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    Back in the late 80’s I was reading the descriptions of high country lakes on the AAA map called, Guide to Eastern Sierra.  One listing in particular caught my attention as being 9,800 feet, 70 acres, contains brown, brook and rainbow trout, and is only five miles from the trailhead into the John Muir Wilderness.  From that small description I imagined the browns were making a fat and healthy living by consuming their rainbow and brook cousins and there wouldn’t be a bunch of yahoos driving up to the shore in their SUVs molesting them.  For this area of the mountains the lake is relatively large and of low elevation, virtually eliminating the chance of stunted growth like you might find in lakes above 10,500 feet.  If you go to the Auto Club and get their current Eastern Sierra map, the lake descriptions aren’t listed anymore, which will help preserve my secret.

    For six nights in the summer of 1991 I finally backpacked to what turned out to be the most gorgeous body of water I have ever seen.  A sight that added to its beauty was the estimated 18-pound brown who followed up a 12-inch rainbow I was reeling in on my Power Bait rig!  My imagination came true, I had just discovered my very own trout heaven.

    With only four-pound-test and a few two-inch rainbow trout-pattern Rapalas, I was way outgunned.  However in the next few summers I brought with me 12-pound-test, a seven-foot casting rod and a cache of six-inch rainbow trout pattern broken back Bomber Long-As.  The results were two-, three-, five- and on one trip a pair of six-pound browns landed from a jutting rock off the lake’s main point, which divides the shallow half from the deep.  One of the six-pounders hit at 6pm right on the beach where I always make camp, as I tossed my lure out a few feet to test its action.  Pure luck that one.

    This year I decided to gamble with a slightly different plan.  Since browns are anadromous fall spawners, I wanted to visit the lake not at mid-summer as usual but on the week of the first day of autumn to see if any big ones would be facing upstream near the inlet creek.  At this elevation, I reckoned, fall comes a few weeks earlier than it does down in the valleys.

    Sunday morning September 16 at six o’clock, after a several months of planning and about that many weeks of equipment gathering, Breakwall Shane backed into my driveway his sparkling new Toyota Tundra 5.7 liter V8.  North on I-15 and US-395 it was as if we took the bullet train to Lone Pine, where at the new visitor’s center we quickly and easily obtained our wilderness permits.

    On to the next stop at Culver’s in Bishop we filled in our lists with tackle and camping gear that’s hard to find in and around L.A.  Shane was asking the man about what flies are working in the high country now, mosquitoes maybe?  The man said as of last week the mosquitoes have disappeared, we might want to try parachute Adams.

    As we hit the grocery store for steaks and the mahogany smokehouse for cowboy jerky, we thought how nice it would be to not have mosquitoes pestering us all week like they always do at this lake during summertime.

    For the night we picked an improved campground close to the highway but at an elevation of 7,500 feet to help in the acclimation process.  We spent hours preparing our packs and other odds and ends such as the cans of redworms I bought at a liquor store in Lake Elsinore.  The soil they came in was a little dry, it is good to moisten it just enough to keep them fresh.  As I turned the spigot of our five-gallon water jug to add a few drops,  a big gush ensued as the whole lid unscrewed, just about drowning all our little buddies.  I wrung it out a little, they looked like they would be okay as long as the air doesn’t freeze while we’re up there.

    With most of the packing completed, we barbequed our meat and potatoes.  For camping I use a Weber portable charcoal grill which sits on an old Coleman stove stand.  Well, as I poured the white-hot coals from the chimney starter into the barbeque, the whole set-up collapsed and turned upside down with flame and sparks shooting out everywhere, definitely one for America’s Funnies Home Videos.  After a few chuckles we scooped up the coals and resumed the cookout.  Luckily the near tragedy happened before the steaks went on; his New York and my porterhouse sizzled up delectably.

    Monday morning we rolled up camp and headed to the Breakfast Club in Mammoth, which is the reason we picked a site near the highway.  I like to load up on carbs before a long strenuous hike and their pancakes and waffles soaked in butter and syrup is the way to go.  The four perfectly simmered sausage patties I ordered rounded out the meal nicely.  Shane added a unit of scrambled eggs to his pancakes in order to include some dearly-needed protein to help rebuild any leg muscle tissue broken down during the hike.

    We drove near the trailhead and used picnic area tables for the finalizing of the backpacks.  Right at noon we began our trek, which starts at 9,900 feet, climbs over a 10,360 foot ridge and back down to the 9,800 foot lake, which by taking it easy and resting periodically we reached by five.  The sky was sunny and the air was cool, making for perfect hiking weather.  Sure enough, not one mosquito was spotted the whole time.  Normally as you pass marshy areas approaching the lake, clouds of the buggers rise up and surround you.

    Near the intersection of the trail heading up to Third Lake rises a spring from which I always refill my canteen and Camelback with water.  It comes right out of the ground, I have always drunk from here without filtering the water for giardia but this time I brought my ceramic filter pump.  Man did that ever taste great.

    We passed a camp along the lake’s east shore where four dudes and a couple dogs were staying.  It looked like they used the local pack outfit to bring in all their big tents and gear via mule train.

    We spent at least two hours setting up camp and boiling water for our dehy supper.  After eating I ambled over to my favorite casting rock to toss the big Long-A.  Listening to the radio, casting into calm air and glassy water with a waxing first quarter moon, I had returned to my trout heaven.  Howdy for me, I managed to hook and land a brown trout but the dang thing was only an inch longer than the lure.  I only lasted an hour thanks to my sore back from carrying 75 pounds all day, making each launch of the lure discomforting.  By 8:30 I was in the tent relaxing.

    Tuesday morning at 2am, here came the winds.  The normal summer pattern is breezy to windy at 3pm until sunset, then back to calm.  Whenever you hear gusts roaring through the trees across the lake this early in the morning, it is a bad thing.  They will likely last for two days before settling.

    At seven on weekday mornings, FM radio station KIBS broadcasts local news and events, along with a comprehensive three-day weather report.  It didn’t sound promising; in the next few days the winds were to pick as a storm moved in from the Gulf of Alaska to cause the first high country freeze of the year.  Talking about fall starting early up here, it looks like winter is on its way!

    Upon crawling out of the tent after a 12-houor rest, I fired up the stove to boil water to re-hydrate scrambled eggs and ham.  It took forever to bubble up.  Yesterday, with mild and calm air, the water was raging hot in minutes.  After eating we took to fishing from the beach, me with Power Bait and Shane with the bubble/fly trick.  The only saving factor was that the wind was gusty.  You could casts between gusts, making the time fishable.

    I was using a new formula Power Bait called salmon egg peach.  Sounds like a good flavor but it smelled like a filthy cherry urinal cake.  I had that soaking for an hour while I cast lures with my other pole.  As soon as I switched to the original scent Power Bait I immediately landed a small brook trout.  Shane had a couple hits on his fly set-up. 

    Eventually I caught and released another small brookie on Power Bait, which gave me the thought to tie a five-inch brook trout-pattern jointed Rapala onto my 12-pound stick in case a large brown would be following around the batch of real ones hanging out at the beach today.  I have never hooked a big brown until after the sun is off the water in the evening but you never know.

    I normally use a Long-A of seven inches.  Over at the Longfin tackle shop in Orange I found a lure I liked a little better, the Rapala five-inch jointed minnow in a brook trout pattern and another in brown trout.  They aren’t as bulky and the size and weight is better balanced for the rod and reel I was using, a two-piece seven-foot Fenwick HMG graphite and Shimano Aero.

    After lunch we hiked around the lake.  We started by going through the aspens on the deep end of the lake, knocking out the rough part of the trail first.  I wanted to show Shane the good Power Bait spot from where I’ve bagged many a foot-long rainbow.  Once we got there and cast out it took thirty minutes before we both had a hit.  I missed mine but Shane got lucky.  I saw his pole wiggle before his clip-on bell sounded.  He kept saying it’s the wind making the pole flutter but I could tell it was a fish by the way the rod tip dipped into the breeze.  Stop arguing and crank, I ordered.  Eventually he reeled in the predicted foot-long rainbow (crummy picture).  I tossed him my creel with a chain stringer inside, into which he stashed the fish before soaking the canvas to keep it all fresh.

    Next stop was the small inlet creek below the falls for a water refill, then on to the big inlet to check the status of spawning browns.  Actually it was already five o’clock, so instead of the big inlet, which was still a ways over, we parked along the shore of the peninsula in order that the wind was sideways and outward, making longer casts with the big lure more possible than at the main point with its head-on blow.  I started using the brook trout Rapala until the sun set behind the mountain, then went with the brown trout-pattern, thinking the brooks go and hide all night while the browns are out on patrol.  This lure might match what is out swimming at the time.  One of the six-pound browns I caught years ago had in its stomach another ten-inch brown it ate.

    I felt two hits while casting the brown Rapala.  Shane was flinging a rubber Castaic trout with not much success.

    We boiled water and ate a package of dehy food.  I go with Mountain House brand of freeze dried dinners, which always taste great.  Just for fun, tonight we each deviated and cracked open a pack of Backpacker’s Pantry brand.  My pad Thai and his beef stroganoff tasted really bad; no matter how hungry I was I could hardly eat any of it.

    Around 9pm, when the moon faded behind the peaks, we headed back to base camp.  The wind calmed way down, the good casting rock at the main point would be the place to launch lures from once we returned.  With headlights blazing, we followed the path past the big inlet, up the hill trying to find the main trail, stage left.  I have made this hike in the dark before but now after nine years I was having trouble finding my way around.  It took a couple of passes back and forth but alas we hiked up the spur trail farther than I thought until we found a sign that read, our lake that-a-way.

    A couple miles later we were back at camp but I missed out on casting from the point rock because in the time it took to hoof to home base, the winds picked up head on, making any flinging of big wooden lures a boomerang effort; they will blow back and hit you in the face.

    Just before I backed into my Eureka! Solitaire tent, Shane announces we forgot something.  I pondered what that could be, I packed in everything I need with me.  Oh, he meant he left the creel with his rainbow trout hanging from a tree near our last stop.  No biggie, we’ll pick it up when we head that way tomorrow.  I said, later, before setting my watch alarm for seven in the morning so I wouldn’t miss the weather report.

    Wednesday morning the wind went from gusts to a sustained 15 to 20 gale by 6:30.  That’s when the big ones hit, sounding like a freight train racing through town.  Trees were bending over crazily as if a few might pop out of the ground.  The news said we’d have 60 mph winds picking up for the next few days and snow was on its way by afternoon, lasting until Saturday before clearing to normal weather on Sunday.  The worst day of snow will be Thursday with high country temperatures down into the teens.

    Contemplating plans, I weighed a few options.  We could stay in our tents for three days with a water supply kept snug in our sleeping bags so it wouldn’t freeze while waiting for the weather to clear, then extend our stay until next Tuesday.  The issue at that point was Shane needed to be home on Saturday night so he could satisfy a Sunday obligation.  If we stayed until Saturday, we might be hiking out in a foot of snow in 15 degree air, feet frozen solid all the way out.

    I got up and walked over to my partner, who was tying down his tent so it wouldn’t blow away; it was already bending over in half with the wind.  I said, hey dude, we’re screwed, there’s a big snow storm moving in.  In the time it took to say that, precipitation came shooting over the crest and in thirty minutes the whole sky went from clear blue to overcast grey.  We hurried and rolled up our stuff, repacked the backpacks and after eating two packages of dehy for energy, were on the way out by 10:30.

    The wind was blowing 30 degrees and with the chill factor I had to wear my parka and storm pants all the way out to keep warm.  That’s a first, as usually huffing over a mountain with all your gear strapped to your back keeps you plenty hot.  Needless to say I was quite disappointed.

    As we approached the spur trail leading to the spot wherein hangs the fish sack replete with fish, we said let the bears have it, there isn’t any time to waste getting out of here before snowfall.  I’ll just go ahead and refer to my buddy from now on as Shane Fishsack.

    Just like hiking in, five hours later we were at pavement.  We dropped our packs, Shane walked up to the parking lot to get the truck.  After he pulled up I put my pack in the back then lifted his.  I said dang dude, you win the heaviest pack award.  It felt as if it weighed 20 pounds more than mine and I thought I was going to die.  I said check it out, lift mine then yours.  He didn’t go for it because he didn’t want to know.

    My 50-year-old body handled the hike well, especially after marching ten hours on Mt. Baldy for practice last week.  My legs felt so strong that my right foot got all tore up and was painful the whole time, mostly when restarting after sit-down breathers.

   Moral of the story I guess would be, if you go into the Sierra wilderness and there are no mosquitoes, GET THE HELL OUT!  The little bastards are smarter than we think.  We’re also keeping this area a July thing starting next year.  At least in that month when you get an afternoon thunder shower it clears out and turns calm after 7pm, just in time for more casting.

    On the way home we stopped by Outdoor World, where inside conditions were stable and there is even a creek with two big brown trout cruising.  There, Shane kindly replaced the creel and chain.  What a sweetheart.

*****

From the editor:

I put some more old videos on Youtube.  These three are from Mom and Dad's 8mm film collection:

Dufish first fish Yosemite 1964

Dufish family Carpinteria surf fishing 1969

Dufish family Bishop troutfest 1972

*****

From Mike Z. in response to our Angels Gate trip last month:

    You should try the horseshoe kelp bed 3 miles out from angels gate. We never came home empty. Usually skulpin and halibut. Just go out 3 miles turn off the engine and float south. Skulpin are pretty tasty. There is also a new harbor just south of the old cannery that halibut like to hang out in. It's shallow and sandy. Fish come in there to breed and larger ones come in to dine. Especially shark, barracuda and sting rays. We were there one day when a whole squad of barracuda showed up in formation. Then they all peeled off from the pack like ww2 fighter planes and went nuts chasing the little fish. They bit at anything that even looked like a fish. I had a lure that looked like a small minnow and they went crazy for it. I barely got it in the water before one came streaking at it. It was like that for around a hour then they all left. I don't know if you can eat sting rays, but they sure put up a hell of a fight. We just tossed them back. The first one I caught I thought I had a whale on the hook. We use to go there all the time, when we didn't have time to go anywhere else. For some reason fish of all types like that shallow harbor.  They come into that harbor in schools. So from day to day there are different fish there. I thought stingrays were solitary fish, but we caught 10 in a row. One day was nothing but sharks. Small ones, but fun to catch. I caught one that I have never been able to figure out the type. It was the same color as a sand shark, tan on top, white on the bottom. But it didn't have the head of a sand shark or the body. It had a head like a great white. It was just a baby, maybe 2 feet long. We caught alot of halibut there.  I've been told another  hot halibut spot is  just a little south of the angels gate entrance on the inside.

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