After four days of back yard construction in temperatures exceeding one hundred degrees, I was not looking forward to the same amount of hard time this week.  That’s why, even though I said I was not going to travel this year, I accepted Mabe’s suggestion we seek relief by four-wheeling ten‑thousand feet up into the Eastern Sierra Nevada coolness where we could beguile ninety-six hours fishing for golden and rainbow trout.

    He said since he traveled to the town of Fishop three weeks ago to fish four of our favorite spots up in the Jackal Valley area, he knew which lakes and streams were hot and the one that’s not.  He and his two boys caught some big fat colorful goldens out of Concealed Lake, scores of scrappy brook trout out of Butcher Creek, unlimited numbers of rainbow trout from Boulder Basement Lake but zilch from Upsidedowncone Lake.  As is always Breakwall Angler policy when it comes to our beloved secret fish holes, the aforementioned aliases have been used to protect their Internet innocence.

    So there we went.  I arrived at the Concealed Lake four-wheel camp Sunday afternoon around five, after five hours through the desert and two up the tortuous mountain dirt road.  Without much sleep the night before, most of Monday morning was spent inside my tent, lying in a restful state under a shady canopy of lodgepoles.  It wasn’t until eleven before I completed the one-mile hike to water’s first glimpse.  Thanks to plenty of mountain training this past July, I blazed up the trail-less incline in a mere and unchallenging twenty minutes.

    I stuck with my usual plan for Concealed by hiking along the steep shore of the lake’s backside to fish the deepest spot offered.  I set my stage in a grotto so close to the water’s edge that I couldn’t have sought refuge there if the lake were completely full.  Mabe said the water level was far down, but at six feet it was only a fraction of the thirty-five to forty feet low I saw it during the seven‑year drought, which ended in 1993.

    I rigged up one four‑pound‑test outfit with a one‑eighth‑ounce egg sinker, a number sixteen swivel, four feet of two‑pound leader and a number eighteen treble hook, to which a wad of yellow‑glitter Power Bait was molded.  After casting out as far into the turquoise abyss as I could, I set the pole into a secured rod holder and began to tie up my second four‑pound ensemble with a one‑twelfth‑ounce gold Kastmaster.

    I didn’t have to wait too long for my first hit.  Heck, I could see several nice goldens cruising right in front of me.  It came on the lure, which, again, I would cast as far as I could, letting it sink down enough that a slow jerky retrieve would keep it just above the boulder‑strewn bottom.  Actually, for a split second I thought that’s what I had – a snag on a rock.  Then I felt the fish’s first lunge, which triggered about the same reaction out of me.  I cranked my Aero 3000 to bring it up a bit, then slowed down some on the handle, letting the fish pull drag a couple times.  There wasn’t much resistance until its gilded sides shone in the sunlit near‑shore waters.  It then picked up a more pugnacious, golden‑trout‑like pace, pulling line to the right and left four times each in a desperate attempt to free itself.  Nevertheless its exhausted fate was mine as he calmly slipped into the net.

    The rest of the day I squeezed the most out of my $9.10 second rod license stamp by casting the lure while my Power Bait soaked.  I could tell it was going to be a slow day by the way my bait rod sat there motionless most of the time.  Every twenty or so minutes I would reel in to check to see if the wad was still floating.  Half of the time it wasn’t, so more bait was added.  However I discovered that when I would bring the rig in there would be goldens following it.  I would slacken the line so the weight hit the bottom, the bait in plain sight about six feet under.  The fish that followed it in would cruise by, halfheartedly attacking the ball of goo a few times before the bright yellow color would finally disappear.  At that point I knew the bait couldn’t’ve gone anywhere but inside the fish’s mouth so I cranked on the reel to set the hook.  I netted two twelve-inch goldens and lost three more using this sight ‘n’ stop method.  The fourth fish came on the lure as I reeled in slowly right in front of five chunky goldens about ten feet from the rock I was standing on.  Another twelve-incher in the bag.

    This past winter around the house on rainy days the red worms were so thick they were climbing the walls.  One trick was to leave some cardboard lying around the back yard dirt where after a few days these hiding places would be the only moist spots left. To stock up for fish bait when the need occurred, I would go out every so often and scoop up as many as I could, then stick them in a tub of potting soil topped with cornmeal.  These aren’t the huge night crawler variety of earthworm but the perfect half‑inch trout‑sized slime wire that fit perfectly on a number sixteen bait-holder.  I tossed it out under a small clear Cast‑A­‑Bubble and waited.  Soon came the usual four or five fish.  I reeled in slowly to intercept their trajectory through the water.  As soon as fish number three saw the little wiggler, he was on it.  That bad boy didn’t pussyfin around.  He swam over real quick, sucked it up, then tore out just as fast.  On two‑pound line and a loose drag It took a while to subdue but alas at five-thirty was had my daily‑limit-filling fifth fish.

    Five fish in the bag and a few other hits coming off the hook is a slow day?  Back in the old ten fish daily limit days I would always keep seven to ten caught on Power Bait at this amazing fishery.

    Down the hill, into the meadow near the four-wheel camp I could see Mabe’s black Trooper parked near my truck.  We had a lovely beer bash barbecue before resting up for day two’s adventures.

    Tuesday, back at the lake, I took the same position inside the grotto.  Mabe showed up a half-hour later, pulling up a rock across the lake on the point between the outlet and the beach.  I could tell it was going to be another slow day.   For me nothing was hitting the power bait.  However I did land one on the lure.  I saw Mabe land one at his spot on Power Bait, as he would do the rest of the day.  The two of us hiked around the lake to the inlet.  I took a spot out of sight of my partner.  After two‑and‑a‑half hours it was getting to be six in the afternoon and I had not a hit using any of my techniques, so I packed it up and wandered over to where he was.  I asked if he sucked as bad as I did and he said no.  I said huh?  He showed me a stringer of four very nice golden trout, including the trip’s largest, a fourteen-incher.

    Mabe said the lake looked a lot more imbued than when he was here three weeks ago.  We concluded the recent heat wave melted some icebergs farther up into the canyon, creating more flow in the lake’s inlet creek.

    Wednesday was our day to depart.  On the way out we traversed  the old road to Upsidedowncone Lake and walked the short distance up the hill to Boulder Basement lake.  There I took up a rock near another deep spot.  Before Mabe showed up I caught and released a rainbow trout but it looked more like a sardine...all four inches of it.  When Mabe finally did show up he called me over to a shallower, not so rocky spot.  He said last time he and the boys were there everyone limited out.  He got my attention after I saw him land his third rainbow over eleven inches in less than an hour.

    Okay, I was next to him, watching him catch and either keep or release another four nice sized fish.  Me?  Yeah, I caught four fish too.  Two of them were sardines, and the other two were barely nine inches.  The latter two I kept.  I must admit I was catching more fish at Mabe’s spot.  After several other smallish specimens I finally landed a twelve‑incher that put on quite the spectacular aerial show, as it leaped out of the water three times.  By four we both on our way home with a three-day limit of ten trout.

    Regular gasoline in Owens Valley was $2.25.  I’m not scheduled to be rich enough to travel until sometime in 2002.  Be back then.  Otherwise it’s cheapie trips to the breakwall for a while.

Top