High Sierra 7/26
Saturday morning, along side my normal two weekend days, I stacked two of my first paid vacation days since 2001 to fish Eastern Sierra haunts I haven’t visited in five years. I left work and was in Bishop by 11.
The town has changed since last time I was here. There is now a Toyota dealer next to the old downtown Vons, which is now a Yamaha franchise. I figured the grocery retailer closed the old store, keeping the ‘new’ Vons on North 395 open. Wrong, that building is now a cut-rate sporting goods outlet. I actually had to ask the gas station attendant where I might find a supermarket around here. Oh, the new-new Vons is on the east side of the Highway 6 split, tucked back in there from Main St., easily missed if you don’t know where to look. Huge store, huge parking, they did a great job. BTW, gasoline prices all the way here were the same as L.A., O.C. and R.C.
I was thankful two other stores in town didn’t change. I would probably never visit again if I couldn’t get twice-smoked bacon or cowboy jerky at Mahogany Smoked Meats, or Sheepherder Bread at Schat’s Bakery. The folks at Culver’s Sporting Goods were as helpful as usual. They always have all the tackle and camping crap I need.
My plan was to backpack to my favorite golden trout lake for one night then hit up my special rainbow trout lake for two. The real names of the lakes and directions thereto I will not disclose. I found these places on my own 19 years ago with nothing more than an Auto Club map. The current version of the map has them on there but without descriptions of the lakes like past copies had. Go find you own, there’re plenty.
The logistics alone will likely keep these places a secret. To get to the golden trout lake you have to climb 6,000 feet up a steep dirt road for 22 miles over boulders and stream crossings, requiring four wheel drive and high clearance the whole way. Once you get to the truck camp it’s another one-and-a-half mile hike up to the lake with no discernable trail. I have never been to and fro the lake the same way twice.
This year the whole mountainside was in bloom with yellow, red, white, blue and purple, making the three-hour drive up from town more entertaining. It’s an extremely tortuous and bumpy grind but when you turn the corner and look up into the canyon, all the stress melts.
At the truck camp there were five vehicles with two or three persons per. I hoped they fished the wrong lake, the one along the major trail which houses only scrawny brook trout.
I hurried to pitch my tent, as all campers could hear an afternoon thunderstorm approaching. As soon as I hooked on the rain fly the hail fell. My bedding and clothes made it to the tent just in time.
Sunday morning after a breakfast of Bishop bacon and Sheepherder French toast I strapped on my backpack and started walking. The Coleman Peak 1 pack I had been using for the past 20 years finally disintegrated. I found my new pack by trying on a bunch at the local Sport Chalet. Once I found the one I liked, the Kelty West Coast 4800, I searched online for a lower price. They wanted $150 in the store, I picked it up for $89 brand new from Outdoor Outlet with shipping and no tax. It was delivered in 2 days. The high-tech padding and the hydration port really made the hike pleasurable. My Camelbak fits right in there. This is surely the best pack I have ever had bondage with.
An hour later I was approaching the lake. The outlet stream was flowing higher than I have ever seen. In fact it was so heavy the creek switched its old course, cascading down a steep mountainside, leading me up and over a ridge I had never seen before, yet another new route to the same ol’ place.
On my way over to the campsite near the inlet I could tell nobody has been here this year. There were no new campfire pits, no litter or footprints anywhere. My hopes were true, the crowd at the truck camp went to the other lake.
Fishing the lake is pretty simple. With the 4lb outfit I use a 2lb leader with a ¼ egg sinker anchoring down a wad of rainbow Power Bait just big enough to float a #18 bronze treble. While that soaks, I cast a 1/12 oz gold Kastmaster, jigging it in slowly along the bottom on the 6lb rig. I caught the largest golden of my career at 24 ounces here in ’97 on one of those.
At two o’clock with camp waterproofed, I ambled the 50 feet to the fishing grounds, basically the deepest part of the lake nearest the inlet. I plugged the rod holder into the sand, cast out the bait, clipped on the pole bell and pulled up a rock. From there I cast the small lure as far out as possible, counting to 28 before it hit bottom. Fan-casting everywhere to a count of 26, nothing was biting what seemed like forever.
After an hour and a bait check, I keeled over for a nap atop a large flat rock. As if by schedule, as soon as I reached REM my rod alarm goes off. I jump up, start cranking, I’m on to my first golden trout in 5 years. I could tell it was tiny because up here even an 11-incher can pull drag. Moments later in came a small but pretty fish, which was released.
In the next hour while I soaked a bait I walked around casting the lure along a 100-yard section of shoreline to all depths from bottom to top. Not much interested in artificials this time. Last time I had two 14-inchers by now.
Over to the other pole for a bait check, I felt I had one as I reeled in. Dang, this one’s really weak if it can’t even ring the bell. Another eight inch beauty released by cutting the line.
By now I was ready for a Sheepherder baloney sandwich and a snooze.
As soon as the sun hit the mountaintop I was back at it with both poles, only this time I tied on a slightly heavier Kastmaster in 1/8th ounce. As light waned I could see most of the surface action was out in the middle of the lake near the outlet far from shore. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if I trudged over there. I noticed sufficient action nearby camp between erratic wind gusts caused by burgeoning thunderheads to keep me busy right here.
I finally got around to re-tying my bait rig with a small fluorescent red Cast-A-Bubble, four feet of 2lb leader, a #10 baitholder hook and a store-bought garden worm. With the wind at my back I put it out there as far as I could before parking the rig in the holder with bell secured.
I kept at it with the lure until dark with no hits. Sometime in there my bell went off but there was nothing stuck to the worm hook when I checked. So much for practice before I fish the snowbergs on the other side of the lake in the morning.
Back at camp I re-hydrated two Mountain House dinners, a lasagna and a seafood chowder. I’ve tried other brands, these guys are the best. While eating I kept entertained by the light show emanating from the big storm cloud hovering over the White Mountains, some 30 miles away. Lots of bright flashes but too distant to hear the reports.
Monday morning my watch alarm sounds at 4:30. I slither out of the one-man mummy tent, writhe into my parka, tie on my boots and strap to myself a pack lovingly prepared the night before. Crossing the inlet creek is tricky due to thick brush lining both sides. I scouted an opening yesterday so as to have no trouble getting over today. Ten minutes later I traversed the rockslide hump to the deepest part of the main lake reachable from shore.
First thing is to cast the Power Bait as far out as possible and set the pole in the holder. Second is to fire up the stove and boil lake water. While that’s cooking, out goes the lure. At this altitude you tally 30 casts and dawn is bright before the water you’re warming is fully enraged. Ah, now’s the time to put the lure pole down, have a rock seat, and belly up to some nice hot instant coffee. Some more boiling water goes into one packet of freeze-dried scrambled eggs with bacon and green peppers and into another of two sausage patties. The eggs are pretty good but the patties are absolutely amazingly incredible. What they can do these days!
Half way through breakfast I had a hit on the bait. Here we go, we have drag pulling! It swam left to right, tore out straight ahead, alas submitting to The King and his net. What’s neat over here is that you have your icebox handy to keep your catch fresh. In the next three hours I caught six more on Power Bait, keeping the three largest. Problem was they are so stinking small this year. I’m used to 12 to 14 inch monsters, not these 9 to 11 inch punies.
This lake was stocked with golden fingerlings only one time back in 1968. Since, the lake has always provided habitat enough for a healthy spawning population even during drought. Heck, when the lake was 20 feet low back in ’92 there was still a trickle of an inlet and the fish were verily easier to catch. The sight of all this year’s spawn already at a length of 1 inch portends a gilded future. It was unfortunate they were the only follow-ups I had on the lure. We must be in the low end a cycle. To match the hatch I should have included a few small trout-patterned countdown stickbaits in my box for the chance at that big one.
Around nine the power bait stopped working. I flipped over to the bubble fly trick after reviewing several surface rings not too far out. No interest in that in 30 minutes, I switched to a neutrally buoyant clear Cast-A-Bubble, four feet of 2lb leader and the worm. I squeezed a BB shot at the leader knot and another on the other side of the bubble to keep it steady on the line. Then I adjusted its water content so that the bubble only sinks maybe a foot per minute. That was the ticket! For two hours my bell was ringing off the proverbial hook. I lost count after five. I kept three more 11-inch goldens for the smoker.
As noon neared I still had some bites but I needed to maintain resources to fish the next lake later today. While breaking camp my thermometer read 80, pretty warm for 10,500 feet. Up here I normally have to wear a jacket all day.
Ambling down the mountain yet another unfamiliar way, I was to the truck in an hour. I put the fish on ice, threw a couple things in the back and off I went to the lake containing rainbow trout.
News for my buds who have been here with me before: The Forest Service has installed a new sign on the main road directing travelers to the rainbow trout lake. Although it takes away from some of the secret, it is good they’re pointing everyone up and over the really rough trail leading in from the airstrip. There’s still a secret trail that’s neither as long nor axle-jarring coming in from another angle. I took the rough road in this time and found two dudes on high quality quad units who couldn’t make it to the lake. They turned around in front of a boulder pile I barely bounced over with my loaded pick-up. Crawling in low-low gear over a rock-strewn mile, every time I say I’m not going this way something sick inside me desires the challenge. Oh my poor Toyota, it’ll turn 250k on the way home.
This lake’s level lowered over 30 feet during the 1986 - 1993 drought, causing a winterkill. It only took two years of normal snow-pack to fill it up. In 1995 it was already filling and by 1997 the tarn was full with fresh fish stocked. In 2000 it was still full with an outlet and loaded with rainbows.
Considering we haven’t had a real drought in the past five years, and the fact that the trout have been growing in here for almost a decade, we should be in for a spectacular year. Before the drought, two-pound orange-meated specimens were not uncommon.
After an hour-and-a-half on this horrendous road I rise for my first view of the water... and there ain’t any! Well actually there is but not enough to sustain fish. I could see the bottom all across the lake, meaning there was a chance the whole thing froze solid over the winter, killing everything.
As I walked along a shoreline littered with rotting algae and elodea, another red flag I noticed was the cloud of damselflies gliding along, a phenomena that would be nonexistent if there were fish in the lake. Their larvae is one of the mainstays of the trout diet.
I remember telling folks the water’s gone. The standard response is, ‘they’ probably lowered it or something. This is a natural lake not governed by humans, fed underground by seepage from another larger lake upstream, the whole system depending on immediate snow pack. This summer apparently the seepage out is greater than the seepage in.
That was depressing. So now what? I have two more days to blow. I exited stage right, out the relatively easy short way on the ride back to town for provisions (beer). All the while I made up alternative plan C, a stopover to areas I haven’t experienced since our family vacations over thirty years ago, the tourist areas of the Bishop Creek drainage.
For no special reason I picked North Lake due to its resemblance to the now-deceased secret rainbow trout lake. As I drove past I saw the normal crowds ringing the shore with one yahoo out there if full waders -- vest and flyrod -- up to his bellybutton having at it. This place provides lots of practice for that kind of sport, so one can prepare themselves for when they go somewhere real like Alaska.
I tootled along the road looking for someplace special to fish in the morning. The two spots I picked were where the creek leading into North Lake flows under the road near the pack station and the standard bridge by SR168 down from Sabrina Dam.
At the North Lake campground I picked site #1, costing a whopping $16 per night (what a rip!). After a nice barbecue chicken dinner I was out fast after such a busy day.
Tuesday morning I was in no hurry to get up. My whole plan for the day was to relax and try to collect five stocker trout from the creek to compliment my five goldens. After breakfast I walked the ½ mile to the creek with my first cast made at 8. The way I work a crystal clear meandering creek through a meadow is with a four-foot 2lb leader, #10 worm hook holding half a garden worm held steady by three BB shots. To improve chances one must step lightly so the fish don’t hear you and stay on your knees behind the cover of the laurel bushes so they can’t see you. I tossed out to the main current, letting the bait settle perfectly beneath an undercut bank. Not a minute passed before I felt the subtle tap-tap of a taker. Unfortunately it was a four-inch native rainbow, not the answer we were looking for. With that released and the other half of the worm pinned onto the hook, I scooted over to the next hole.
There I could see five stockers facing upstream. They made it easy for me. All I had to do was present the worm in their face and they took it. Out of three hits I landed two. Also I brought in another small native rainbow and two two-inch brown trout. Nice to see those guys in here. I didn’t think the DFG stocks browns that size. Perhaps there is a spawning population of browns in the watershed. That would be something to investigate in the fall.
Down to my last worm, I laid it into the pool just in front of the culvert. Hook-up, I had my third stocker of the morning slipped into the creel. Well, that was fun. It definitely brought back memories. For a roadside water I had the whole place to myself, which was different.
Back at the campsite I cleaned the fish and iced them down. I packed up the truck and headed to the bridge. There’s always a crowd around here. It’s kind of fun to watch all the mommies and daddies trying so hard to get their kiddies to hook up. There must have been a new stocking of fish this morning. Ten times as many rainbows could be seen hanging out today than yesterday. I had no trouble in catching the last two to fill the ten-fish limit by simply tossing out a Pautske’s Balls Of Fire salmon egg on a single #16 egg hook with two BB shots.
I cut off the fun at noon, had a nice lunch at BBQ Bills, filled the tank with gas, the tires with air and EEEOWWW was back home by 8.
*****
Joke from Breakwall Don:
A woman goes into Walmart to buy a rod and reel for her grandson's birthday. She doesn't know which one to get so she just grabs one and goes over to the counter. A Walmart associate is standing there wearing dark shades.
She says, "Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me anything about this rod and reel?" He says, "Ma'am, I'm completely blind; but if you'll drop it on the counter, I can tell you everything you need to know about it from the sound it makes.
She doesn't believe him but drops it on the counter anyway. He says, "That's a six-foot Shakespeare graphite rod with a Zebco 404 reel and 10-LB. Test line. It's a good all around combination; and it's on sale this week for only $20.00." She says, "It's amazing that you can tell all that just by the sound of it dropping on the counter. I'll take it!" As she opens her purse, her credit card drops on the floor.
"Oh, that sounds like a Master Card," he says. She bends down to pick it up and accidentally breaks wind. At first she is really embarrassed, but then realizes there is no way the blind clerk could tell it was she who farted. Being blind, he wouldn't know that she was the only person around. The man rings up the sale and says, "That'll be $34.50 please. " The woman is totally confused by this and asks, "Didn't you tell me it was on sale for $20.00? How did you get $34.50?" He replies, "Yes, Ma'am. The rod and reel is $20.00, but the Duck Call is $11.00 and the Catfish Bait is $3.50."