With a few short hours of sleep and only a day to fish, our eyes were on catching, not just chasing ‘em. So Friday found us on a tributary of Don Pedro Lake, a place not too far away and — fly fishing purists close your eyes — known to be stocked. I counted on the lackadaisical nature of fishermen who fall under the latter half of “put and take” to offer assurance that there’d be some rainbows left even though DFG trucks hadn’t visited this particular stretch in over two weeks.

Rigged up and ready, Sean was first to cast, and on that fish cast it was “fish on!” Though not landed, we took it as a good sign. Sean’s learned a lot since that first fly fishing lesson last spring, so it’s not only because yours truly graciously granted him first crack at one of the best runs that he landed four decent rainbows before I had a chance at a single one.

A bit later and a bit downstream I showed Sean a few seldom-fished and often productive pools, then it was back up to a more popular section. Thanks to the waders — most bait and hardware fisherfolks precariously perch on roots near this section — we effortlessly walked upstream and downstream near the opposite bank, targeting pods of trout as well as individual fish. Both of us hooked numerous fish and landed a few less than hooked. (Sean would probably agree that his fly fishing education might benefit from a focus on the hookset.) Our biggest were about 14 inches, with some broad-shouldered bruisers in the mix.

A better day we couldn’t have asked for. The sun was out but the air temperature was pleasant. The water was a bit high but the fish were willing.

But the “good day” rating was to be pegged just about lunchtime.

Fishing the tailout of a pool with a size 22 midge (very small fly for non-fisher folks) I was able to watch a fish adjust to the fly’s path and a white flash told me it had opened its mouth for the take. That white flash of the mouth — rainbows have darker mouths — suggested that this would be a brook trout left over from stocking earlier in the year. The fish sure did shake its head like a brookie. But then it jumped. “Whoa!” Sean yelled as it did. Another jump and it was heading downstream, taking me with it.

Roughly life-size illustration of that midge.

About five minutes later, after doing a “rock dance,” and about 20 more feet downstream, landing procedures commenced. It was then that the coolness factor of this fish rose quite a bit. I was a hooked-jawed wild brown trout headed upstream from the lake to spawn. All 15 inches of him. One very cool surprise.

The downside is that we left the camera at home. But ask Sean. I think he’ll tell ya it was a good day with a great fish among the many good.

We were to hit the Two Mile Bar section after flows hovered just above 200 cubic feet per second; eminently fishable. The flows climbed to 225 cfs on Oct. 8, to 425 cfs on the 9th, peaked at 669 on the 10th, and seemed to have settled around 655 cfs; definitely not fishable.

The Stanislaus looked good until about a week ago...

Seems a bit odd to see so much water flowing downstream. It’s been a heck of a year for our reservoirs — the average level stands at 59.6% of capacity and as low as 21% — so one would think we wouldn’t see massive releases.

Seems I’ll have to head upstream when I’m fishing the foothills next month…

The previous post hints at the end of my visit last week to the Evergreen State. It was a good visit that began on the previous Friday. The wife and I dropped the last kid off at school and barreled down the highway to Oakland International…expecting traffic but instead arriving with plenty o’ time to read the newspaper.

Maybe it’s a sign of the times: our flight was at 70-80% occupancy. The two of us shared three seats. A little turbulence was followed by the always surprising decent to Sea-Tac. This flight was an experiment of sorts for me. It was the first time I hauled my fishing gear through the air.

Voula’s Offshore Cafe

Mom & Dad’s Taxi Service picked us up. Next stop: Voula’s Offshore Café.

After seeing it on Food Network’s “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives,” we volunteered a late lunch at Voula’s on the way home. Nothing like breakfast for lunch. My dad went for one of the hobo scrambles, mom for the salmon scramble and the wife a plate of biscuits and gravy. I opted for the amazing and very savory Eggs Benedict, made with pork smoked on the premises and chipotle hollandaise.

Once in Duvall we met my cousin Bill and his wife Laura, for the first time, then tried to walk off some of Voula’s excellent chow with some dog walking. The weather was good, but before I left we’d experience everything from sunshine to hail and downpours.

Saturday was the manufactured excuse reason for our visit. Though I lived there for a short nine months I missed out on the Issaquah Salmon Days Festival and during the summer decided it was about time I got up there to see what it’s all about. The day was full of drizzle as well as fun in the sights and sounds. Just your normal festival with craft booths and monstrous salmon plowing up the nearby creek. The Issaquah State Salmon Hatchery is a great facility that speaks to the success of a grass-roots effort. That evening my brother and his family invited all of us over for dinner and entertainment (provided by my two nephews, Levi and Kaden).

Sunday started with mass at my parents’ parish, followed by a breakfast spread that apparently only comes out when visitors descend on the house. I swear my dad was missing the usual morning meal composed of twigs and pebbles. After another visit with the nephews and their mom, it was off for an early dinner with mom, dad, the nephews, my sister-in-law and my cousin and his wife, before delivering the wife to the airport.

Monday saw me on the forks of the Snoqualmie River with fly rod in hand. Unfortunately, the upper reaches of the South Fork of the Snoqualmie were a little bigger than I envisioned. I flogged the water best I could…may have had only one take…but not a fish to hand. Spending a day on the water is always good, and I was treated to sporadic sunshine near Snoqualmie Pass and drizzle further down the hill on the North Fork. After stumbling upon a couple of camouflaged gentled carrying rifles, it was time to call it day.

Tuesday and Wednesday were typical of the best types of vacation days…days without any plan and composed of reading the newspaper, running into town for a turn signal bulb, visiting with a gentlemen who repairs microscopes and refractometers and hanging with the bro’. And as you know, getting a rather unique ride to the airport.

P.S. I haven’t processed the pictures yet…I’ll put ‘em up soon…probably in a separate post.

I’m relieved that our Indigenous Summer was short lived, giving way to crisp autumn air, fresh pressed apple cider and that last hustle to any water high enough to keep trout on the pre-winter feedbag. Things have been busy on the fishing front this trout season, with a lot of firsts.

Tied my first flies. Caught the first fish with one of them flies. Landed my first brown since picking up fly fishing in earnest. The first group fishing trip organized by yours truly came off well. (My strategy counted on keeping everyone stuffed with good food in the event fishing was poor. Got lucky. It wasn’t.)

And I made a first attempt at mentoring a gentleman considering joining the sport. The downside is that he’ll now have to unlearn the bad habits I taught him.

In a month I’ll inaugurate the first of hopefully many end-of-season visits to the cabin to do the last bit of trout fishing before the mid November close. I’m trying my level best to balance the need desire to remove myself from the world via fly fishing with daily commitments and responsibilities, but dates in my mind increasingly are filtered by the opening days of various rivers or Sierra Nevada passes. The wife already knows that any suggestion of travel prompts my immediate inquiry about the inclusion of a fishing day.

Leaving tomorrow for the Seattle area will mean visiting family, gazing slack-jawed at spawning salmon and probably tip toeing between raindrops. And like fly fishing, planning and anticipation is half the fun.

Almost like leaving Northern California’s salmon desert for the land of milk and honey and plenty o’ salmon.

And the debate still rages within whether to haul the fly fishing gear through the airport of a single day of whipping local waters.

So it was on this quick trip on the Friday, Saturday and Sunday beginning Sept. 19th. The three days went by mighty fast, but the fish were willing to play, and all of us ended up with some outstanding memories. Our group also instituted our own version of a Sierra Fall “Slam”. More on that later.

Soon after Jim, with whom I shared transportation, and I passed the Highway 108/395 junction, we warmed up for the outing with some drive-by fishing on the nearby Little Walker River. It was wonderful to be greeted by some willing wild rainbow and brook trout.

After most of our group met at Tom’s Place Resort later that afternoon, we unloaded and geared up. Then it was off to Hot Creek. Winds typical of the Eastern Sierra barreled through the small canyon but those who managed a good drift, using small Caddis and Stimulators with Zebra Midges, were rewarded with this creek’s beautiful fish. I, however, was not one of them.

Looking downstream on Hot Creek

The descent of darkness sent us scurrying back to our cabins. The evening was capped off with a spread of appetizers, homemade beer, wine and a rib-sticking, one-handed meal of runza.

With the dawning of Saturday our group broke into smaller two- and three-person squads that would cover each variety of the available waters: creeks and streams, rivers, and lakes. The waters covered included the Upper Owens River, Rock Creek, Mammoth Creek, Hot Creek, the Mammoth area’s Lake Mamie and Crowley Lake.

Two other club members and myself headed to Crowley Lake to stillwater nymph for that lake’s famed fish by boat. Though the lake was low, the wind was conspicuously and thankfully absent nearly all day. We began by working the West Flats area, accompanied by a handful of float tubers and boats. While we were there, only one tuber hooked, then lost, a fish. A move to the Leighton Springs area of the lake proved fortuitous as one of our group, who only started fly fishing this summer after taking the novice seminar last spring, hooked and landed a beautiful 20-inch cutthroat. The fishing wasn’t crazy, but we all had a number of takes and drive bys and at the end of the day, I could lay claim to four good rainbows, but will (jokingly) insist that I lost the biggest trout of the day after it dramatically jumped a few feet into the air and, as everyone stood slack-jawed in the boat, crashed into one of our cohort’s leader and broke off.

Me and a Hot Creek Rainbow

The plan for the late afternoon was to meet on the Upper Owens to fish into the twilight hours, when the winds typically subside. The threat of darkness cut the fishing short, but I managed a couple of rainbows. And while it wasn’t a secret that I was after a brown on this trip, I didn’t expect my third fish to be an Upper Owens whopper of a brown measuring six inches.

This fun day full of fishing, punctuated by a good amount of catching, ended on another high note, with a wonderful pasta dinner and the obligatory selection and toast of the best “fish story.” As the tales were told two standouts became quickly apparent. The 20-inch cutthroat was an obvious choice, particularly with the “catcher” being a new fly fisher. While not involving a fish, her husband’s yarn, to which I can testify, ended up being a co-winner. To sum it up, trout eat midge nymphs. So do long-eared grebes. If your indicator moves just after a grebe dives next to it, you shouldn’t set the hook. It was. And out his mishap arose the new Sierra Fall “Slam,” for collectively our group caught brown trout, cutthroat trout, rainbow trout, brook trout and, yes, the aforementioned grebe.

We parted ways on Sunday as some folks would head home through Yosemite while others would cross Sonora Pass. Before heading over Sonora Pass Jim and I flung flies into Hot Creek that morning, again amid numerous caddis hatches. Jim used a small orange Caddis to entice a number of takes and got a nice rainbow to the net.

After struggling with a nymph under larger stimulator, I too opted for a size 18 Caddis and after what seemed like 50-plus casts deceived, hooked and landed a healthy and brilliant 14-inch rainbow. When Jim moved downstream, so I slid into this spot, where a pod of fish was running deep, and cast a Stimulator with a size 22 “Crystal” Zebra dropper. Three casts later and I hooked then had in hand the brownie I was looking for; about 13 inches worth.

My Hot Creek Brown

A great trip!

Wild Brown Trout on the River Lyn, Proper Westcounty fly fishing, UK

The act of fly fishing arguably offers as much as visual feast as it does frustrating wind knots and finicky fish any thing else and the new online Catch Magazine exquisitely plays to this aspect of the sport. Calling itself the “Official Journal of Fly Fishing Photography & Film” — smartly avoiding the label “fish porn” and the stereotypical man-holding-fish composition— Catch Magazine is one of a handful of fly fishing Web sites offering almost painfully beautiful images related to the sport.

Casting on the Sunset

The first issue premiered this month with an interface that a remarkable page-turning interface. (My thanks to the Feed Fish Flies Blog — an offshoot of Creekside Angling Co. fly shop in Issaquah, Wash., for pointing it out.) Catch Magazine is the brainchild of Powell Butte, Oregon-based angling and outdoor photog and Scientific Anglers tackle rep Brian O’Keefe and Sprit River Studios partner and ESPN Fly Fishing the World Camera Operator Todd Moen. Mr. O’Keefe tackles the still photography while Mr. Moen slips into the role of video editor.

Alaska Rainbow by Brian O'Keefe

No different, I saw time slow to the proverbial crawl the past few days as my countdown moved from days to hours, then minutes. But by now, me and my gear are headed in the general direction of Hot Creek, Crowley Lake and the rest of the Eastern Sierra.  So y’all will get a break from me. 

Rock Creek Lake in the fall, near where we'll be and when.

The plan is to fish when we have daylight and regale our cohorts with stories when the drape of darkness descends from the Sierra Nevadas. That and enjoy one of our fishing partner’s home-made brew. No, the beer wasn’t the reason for his invite.

Tonight means a stay at the cabin, telling myself to get some shut-eye early but instead bouncing off the walls with expectancy. Truthfully, I’ll probably fiddle with the gear, add tippet to leaders, pore over the inventory of flies, and finally submit to staring at the ceiling waiting for Mr. Sandman.

Then it’ll be up at sunrise, eager to load my gear in the truck that will be shared for the 152.4 miles to the bump on the side of U.S. Highway 395 called Tom’s Place, our home for three days for myself and eight fellow club members. 

Weather looks good. The scenery will be grand. Fishing could be great. Can’t wait.

This time next week it’ll be prime time in the Eastern Sierra. A bunch of us fly club members will attempt to float flies between the weeds at Hot Creek, chase big-shouldered rainbows and browns in Crowley Lake and otherwise whip various waters trying to entice that one or two or seven fish that will grant us memories and a story that’ll keep us warm all winter long. Tying flies will be the mandate for the coming week. (Figure to mitigate the wife’s comment that last time she looked my fly box was full very simply with the purchase of another.)

The only worry is exposing my lack of casting skill to the eyes of others who actually know me and will have opportunity to later comment on the hilarity of it all. Hopefully catching fish will distract them long enough for me to somehow wet a line and maybe, and by the grace of God, fool a fish.