast and despite it being spring, the heavens opened up like normally would happen on a dark winter day. Thankfully, I was sheltered by some overhanging branches and had the foresight to bring a weather-resistant outer shell, so remained relatively dry. So, I did what most any fisherman would, I began to work the pool, starting down stream of some big boulders and working my way up.

It took about five casts before I saw the first flash of a fish and felt a quick strike. Inspired to keep going, I began to notice what looked like little bubbles on the water…but freshwater usually doesn’t hang onto bubbles, like saltwater, I thought to myself… Then it dawned on me, or more accurately hit my hat…it was hailing! For maybe 10 minutes I simply marveled at being alone on a river while nature did what it does, all around me.

But I was also there to fish. Once the rain and hail abated and the sky began to clear, I again began to cast in earnest and was paid off with a few strikes. Keeping track of my casts, saw that my favorite little Panther Martin (red body/gold blade) was being bumped after a long upstream cast with a medium retrieval that allowed the current to pull the lure into a long pool near the center of a gentle bend. Duplicating that cast got me a few more strikes and finally a hookup. Gotta love that ultra-light gear…even though it was only an eight-incher, it was great fun getting it to shore. I cast a bit more and brought in another shorty, maybe nine inches or so.

Figuring I had worked that first pool enough and speculating that the strikes might have caused whatever fish were there to be a bit spooked, I headed downstream to another area accessed through berry bushes. (Mabye one of the spots you mentioned, StuckinLodi?) This spot is right near a big sweeping bend that ends with riffles split by a small island. I again began casting, starting upstream and working down stream to the shallow end, where I finally began to get some strikes. A few minutes later I was reeling in another small trout with remarkable parr marks.

Now, I’m not one to be so focused on trophy trout that I’ll forsake the opportunity to catch any number of small trout, but I thought maybe I’d increase my chances of pulling in a larger fish by turning to the all-purpose Kastmaster, gold of course. It gave me a bit more distance, which was a good thing as the most promising pool was nearer the other shore. (Ain’t that always the case?) Anyhow, maybe a dozen casts or so and a few strikes, I hooked into a decent fish, about 13 inches. And I decided to let that be the end of my fishing for the day.

I explored a bit of the river downstream from what one might call the main access point (where I saw the only other two fisherman I saw that day), but didn’t see much in the way of promising water unless one were on a float trip. Have to say, I couldn’t have asked for a better first experience on the Stanislaus or a better pre-season trip.

I took Thursday as a “lazy day,” getting up about nine, kicking around the cabin for a bit before heading to the Mother Load Fly Shop, where I chatting with owner Marvin for a bit about local rivers that can be fished during the “off season” and that offer decent shore access. He’s a good guy, willing to spend time to provide pointers. I bought a few more flies as well to help fill out my tackle box. By the time I left the fly shop, the clouds had retreated and the sun was out in full force.

Thanks to a reminder from Karen, I then headed off to the Diamondback Grill for an awesome mushroom and Swiss cheese hamburger. (If you like a good burger, you gotta stop there!) Have to say, I am getting a handle on the whole idea of slowing down and taking a break…I took my time with lunch, reading a couple of local papers and savoring my hamburger. Grabbing a few postcards off the shelf, I headed down the road to good ol’ Columbia for a stroll. This historic town was a bit more crowded than I expected (school groups off for spring break), but I found myself poking around and just enjoying the sunshine. I also spoke with a counterperson at the mine at the south end of town and found out that with gold prices being what they are, the mine owners have put the mine back into operation, so no tours for now.

Just for grins, since I was back at the cabin about three o’clock, I headed up to Lyons Canal for a hike to the water hazards on the abandoned and now-fallow golf course. Don’t know what happened, but both ponds seemed devoid of any bluegill. (Sure hope not as they were a great source of entertainment during a few summer visits.) For those who’ve seen Lyons Canal, it was higher than I’ve ever seen it, probably within a foot of the top edge of the canal. After hiking back to the car, I returned to the cabin, where I let the day slip away, listening to a concert in the park and watching the darkness creep over the trees.

Friday I again went to the Two Mile Bar Recreation Area. The sky was clear and the sun was strong. Arrived about the same time of day, and within the first five or six casts had a strike out of the upstream pool on an all-gold Panther Martin, and over the next hour and a half had numerous strikes. I found that the fish seemed to have gone a bit deeper, and eventually hooked and lost one fish and landed two smallish rainbows in the 10 inch range. Figuring I had enticed all of the willing fish from this pool, and after sitting for a while to munch on lunch and soak in the nature around me — turkey vultures and birds and sheer cliffs above, the music of the water — I headed downstream to the bend.

Got to the bend about 1:00 p.m. and switched over to small gold Kastmaster, threw it out and immediately had a fish on before I began my retrieve. It ended up being the most combative fish of the week, clearing the water four or five times and running away as soon as he eyed the bank. Kept getting strikes every half dozen casts or so over the next 45 minutes, with three hookups and one smaller fish landed.

But just as the sun neared its two o’clock position, those dog-gone trout seemed to be spy-hopping, trying to get a gander at this creature on riverbank. I swear they were laughing at me because the bite just fell off. Then I began to see at least a dozen or more fish holding in front of the riffles at the end of the bend and slurping up something just off the surface. I’m no expert, but I would guess that some sort of hatch was on. I set my pole aside and started “trout watching.” I could not make out what they were chasing, but this went on for about an hour before the fish shifted tactics and began to take some thing subsurface, with their dorsal fins and backs periodically breaking the water. Quite a show… This day I saw four other fisherman, all using fly rods, and at least one fish landed. I finally hiked out before the sun set as I had to get things packed for the trip home.

Have to say, I couldn’t have asked for a better first experience on the Stanislaus River. What a good pre-season trip!