darkshadow
Well-known member
The fact that I still hadn't purchased my fishing license for 2018 gives you a good indication on how rocky the start to the year has been, but as John Gierach wisely stated once,
"They say you forget your troubles on a trout stream, but that's not quite it. What happens is that you begin to see where your troubles fit into the grand scheme of things, and suddenly they're just not such a big deal anymore."
So, off I went to my 'local' 3 weight stream, hoping to get a nice solitary hike in, and hopefully get a few fish inside the net. The rain that accompanied me on the drive was still coming down by the time I had parked at the trail head and a steep 400 foot hike straight down into a gorge seemed more crazy by the second, but the promise of having this entire tailwater to myself erased any apprehension I may have had.
I have yet to make this hike with anybody except one crazy person.
One of my other friends who I invited down here did the, "Are you ******' nuts?!" as we debated the advantages of going down this path while staring at the river 400 feet down.
"We're going to die."
"Cmon, we're not gonna die, plus the fish are totally unpressured!...!"
He shook his head in disgust and responded with,
"Yeah, because nobody in their right mind would hike down there to catch 12 inch fish!!"
(We ended up finding another place to fish that day.)
And the last and only friend I took down here didn't even bother arguing with me and straight up said, "Nope," and continued hoofing it down the main road without missing a beat, heading further down to a spot where we could hike down 'safely.'
*
It took about 25 minutes to get down to the bottom of the river, and my rain gear was holding up pretty well, except the bill on my Dodgers hat which was now dripping steadily, obviously being saturated from collecting all the droplets steadily falling from my jacket's hoodie. And that's when I realized I've lived in Los Angeles way too long, and had no experience with constant rainfall.
PRO TIP: Wear your rain jacket, OVER your waders. Don't tuck it inside. :rain:
I realized this mistake way too late after hitting the bottom of the ravine and didn't care to fix it since my crotch and legs were already now damp, while my upper body was bone dry. I hadn't even made one cast and I already felt like a wet Labrador, with the inside of my waders sure smelling like one after I took them off later in the afternoon.
The fishing was fast and furious, so much that the puddle accumulating in my booties was the least of my concern and I soon forgot about the discomfort. I hadn't caught a fish, on a fly or otherwise, since my trip to Yellowstone in early October, so needless to say I was a bit rusty with the casting in tight quarters and my timing was off when takes occurred. But, when you have at least 80 takes all day, and you miss a third of them, it still ends up being a great day. Didn't see one other person there, and the rain finally stopped around 1 pm, so I decided to hike back up to the main access road, where my Patagonia's knee pads really came in handy, as I found myself on hands and knees for most of the way up. It was a grueling 45 minute scramble and when I got back up to the main road, instead of hiking back up to the truck, I decided to continue hiking downstream. It was the ole, "Well, since you're already here, might as well try it out," syndrome that I suffer, and which many of my companions despise. My legs and back were already gonna hurt in the morning, so might as well continue catching fish.
This isn't a tailwater where you need to match the hatch, so there's not much involved here, except for making a good presentation. I caught about a dozen fish on top using a size 16 Stimulator and lost count that ate the beadhead nymph that was trailing behind it. The biggest fish to go were about 14 inches, but both never made it to the net as they bolted downstream, jumped and shook off the barbless fly. This is the type of tailwater where you can catch multiple fish from one spot, the fish not spooking when one of their partners gets hooked. It was the best day I've had down there in the half a dozen times I've visted.
It took about an hour to make the hike back up to the truck off the main access road. After reading my GPS unit, it seems I had walked an excess of 10 miles today. My legs still feel like it 3 days later as I sit here at work.
THE PICS:
Typical Eastern Sierra Spring View
Where Would You Hide?
Snicker's Size Brown
Geology
Don't Look Down
But You Can Always Look Up
"They say you forget your troubles on a trout stream, but that's not quite it. What happens is that you begin to see where your troubles fit into the grand scheme of things, and suddenly they're just not such a big deal anymore."
So, off I went to my 'local' 3 weight stream, hoping to get a nice solitary hike in, and hopefully get a few fish inside the net. The rain that accompanied me on the drive was still coming down by the time I had parked at the trail head and a steep 400 foot hike straight down into a gorge seemed more crazy by the second, but the promise of having this entire tailwater to myself erased any apprehension I may have had.
I have yet to make this hike with anybody except one crazy person.
One of my other friends who I invited down here did the, "Are you ******' nuts?!" as we debated the advantages of going down this path while staring at the river 400 feet down.
"We're going to die."
"Cmon, we're not gonna die, plus the fish are totally unpressured!...!"
He shook his head in disgust and responded with,
"Yeah, because nobody in their right mind would hike down there to catch 12 inch fish!!"
(We ended up finding another place to fish that day.)
And the last and only friend I took down here didn't even bother arguing with me and straight up said, "Nope," and continued hoofing it down the main road without missing a beat, heading further down to a spot where we could hike down 'safely.'
*
It took about 25 minutes to get down to the bottom of the river, and my rain gear was holding up pretty well, except the bill on my Dodgers hat which was now dripping steadily, obviously being saturated from collecting all the droplets steadily falling from my jacket's hoodie. And that's when I realized I've lived in Los Angeles way too long, and had no experience with constant rainfall.
PRO TIP: Wear your rain jacket, OVER your waders. Don't tuck it inside. :rain:
I realized this mistake way too late after hitting the bottom of the ravine and didn't care to fix it since my crotch and legs were already now damp, while my upper body was bone dry. I hadn't even made one cast and I already felt like a wet Labrador, with the inside of my waders sure smelling like one after I took them off later in the afternoon.
The fishing was fast and furious, so much that the puddle accumulating in my booties was the least of my concern and I soon forgot about the discomfort. I hadn't caught a fish, on a fly or otherwise, since my trip to Yellowstone in early October, so needless to say I was a bit rusty with the casting in tight quarters and my timing was off when takes occurred. But, when you have at least 80 takes all day, and you miss a third of them, it still ends up being a great day. Didn't see one other person there, and the rain finally stopped around 1 pm, so I decided to hike back up to the main access road, where my Patagonia's knee pads really came in handy, as I found myself on hands and knees for most of the way up. It was a grueling 45 minute scramble and when I got back up to the main road, instead of hiking back up to the truck, I decided to continue hiking downstream. It was the ole, "Well, since you're already here, might as well try it out," syndrome that I suffer, and which many of my companions despise. My legs and back were already gonna hurt in the morning, so might as well continue catching fish.
This isn't a tailwater where you need to match the hatch, so there's not much involved here, except for making a good presentation. I caught about a dozen fish on top using a size 16 Stimulator and lost count that ate the beadhead nymph that was trailing behind it. The biggest fish to go were about 14 inches, but both never made it to the net as they bolted downstream, jumped and shook off the barbless fly. This is the type of tailwater where you can catch multiple fish from one spot, the fish not spooking when one of their partners gets hooked. It was the best day I've had down there in the half a dozen times I've visted.
It took about an hour to make the hike back up to the truck off the main access road. After reading my GPS unit, it seems I had walked an excess of 10 miles today. My legs still feel like it 3 days later as I sit here at work.
THE PICS:
Typical Eastern Sierra Spring View
Where Would You Hide?
Snicker's Size Brown
Geology
Don't Look Down
But You Can Always Look Up