While visiting family for the holiday last month, Mom told me about Uncle Sam catching a whole bunch of big fat trout – including one over three pounds – from a lake near his place in Banning.  The best part was it only cost $5 to fish there with five‑fish limit.  Not counting the minimal gasoline travel expenses, I could put some fish in the smoker for less than if I were to buy them at the store.

    So, I called Sam to get the skinny.  There are three lakes at Yucaipa Regional Park, nestled in the San Bernardino Mountain foothills, which is run by San Bernardino County, all of which are stocked every Thursday until mid‑April with a quarter ton of rainbows by hatcheries from Idaho, Whitewater River, and a Northern California steelhead producer the name of which escapes my mind.

    We planned to go there this past Friday but so did the latest storm.  Instead we waited until today to avoid the weekend crowds.  Being the sixth car in line, we were handing over our five‑spots only ten minutes after the park opening time of 07:30.  Giving some of the other twenty‑or‑so other anglers some casting room we set up under an alder tree and tossed out.  Using two rods each, we both tossed out a wad of Power Bait then with the other shot tubular mini‑jigs out there with the ol’ jerk motion retrieve.

    With an Eastern Sierra‑like view of majestic snow‑covered San Bernardino Peak, we had at least a picturesque slow start as we didn’t see anyone reel anything in for the first half hour.  We saw a school rippling the water over in the corner, where I put the mini‑jig in their faces for several casts with no takers.  As I came back to camp to reassess, my fish pole bell sounded a strike.  I set the hook on the upper lake’s first fish of the day, a ‘bow of thirteen inches netted kindly by the gentleman next to us.

    A group of six thirteen‑year‑olds showed up, all of who obviously knew what they were doing.  With grey mini‑jigs they were cranking in the one‑and‑a‑half pounders while the rest of us stood around looking stupid.  What they were doing was following groups of ten to twenty fish swimming close to shore and casting to them, enticing strikes.  Each time the school crossed our path, Sam and I would cast our mini‑jigs in a similar fashion, but could not get the Dang things to pay any attention to us.

    Meanwhile as we watched the kids reel in a bunch over in the corner, I had another hit on the Power Bait about thirty seconds after the rig hit bottom.  At fourteen inches this one was slightly larger than the first.  Using a two‑pound leader, one has to play the fish gently, however neither of them made the daring drag‑burning runs like the trout they put in Laguna Niguel Lake.  But who cares, they’ll still smoke up tastily.

    As most of the regulars watched in disbelief, those kids were ripping up.  It seemed at least one of the six was always hooked up.  They were releasing most and offering other anglers the bigger ones they caught.  I probably shouldn’t have said anything because according to park rules you’re supposed to keep what you catch up to five then stop and not throw any back.

    As the boys walked back and forth along the shoreline, they were hooking up pretty much right in front of us.  I tried to see what they were using but it wasn’t familiar.  It looked like they untied their mini‑jigs and instead were flylining out to the fish a small wad of dark brown crap molded to a number 16 treble hook.  One of our neighbors told us it was a sinking dough bait specially developed by one of the youngsters just for this lake.  He said it has a bunch of smelly stuff like chicken livers mixed in, but the exact formula remains a secret.  He said all he has is bright orange Power Bait that floats.  Jokingly I said mix some mud with it, that’ll turn it brown and make it sink.  Seconds later he walks by with a goofy grin and big wad of muddy Power Bait on the end of the line.  I was cracking up.  Five minutes later he waked back with a thirteen incher saying, thanks for the tip.

    Well, anyway, you can’t argue with these kids’ success, the whole time they were around they continually hooked fish as the school swam by.  I see a patent and a million bucks in their future.

    Thinking about it, since most of the hatcheries are using Purina Trout Chow pellets to grow their wares to stocking size, these enterprising young men were probably powderizing the chunks and mixing it with water and flour to make the dough.  To the fish it looks and smells like what they’d been raised on all their short lives.

    Going with the flow, I cut off my mini‑jig and tied on a number 10 salmon egg hook.  I pinned on three Cossacks eggs to cover the barb then walked over to the nearest school of trout hanging near shore.  When a school came by I cast the eggs with no weight (flylining), putting the bait between a bunch of ‘em.  I’ll be darn a few came up to the wad with much interest as I saw a twelve incher inhale it resulting in a solid hook‑set.  I netted it and walked back to camp.

    Showing off to still‑fishless Sam, I mentioned all I am doing is waiting for the fish to swim by then tossing three eggs on a hook.  He said, that’s all you have to do eh?  Yup, I went back over to the corner, stood there waiting, tossed out my eggs and hoped.  My fourth fish wasn’t immediate, as it was ten passes of the school before one showed enough interest to eat my offering.  This one was the smallest so far, only eleven inches.

    Most of the near-shore fish were of the twelve to fourteen inch genre, with at least one I saw cruising by estimated at three pounds.  This other dude I was watching jerk in a mini‑jig was catching a bunch, including one over three pounds, which broke the surface with a gigantically loud splash before getting away.  All around shouted a hoot for that one.

    By 11:00 the bite slowed even more.  The hot tip is to come on Fridays, the day after the planting, but you do what you can between storms.  As we ate lunch and relaxed the rest of the day, we both had a bunch of hits with our Power Bait set‑ups cast into the middle of the lake, including one that arced my pole strongly, almost pulling up the holder stuck in the mud.  Freaky thing was nothing was sticking to the hook even though we were right there on top of the strikes.  My fifth and Sam’s, ahem, first fish of the day never came to pass as at 14:00 we called it a day.

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