A marmot at Olmstead Point, a stop on our way to Tuolumne Meadows, and a hike that would require the full use of our lungs.
Looking at our Target - Lembert Dome - from Tuolumne Meadows Campground, over the very swollen Tuolumne River. The hike is 1.5 miles with an 800-foot elevation gain.
Mark and Sean on the last stretch up the back of Lembert Dome.
The view from Lembert Dome, looking out over Tuolumne Meadows.
Mark's first experience fly fishing...obviously it went well.
Chalk it up to vanity or lack of maturity as a fly fisherman, but I felt the pressure on our second day to beat last year’s Eagle Lake record of 53 rainbows to the net.
We’d met our competition the guys in the other boat, a father who had gifted his son a guided trip for his birthday, and our guide reminded us that we’d fallen far short of our record the day before.
Things looked good. Scattered clouds, a bit of a breeze and the sun cresting the mountains.
Like nearly any water, the fishing on Eagle Lake can be changeable. That’s to be expected. Calm conditions will kill the bite. A weak breeze that morning put the burden on Don and I to make the most of every strike. We did, but it was a slow start. Atypically, the fish were smaller. It seems as if the big fish had moved off The Mesa during the night, to be replaced by youngsters. (Thankfully, the smallest fish of the day — an eight incher — was landed by Doug, our guide.)
Every time Don would hook a fish, I’d wait. I’ve learned to never recast if my partner just had a strike. More often than not, leaving flies in the water would lead to a double hook up. The proof’s in the video below, courtesy one of small cameras mounted on Don’s hat.
After noon, both guide boats were side by side. Our of the corner of our eyes, we’d all watch for the sudden jerk of a hookset and watch anxiously to see if a fish made it to the net. Don and I were one fish behind our competition.
It boiled down to making the hookset. And we did.
It wasn’t a day of huge fish. It also took some work — twitching the fly here and there, mending and casting to transitions — but the fish were passing by often enough to ensure regular hook ups. Our lead was extended, fish by fish.
In the end, we’d come within touching distance of our record, with 52 fish for the day.
By the end of that day, we were tired. Not tired of catching fish, but our hands and wrists and forearms ached. The sun had exacted its toll. I faced a long drive home. But all was good. It was a great time. It always is at Eagle.
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It’s the kind of fishing that feels illegal, immoral and just plain wrong, but so good that you hope the semi-remote location will keep all but most motivated anglers from visiting.
For a second year, fishing buddy Don and I made the trek to Eagle Lake last weekend. Last year we had done so Father’s Day weekend, just as a huge caddis hatch was coming off. Arriving a week earlier this year, we saw only the beginning of the hatch. Regardless of our timing, it was certain that fishing would be good, the catching great, and, now it seems, that I’d pull an annual bonehead move.
For me the trip’s about 270 miles, really not too far, but the last 128 miles of a narrow two-lane state highway twists and turns through canyons. Whatever mapping application or GPS you use will indicate it’ll take roughly five hours driving time, but the nature of those last hundred miles will add just under an hour. The driving is so slow it’s common for folks to get a bit lost thinking they’ve passed the turnoff for Spalding when it’s still miles up the road.
A little sample of Sierra Nevada Brewery's Ovila Dubbel and California Common. Both great.
Whether or not you’re a fan of Sierra Nevada beers, the hour-long tour’s well worth a stop. Along the tour are offers to taste the toasted malted barley and wort, which tastes of Grape Nuts with a sweetness so strong it implies instant cavities, and a chance to rub and smell whole-cone hops. The history of the brewery is a large part of the tour, and it’s eco-friendliness is dumbfounding.
Good food and beer go hand in hand with fishing, there was no slouching on my part. The Sierra Nevada Brewery Restaurant has some great grub — steaks and burgers from the brewery’s spent-grain-fed 50 head of cattle — and flights of all beers on tap, many of which can’t be found elsewhere. Driving by myself, I asked for a couple of tastes: California Common and Ovila Dubbel. Both were tasty, and the California Common, a recipe created in last year’s beer camp with yeast native to the Golden State, seemed to have a little bit of that unique sourness found in San Francisco sourdough bread. (And personal kudos to Sierra Nevada as I wasn’t charged for the two small tastes.)
Eagle Lake is in the far northeastern corner of California, about 40 miles from the Nevada border and 90 miles from the Oregon border. The nearest town, Susanville, has been called “Prison Town, USA,” as about 40% of its 18,000 residents are housed at the High Desert State Prison and the California Correctional Facility, were actor Danny Trejo served time.
There’s not much cell phone coverage after leaving Chico, so it wasn’t until I pulled into Chester that a text message from Don popped up, letting me know he was in Susanville. I acknowledged his message with my location, to get a reply that he had just talked with our guide, Doug, who said the bite had been excellent. I trust Doug well enough that the thought didn’t even cross my mind that he might be setting us up for the big “you should’ve been here yesterday.”
Lunch was big, so dinner that night was a single grilled cheese sandwich and a beer, enjoyed in view of the lake, its water slowly darkening as the embers of a setting sun touched the tips of the surrounding mountains.
Never a Dull Moment
To be clear, I’m usually adequately prepared when it comes to fishing. But there’s something about the prospect of big Eagle Lake rainbows that seems to scramble my brain. Last year I lost track of my fishing license, something guides tend to require clients have in their possession.
Don on the chilly morning ride to "The Mesa."
Anglers have been taking fish from the lake since Memorial Day, but as is the case with Eagle Lake, the trout population can make for stupid, silly catching much of the time. It’s a simple matter of being there on the bite with the right flies at the right depths in the right location. Doug has his favorite spots and our first stop was cryptically referred to as “The Mesa.” After positioning and anchoring the boat based on the wind, currents and structure, casts were made and indicators watched.
No matter one’s thoughts on stillwater nymphing, it demands decent casting as well as the mental stamina to discern the exact moment at which to set the hook. Casting two nymphs, split shot and an indicator isn’t elegant, but requires a certain skill to prevent incidental ear piercing.
Those who decry indicators often imply they make fly fishing too easy. But throw out 40 feet of fly line and put 10 feet of leader below an indicator, and it’s not that easy. One has to maintain constant vigilance, watching for the subtle difference between a “drive by” and an actual strike. A strike doesn’t always bury the indicator under water and often isn’t convenient. One learns to pause and pay close attention in those short moments after a twitch or line mends. It can be tough. I’ve heard of one experience fly fisher who went oh-for-eleven on solid strikes during the early morning bite.
Don and his first-day big Eagle Lake Rainbow.
As I’ve implied, great fishing can be anticipated on Eagle Lake. One guide is fond of saying that double hookups can be expected and triples are common. Even new fly fishers can often look back upon a day of 20-plus fish to the net. Many are in the 14- to 18-inch range; some edge above 18 inches. Given enough good hooksets, a few closer to 20 inches will make it to the boat. The larger fish will bulldog towards the bottom, while smaller fish will fool you with vicious head shakes and long runs, sometimes into the backing. If you’re lucky enough, as Don and I were, you’ll land a few native fish that are beautiful enough to compare favorably with Alaska’s famed leopard-spotted rainbows.
My biggest Eagle Lake Rainbow – over 22 inches.
The fishing started off strong that first morning with the kind of rapid-fire hookups that give rise to concerns that the bite will taper into nothingness by noon. But this was Eagle Lake, and with some patience and dialing in the aforementioned flies, depth and location, one can expect steady action. Sometimes slower, sometimes not.
Forty-two fish made it to the boat that day. Eleven short of our record last year; but things looked promising for day two. Little did I know how tough it might be.
See the photo gallery here.
A few years ago it was with a smirk and wink that the guide would tell you, knowing that you certainly weren’t there yesterday. In silent acknowledgement, you’d smirk back.
Impossibly white wisps of clouds break up that bluebird sky. The lake’s in great shape, the temperature just right and the surface rippling ever so slightly.
You’ve been fishing in this particular spot for just short of an hour, with only a few “drive bys” rewarding your efforts. This is the third spot this morning. Fishing’s been tough. And now it takes an honest effort to not set the hook with every dip of the indicator. A fear has set in that the moment you look away the next dip will end up being a missed fish.
A sly glance is the only indication that you’re ignoring a growling stomach, trying to outwait your companion, hoping that the moment he bites into his sandwich indicators will go down. You also overlook other bodily needs. You gather strength with the self admonition that a line not in the water isn’t fishing.
Then the guide says it. “You should have been here yesterday.”
This time you know he means it, and you curse the intertubes.
…in the coming days I’ll be on Eagle Lake — shown in the above only days-old video — hoping that those words are never even considered being spoken.
Just last week we posted that nearly all of California’s hatchery-raised rainbow trout will be triploids within two to three years.
Now we can’t help but wonder what it really means.
According to U.K. Salmon and Freshwater Fisheries Consultant David J. Solomon:
Apart from having three sets of chromosomes, as opposed to the usual two in trout, there are a number of other relevant differences [between diploid and triploid trout].
Many organs and tissues have larger but fewer cells in triploids, including the brain, muscle, retina, liver and kidney (Benfey, 1999). This appears to arise because the extra set of chromosomes dictates an increase in cell nucleus dimensions which in turn affects overall cell size.
Fewer brain cells doesn’t mean will mean you’ll hook a triploid trout on every cast, particularly if diploid trout (with the normal chromosomal configuration) are present in the same water. Solomon goes on…
However, this rather fundamental difference appears to have remarkably little knock-on effect upon physiology, behaviour and general performance. Development rates appear very similar, until the onset of sexual maturity in diploids. Diet utilisation and energetics appear unaffected. Triploids are generally less aggressive than diploids, which leads to poorer performance when the two are reared together in intensive culture – but these differences disappear when the two are reared separately.
It’ll be interesting…
Chances are that in the sordid noble history of nearly all fly fishermen, trout were caught, cleaned and eaten. It’s just as likely that these fish were born in a hatchery, raised in concrete runways and trucked to that river, stream, or lake from which they were plucked.
Writing without the encumbrances of real journalism, I can can step out on a limb and offer definitive word that nearly all of the stocked rainbow trout in California soon could be triploids. Yup, them fish that should be asterisk’d in any claim of a record.
Hatchery Upwelling Jars
While the resulting hatchery environmental impact reports called for the protection of steelhead in anadromous waters below rim dams, CA DFG will expand rainbow triploid production to approximately 90% of the state’s stocking program. The few exceptions will include Eagle Lake, an understandably unnamed southern Sierra source of Kamloops Junction Rainbow broodstock, and hatchery broodstock that will be placed in certain waters when three to four years old.
Triploids aren’t new to California. They were first brought in from out-of-state suppliers, such as Sumner, Wash.-based Troutlodge, then reared in CA DFG hatcheries. The department later developed its own program, with a single apparatus and borrowing methodology from other states that have had success with trout triploidy. This single apparatus was trucked up and down the state, following the spawning of the different rainbow strains.
That will change near the end of this month when additional triploidy pressure shocking machines should arrive from Europe, allowing for the placement of two machines at the Mt. Shasta Hatchery and single machines at the San Joaquin Hatchery and Hot Creek Hatchery. (You can get a good, easy-to-understand outline of triploids and their production at Get Hooked.)
There Be No Monsters Here (and Good News for Natives?)
It seems you can set aside concerns that genetically engineered monster rainbows will be dumped into California waters. These triploid trout will be still be stocked when ½ to ¾ of a pound. (Trivia: The size of trout stocked by CA DFG rose to a target of ½ pound when the general daily limit on trout was reduced to five, from 10 fish. Before that, stocked trout often were smaller.)
Although mandated by 2005’s Assembly Bill 7 — now California Fish and Game Code §13007 — and not directly related to the PRC/CBD lawsuit, Dr. Cox expressed hope that up to 25% of CA DFG’s stocked fish will be heritage species (in terms of numbers) by 2012-13. State hatcheries currently raise Eagle Lake Rainbow (Oncorhynchus mykiss aquilarum), Lahonton Cutthroat (Oncorhynchus clarki henshawi), California (or Volcano Creek) Golden Trout (Oncorhynchus mykiss aguabonita) and Steelhead (Oncorhynchus mykiss).
A fifth heritage trout species should be in production by January 2012. Spelled out in the California Fish & Game Commission’s Current Issues Fall 2010 document are plans to upgrade the infrastructure at the Kern River Hatchery for the production of the native Kern River Rainbow Trout (Oncorhynchus mykiss gilberti). Dr. Cox said that Kern River rainbow broodstock should be collected this fall. Long-term plans include the possibility of rearing Lahontan cutthroat trout for the Lake Tahoe basin restoration.
Regardless of one’s opinion of stocked trout, it’s fair to say that those with boots on the ground in California’s hatcheries honestly aim to better the angling experience. Here’s to hoping.
* Yes, he’s a fisherman who spent much of last month fly fishing in Wyoming and Montana.
I didn’t know it then, but that confidence mentioned in words written about a week ago would be tested on the first full day of Trout Season 2011, even if high water narrowed our possible venue down to two or three choices where we knew the fish should be willing to play. At least that’s what we thought.
Sean's hands make this nicely colored rainbow from Angels Creek seem smaller than it actually is. At least that's what he says...
The night before we had decided to head to “Hatchery Creek.” While well stocked with rainbows (and occasionally brook trout), it also can offer kokanee in the spring and a few elusive browns in the fall. We had been warned, however, about the aforementioned grumbling on Opening Day from anglers who couldn’t find the fish maintained that DFG had cut back on its stocking.
The easy accessibility of this creek — as well as the everyday responsibilities of life — quickly fades as we descend the banks of this creek. No matter the origin of these trout, soon they would occupy all our thoughts and become our obsession for most of the day.
The creek, actually more a short tailwater before it dumps into a lake, is high. Maybe higher than I’ve ever seen it, and it takes more than a moment or two to identify familiar landmarks. Sean and I wonder out loud if high flows during the winter had scoured the creek. Together we remember a productive pool that two years ago was shaded by a now absent tree. A few of the old channels seem to have disappeared; new channels slowly reveal themselves. It’s hard to tell, but even a few boulders seem to occupy new positions.
With more of a series of grunts than conversation, it’s agreed that I’ll head slightly downstream to a long, fast, shallow run that’s always been good to me. The current here is too fast for dry flies. Nymphs work well, but most of the fun starts on the swing. It’s the first place I threw out a wet fly, and the first place that a trout took that soft hackle wet fly, one I had tied with a sparse blue-thread body and partridge hackle. After a few casts, the fish reveal themselves. It’s a cookie-cutter rainbow, but a welcome sign that all’s once again good with the world, at least in this brief moment in my part of the world.
Sean wandered upstream to another run, where water tumbled over rocks into a deeper run that ends in front of a boulder. It’s one of those hot spots favored by trout and deep enough to require at least one heavier fly.
After half an hour or so and three trout to the net and about the same for Sean, I ventured upstream, peering into pools and undercuts where I’d usually be able to sight fish. Seeing no fish sign, I checked in with Sean and headed downstream again. Going farther downstream requires care. Trees hug the banks and blackberry bushes are so prolific that thorny, tippet snatching blackberry vines hang overhead. There’s no overhead casting here. Line management is limited to side-arm casts, lobbing or simply dropping flies and letting the current take them to the fishy spots.
There’s one very fishy spot that requires that last tactic. Water bubbles over a creek-wide riffle before dropping into a wide area marked by granite boulders big enough to disrupt the current and create a pocket, a holding lie, for trout, yet small enough to allow the nearby current to flow fast enough, delivering bugs to waiting fish.
I dropped my flies — a size 18 AP Nymph and a size 22 glass bead chironomid pattern — just below the riffle. One drift, a second, then a third.
I’ve found that occasionally a subtle pause, perhaps no more than a second, perhaps a bit longer, can suggest that there’s a larger fish is at the end of the line. This was one of those times. I set the hook. My line paused. It vibrated faintly in the current. Then it was out of the pocket, through the riffles and around an upstream boulder faster than I could follow. But I would never see the fish. The same could be said for my home-tied fly.
The rest of the day, Sean and I would explore the lower reaches of this creek, finding a pool where, he’d been told, trout can often be found. We did find fish there.
This creek widens and gains speed closer to its mouth, reminding me more of a freestone river in the Eastern Sierra. Nice brown trout water, except it’s not home to many browns. There was fishing along the way but no more catching.
I can’t say whether it was the exertion of hiking, the full day of fishing or just plain thirst, but the dinner and the beer that came with it that night tasted awfully good.
Met with a lack of success in finding frog balls during my Opening Day fly fishing trip, I was back at the cabin this past weekend, this time with The Wife, hoping to track down the elusive and delectable pickled morsels.
Who said frogs have no style?
What better place or time to find frog balls than at the Calaveras County Fair & Jumping Frog Jubilee?
The Calaveras County Fair is a relatively small affair, condensed into a few buildings, with the obligatory display of hit-and-miss engines powering pumps. One powered an old wash tub. Filling space in one of the buildings was the regular complement of vendors hawking their goods, some unique, some tasty and a few suspiciously smacking of snake oil. Other buildings housed the winning entries in horticulture, art and photography, as well as a display of locally produced wines. Our visit was flavored by the requisite fair food: corn dogs and cotton candy.
Most surprising was the entertainment value of the jumping frog competition. Since 1928, and inspired by Mark Twain’s story, frog jumping is a serious sport in Angels Camp. After all, there are rules:
Frog Requirements
1. Must be at least four inches (4”) from nose to tail.
2. Must begin jump with all four (4) feet, including toes, on the eight inch (8”) launch pad.
3. No substitutions.
4. Evidence of jumping the same frog twice will result in disqualification and forfeiture of prizes.Jump Measuring
1. The distance will be measured on the third jump in a straight line from the center of the pad to the tail of the frog. A walk or skip is counted as a jump.
2. If a frog jumps into the Jockey or the Jockey’s equipment, the frog will be disqualified.
3. If a frog jumps into other people or other people’s equipment on the stage, the Jockey may allow a re-jump or take the mark.
4. During the jump only the person jockeying the frog may move ahead of the launching pad.
5. Frog catchers shall be on the right– or left-hand corners of the stage and cannot move until the frog has finished jumping.
6. The jump must occur within one (1) minute from start to finish. A one-minute clock will start when the Announcer announces the Jockey’s name. If the jump is not completed within one (1) minute the horn will sound and the frog will be disqualified.
7. Touching the frog after it leaves the pad is cause for immediate disqualification.
8. All marks are final. Any interference by a participant or team member may be cause for disqualification.”
Fun with frogs.
On the main stage, however, the competition was serious. Veteran “frog jockeys” competed alongside youngsters. Organized teams competed for top honors, including a trophy at least three feet tall and cash prize of $750. A frog that beats the world record of 21’ 5¾” can earn $5,000 worth of greenbacks for the jockey.
We ended up spending more time than expected watching folks flail their arms, hoot, holler and jump in an effort to motive their amphibian friends. (Not to worry, these athlete frogs, after just about 30 seconds of competitive effort, are pampered at a frog spa under the main stage.)
This year’s winner was a frog named “4Peat,” jockeyed by Michael Wright of Team Bozos. 4Peat’s three jumps totaled 19′ 1”.
With his impression of the the "running man," this frog gained inches fast.
This frog showed style...or just showed off...with a mid-air pirouette.
Alas, we were not to find frog balls. Not at the fair, not in local stores. It seems that the purveyor of these spherical snacks pushed prices a bit too high for the retailers we talked with. It was still a good time.
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*No, they’re not real frog balls. They’re pickled Brussels sprouts. The story goes that the man who would make these delicious orbs needed a name for his product. His little sister, when served the vegetable at about six years old, decided that the odd green things on her dinner plate were green like a frog and round like a meatball, thus “frog balls.”
Fly Fishing Trip Goals: Fish New Water(s), Fish for New Species/Strains of Trout,
Drink New Beer(s), Repeat. Note: Do so slowly, with great deliberation.
It’s not casting, presentation or fly selection; it’s a deliberate and slower pace that offers the best chance of success in fly fishing.
This isn’t a new or unfamiliar idea. My first appreciation of a slower approach was the pace at which I entered any water, familiar or unfamiliar. Slowing down to take the time to make a few observations. To watch the sun rise. To look for that one rising trout. To take time to fish that small seam a few feet out from the bank.
[singlepic id=1088 w=275 h=368 float=center]The decision to try my hand at tying flies required a slow, methodical approach as I learned techniques and how materials responded to the tying process. I’m not a production tyer, and probably think more what I’m doing when tying than I should. That’s okay; a lot of that thinking is about the fish I expect or hope to fool with that fly; or memories of already having done so.
Rod building again necessitates slowing down. Wrapping thread seems simple, and it is. Wrapping thread well isn’t. Five-minute epoxy is the fastest part of the process. Laying down multiple coats is not.
More experienced fly fisherman might wonder why it took so long for me to come to this conclusion. In my defense, there were trout to fool and success was measured by body count.
Two weeks ago, while setting aside the desire to get on higher-elevation trout water as soon as legally possible, it dawned on me that the fish would still be there even if my arrival was delayed a day or two. Like dominoes falling, decisions were then made to purposely plan a slower pace.
It’s a huge thing to slow down in today’s world. To take a slow, long look at that wild trout. And, when the sunlight’s too dim to fish, to slowly relish the day’s adventures, seasoned with good food and, if you’re lucky, a good beer.
It’s all worth savoring.
To be certain, we lugged along a few new brews to the cabin during our Opening Day trip, but didn’t pass up the opportunity to try something from the tap during dinner at The Rock.
Told by the waitress that customers had complained that New Belgium’s Ranger IPA was too hoppy, Sean naturally went ahead and ordered it. Apparently those customers have sensitive palates. I’m not a huge fan of too much hoppiness on the back end, but even I found the Ranger rather mild. So did Sean.
Though not an extreme beer snob, I favor trying local suds, and opted to try Snowshoe’s Grizzly Brown Ale. (And, honestly, I felt an obligation to try the Grizzly as research. The Snowshoe brewery is an hour away from the cabin and will be on the itinerary during my brother’s visit next month.) I’ve grown increasingly fond of a well-done brown ale. The Grizzly didn’t disappoint, and it seemed that Sean might have wished he’d chosen it. It’s certainly dark in color, but semi creamy and not heavy as might be expected. A nice toasty maltiness gives way to a light hop finish.
Certainly a great way to finish a day of fly fishing.
fishing for words 