I haven't visited the family in Modesto for the holidays since The Great Layoff of '95. I was the low-man at the last two jobs, always working over the T-day weekend. At the new place, the high man likes to work holidays so he can take extra days some other time.

Away I went.

I left work in Fullerton at eleven-thirty Wednesday night, arriving at the Rawhide Market in Jamestown by five the next morning. There, I purchased a second rod stamp so I could have a better chance for a score at Lake New Melones' Glory Hole Recreation area. I chose this lake over several of the other Western Sierra foothill impoundments after reading the New Melones Report on the Anglernet site. Add to a reasonably promising write-up my many years of getting intimate with the place, I had to catch something or I'm not The Breakwall Angler.

The first time Breakwall Darryl and I fished here for black bass was back in the early eighties when every pitch of a plastic worm to the trunk of any of the reservoir's millions of newly flooded oak and pine trees produced a mixed-strain largemouth of one or two pounds. In recent years, the trouting has picked up now that most of the bass habitat has rotted away. Several years ago Dad and I had a great day for holdover rainbows over two pounds near Glory Hole, but each other time we fished here since, something was wrong with the lake. The last time we visited, the water level was so low it was a mile down a steep ridge to the water. Other times the water was green and smelly.

Right now it's a quick stroll from the boat ramp parking lot to the crystal-clear water where we caught'em last time. While my rainbow sparkle Power Bait soaked with the four-pound rod, I tossed a one-half ounce rainbow trout chrome Kastmaster with the twelve-pound unit. A half-hour into it, I heard the bell on the bait rod go off. I reeled in the lure and trotted back to the other rod, picking it up to feel if anything was still on there. I gave it five minutes to either take it or not and whatever it was decided not. I re-baited and cast out once again, passing the time lure flinging with the other rod while waiting for the bell to ring on another rod.

It didn't take long. Before sunrise a jingle-lingle resulted in a nice size stocker rainbow. I thought yeah baby, quite the auspicious start. I'll catch a whole bunch today as long as the barometric high pressure persisted. It didn't look like it would. Despite warm calm glassy conditions, a front was on its way in.

After a while it all became confusing so I took a siesta in my white resin throne. Next thing I knew it was nine-thirty and if my bell went off, it didn't wake me up. I reeled in to find no bait on the hook. I re-baited and contributed another hour before giving it up for the fiesta at Mom's house.

The next morning, damp pavement outside indicated that sure enough the front was here. That didn't stop Dad and I from trying again. He saw the same report in the local paper and wanted to check it out. Our first casts of the morning were greeted by barely fishable winds. I used my standard eighth-ounce egg sinker with a number eighteen bronze treble hook tied to a four-foot four-pound swiveled leader. Dad tried a different twist to the same old Power Bait rig. He used a half-filled medium clear Cast-a-Bubble with a three-foot leader. The whole thing floated on the surface, which is kind of out of the ordinary.

As we were hanging out contemplating the wind, Dad's outfit took a hit and fell down from the backpack where he had it anchored. "Hey Homer, there goes your pole," I encouraged, as he stepped down to grab it and reel in. Extraordinarily enough, he landed the first —and only — fish of the day, another twelve-inch stocker rainbow.

We hung out in a cold wind gaining velocity for another hour with no hits before deciding to go over to the other side of the hill where the air was calmer. There, several other fishermen were around, all using the same bait rig and lawn chair. None of us were having much luck. I tried using a small rainbow trout pattern one-inch Rapala floater, making relatively long casts with the wind to my back on four pound test but all I ever tallied was one measly hit with the lure.

We donated another hour before giving it up for the fiesta at Mom's house.

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