High Sierra 7/20
My training for Sierra backpacking consists of bicycling up the hill in my neighborhood a few times per week plus periodic hikes up and down the nearby Santa Ana Mountains along Indian Truck Trail to South Main Divide. Traditionally, a week before departure, I summit 10,500 foot Mt. Baldy out of Upland for the final conditioning. After the 11-hour trek up the front side and down the hogback my legs will be sore for a week, then the day I strap the 65-pound pack to my back and enter the wilderness I will experience no pain no strain because my lower body tissues will have already healed and strengthened.
This year my plan was somewhat dampened as half way up Baldy a rather large thunderstorm blew over the top from the desert and shot stones of hail and bolts of lightning right over our heads. All hikers around scampered down quickly. The good part was my legs were sore the next day indicating a good rebuilding process.
Notice I said 65-pound pack. I reduced the weight from 75 last time by getting rid of a few items, such as a radio that has a speaker, big flashlight and bear keg. Now I bring a very small radio that uses ear buds and replaced the 4-D-cell light/lantern combo with a very bright Pelican three AA-cell halogen head light. Since my destination isn’t an active bear area, according to my wilderness permit, no locking food can is required. All six nights of food – tipping the scales at eight and a half pounds – will be strung from a high tree branch inside a stuff sack mostly to keep the chipmunks out.
I reserved a wilderness permit in February. I called the main Inyo National Forest number and said I wanted to hike in 7/13 and hike out 7/19 for a six night adventure. The ranger said the trail quota is full for 7/13, I can have 7/14 to 7/20. No problem but it sounds like there might be somewhat of a crowd up there for the week.
Since Meadow Farms in Bishop resumed making Cowboy Jerky after a two-year hiatus, they're usually sold out of this popular item when you stop by, so two weeks ago I preordered a pound over the phone for willcall pickup. I bring three meals per day in freeze dried food but it’s never enough. A chunk of dried beef helps vanquish the hunger pangs in between.
Tuesday, 7/12, when I drove to Bishop to pick up my bag o’ beef, there were only three pieces left in the bin. I bought those too! It looks the same as it always has but now it seems to be softer and the flavor, although excellent, is kind of washed out. Also when you open the bag it smells smoky but when you stick it in your mouth, burnt mahogany is less noticeable than it was in the old days.
Further north of town I made base camp at a pay-per-night site. I can’t reveal which, as I am destined to make fish camp at the top secret brown trout lake I have written about in the past. The first time I went there – 20 years ago this month actually – I saw a 15-pound brown follow and take two swipes at a foot-long rainbow I was reeling in. I’ve been back several times in an attempt to catch The Monster but only caught six-pounders, if any. From the pics and other clues in the story, most Sierra freaks will figure out into which drainage I’m climbing.
That night I had a quick porterhouse barbecue, then I was in the tent for as much rest as attainable before the hike on Thursday.
Wednesday morning I had all day to perform a few chores. I brought my sewing kit so I could mend a strap that broke off my big tent the last time I used it and also to attach an area souvenir patch to my pack. That was fun, now I have to the rest of the afternoon to go through all my crap and stuff my pack so as not to forget anything. One missed or malfunctioning item on the list will mess up the whole trip.
Thursday I was up at six, had camp packed into the truck by seven and was on the road to the Breakfast Club in Mammoth. This is my traditional pre-hike carb and protein stop before big hikes. I had the beef machaca and scrambled egg burrito with a side of hash browns, along with a giant warm cinnamon bun with butter, washed down with coffee. That ought to do’er.
With so much bloat in the gut I waited a while before I started hiking. I found a nice picnic table near the trail head to use for the final prep of the pack and then walked around for an hour looking at lakes and mountains.
I parked in the trail head lot, pulled out the pack, and had a nice chat with a pair of day hikers. I made sure I had everything then locked the truck and was hiking by eleven. I was jazzed that after an hour and more than a mile non-stop into the five-mile trek I felt real strong; heart, lungs and legs were performing better than expected. What helps most is the Kelty West Coast 4800 pack I use is the most comfortable I ever strapped on.
The first three miles is up and up and up over a ridge then the next two are downhill all the way to secret lake. I said hey to the day hikers on their way out and with only one stop to fill up my water jug and CamelBak at the springs near the junction to Third Lake, I was at the my lake’s outlet by 16:30. I was surprised to find nobody camping at any of the usual sites along the trail from Second Lake forward. There were no pack trains, no fresh manure, no footprints. I breathed hard comfortably the whole time in the cold, sunny air, coughing up a small amount of phlegm each time new bronchial alveoli opened for use. Usually the last mile from the water hole seems the longest, as at this point my back is going out and my hips are sore but not today. I felt strong, no pain no strain.
The last time I was here four years ago Breakwall Shane and I crossed the outlet creek to get to the beach campsite without wetting our boots by hopping atop rocks. Not this time. With the 200% snow pack this past winter the creek was extremely wide and deep. There was no issue to be had, as the logjam at the outlet provided the perfect bridge to cross.
As I approached the most beautiful spot I have ever found in the whole mountain wilderness – Secret Lake Beach – I saw something horrific happened this past winter. Where once was clean white sand now is a foot-thick mat of small branches and pine needles and the further I penetrated toward the water I saw scores of medium to large lodgepole pines had fallen, their needles just now turning brown. Where I used to wade out in my panties to relax and sooth my feet is now a graveyard of once towering giants. One tree in particular was not only knocked over but dragged thirty feet away, as evidenced by where its root crater lies. None of this will affect the fishing, I was just heartbroken my lovely campsite was destroyed. Fallen trees aren’t any kind of anomaly around here; there are plenty of old skeletons lying around.
I walked back 75 yards and made camp some two hundred feet up into the trees from the known large brown zone. I used a plastic trowel to clear the pine cones off a flat spot so that I could pitch my tent next to a twenty-foot rock with ledges and storage shelves to set up the kitchen, sink and other toys. Once accommodations were ready for the night I walked down to my casting rock to find it is inaccessible this year due to high water. There is so much snowmelt coming into the lake that it rose two feet, submerging not only a lot of flora that lines the shore but also the large flat rock I normally use to lay on my back and cast.
At 18:30, after dinner, I picked another comfy rock nearby to begin the launching of a Rapala J-13 RT (rainbow trout pattern) with my 12-pound outfit. You want to cast as far as you can and this year my casts were fifteen feet shorter than other years on account that’s how much further out my old submerged casting platform is. Making a cast every three minutes, I stuck it out until absolute dark (21:30) or basically until I fell asleep while reeling in before ambling back to camp for some much needed sleep after an extremely busy day.
Friday I just wanted to have a lazy day to recuperate. I got up late, ate, then grabbed my water filter pump, CamelBak and a 32oz Nalgene jug and headed the hard way to the closest, best tasting water, which is in the creek below the falls. The trail is short but a real pain as you walk along the west shore through thickets of quaking aspen. This year it is worse than usual with all the new trees downed, especially near the beach, you have to scamper over those and where the trail dips to the old shoreline, it’s all under water now. It took forever to get there and even though the water tastes cold and sweet it’s not worth the scratches.
Making my way around the lake I examined the inlet searching for spawning rainbows but only saw a couple small browns feeding in the current. The water level has risen this year so much that some newly minted trees are now roots in water.
I decided to make my way upstream to Second Lake, an area I have never visited in all the times I’ve hiked here. Why bother since both Second and Secret Lakes are the same size and elevation but it is verified there are big ones in Secret Lake.
Once you get past a small stretch of rapids up from Secret Lake, there is a quarter-mile of deeper, slower water where creek fishing would be fun. There is a generous mix of twelve-inch browns and rainbows awaiting your bait or fly.
Just before reaching the shores of Second Lake I crossed the creek atop a log jam. I noticed the logs were notched and had nails poking through, signifying their use at one time as a log cabin. One ponders how a nice old cabin, log by log, ended up in the creek. At some point the Forest Service likely deemed the structure a nuisance and chucked the whole thing in so the nutrients the logs hold will someday return to the earth to feed the forest.
Second Lake is a lovely spot with all its trees, peaks and nice rocky deepwater around the back, perfect for fishing the depths for rainbows. I will have to give it a go in a few days.
Well that exercise was fun. Now back to camp for a nap.
After dinner I returned to Plan B Rock to cast the big Rapala until dark. The air was calm to barely breezey but real cold. My jacket with hood pulled over hat and new, thick Levis did an ok job but gloveless hands were numb by eight and that’s with no wind. It’s not usually this freezing during the summer; as part of the gig, conditions change daily if not hourly up here.
By now I’ve had a few hits from little guys, then when the full moon rose I switched to a more reflective Bomber Long A in hologram sliver with a red belly. Around 20:15 AM radio signals start coming in, I was listening to baseball and news wile casting until midnight with no hookups. Most of the action I had was bats swooping down and bumping my line. They pick it up on their radar and are quite curious.
Saturday morning for the daily water refill I pumped it out of the outlet creek. I was skeptical about drinking water exiting the lake because in the lake grows not a lot of algae but enough to dirty the taste. I was surprised it sampled good but the filter clogged quickly. All you do is take the ceramic cartridge out, rinse it off and let it set out to dry. From where the lake’s inlet pours in is a straight shot along the east shore to the outlet. The freshest snowmelt is flushed right on through.
I set up my fly rod and hiked downstream from Secret Lake to fish a small meadow about a mile away. There, I encountered two day hikers coming up. This is the trail I used the first time I came here. It starts at the bottom of the valley and is up, up, up for six miles to the lake. I mentioned to’em that nowadays I use the main pack station trail, which is a much easier up 3 miles and down 2.
I passed the meadows and walked through the mahoganies toward the mines to reach the creek crossing. There I caught a small brown using a sulphur dun fly. The rest of the creek is cloaked in too thick of cover for flyfishing, so I worked my way upstream and cut through a meadow to access an exposed section of creek. I managed to land another small brown but the creek was running too high to be any fun.
Back at camp I ate lunch and took a nap.
I was up at 18:30 and returned to the rock casting the rainbow trout Rapala over and over again. It was the same plan as last night, as I switched over to the shiny lure when the moon popped up. Two differences, I ate at 21:00 so I wouldn’t go to bed at midnight starving and also the air was more normal summertime mountain cool instead of cold. Still no hookups.
Sunday I was up earlier than the past two days, packed a lunch and with backpack loaded with fishing gear I hiked past Third Lake up to Fifth, where I heard there are golden trout. On the way up my nose detected a distinct change in the air; higher pressure and less humidity, which means higher winds and less clouds.
Staring into the water while walking along Fifth’s shoreline, I spotted a fish but it wasn’t a golden. These finned vermin brook trout are everywhere and will attack anything you toss out before our cherished species even have a chance.
At the back of the lake there was a nice current flowing in, I moseyed over to see if there were any spawners hanging out, as goldens do it in the spring just like rainbows. Again no; this is my fourth inlet in two months with not much loitering.
I cast Power Bait and earthworms out to a deep part of the lake and monitored while having lunch. All I reeled in, as predicted, were these lousy brook trout.
I packed up and headed to Sixth Lake, where I caught a fourteen-inch golden once before. This time I only made it to a large snowmelt pond before noticing it was time to head back. Sixth is up and over another granite hump and I didn’t want to waste any Secret Lake prime brown trout hours all back up in here.
Up and over a ridge I shot through four trail-less steep gorges packed with twenty feet of snow to access Fourth Lake. In some places walking down the snow was better for the body than boulder hopping, in others the ice was so steep danger portended. Upon one drift of a short length my feet slipped and I went sliding down on my rump. I picked up speed but luckily was aiming toward a big rock feet first, which absorbed the shock without issue.
At Fourth I walked around the long way so I could check the inlet, where again only a few small brookies were milling about.
By now, for the first time of the trip, I could feel my mid-back becoming sore after today’s black diamond four miles, and I still had a little over two left to reach camp. Once I passed Third and re-filled with water at the springs near the junction, the final stretch home was before me. I like to call it the longest mile. It is smooth and downhill but after hiking all those miles up and down from the trailhead or the high country of the main creek’s headwaters like I did today, this portion of trail seems to take forever because you’re completely worn out.
In fact as soon as I got to camp I dropped my pack, crawled into my tent, this time with boots on, and laid down. For the first fifteen minutes after a rough hike I like to blow up my Thermarest up all the way, lay on my back, scoot my heels up to my butt, fold my arms across my chest and relax my spine. It hurts pretty good for about five minutes but after a while this technique sure remedies the pain in the long run.
I only had about thirty minutes to unwind before prime brown time. Casting the lure all night exacerbates the back pains. I contemplated not fishing tonight but at 18:30, out of the tent I stumbled. I grabbed my pole and gaff and headed to the rock, where I tied on a Rapala J-13 in brook trout pattern on account of all the small brookies I’ve seen everywhere.
I munched a between-meal snack of two hickory sticks and a string cheese while I launched the big lure. I cast while sitting Indian style, lying on my back then retrieved it via the fetal position on my left and right sides, as it’s too knife-jabbing painful to stand. Man, I was tore down.
Alas at 19:55 it happened. I heard a big splash eight feet from the rock and my rod bent. I yelled, “there’s one”, as I sprung to my feet sans pain to set the hook and see a five pound class brown attached to lure’s tail treble. Alright! I did it. All this backbreaking work to catch a big one paid off. It doesn’t matter it ain’t The Monster.
The hook-jaw male wasn’t making any kind of long runs. I let him swim back and forth in front of the rock as I tried to tire him out. Once the fish was pooped and gasping for dissolved oxygen, I grabbed my homemade gaff. It consists of a 15/0 shark hook with the barb filed off, screwed into a broom stick. I tried to lift the behemoth out of the water by its mouth. This way I won’t kill it and I can keep it alive the rest of the week attached to a cord tied to a tree. I can eviscerate it the morning I leave to keep the flesh fresh.
Now, I’ve done this gaffing thing before back in ’98 when I landed a seven pound lake trout while backpacking Oregon. Tonight I seem to be having a little trouble finding the slot between his tongue and gills. Every time I tried to slip the gaff point in there he would spring to life and start flopping and splashing and basically making a fuss ruckus. As he calmed down a bit I made another attempt. He turned quickly, the hook popped out of his mouth and the lure flew up into a tree! Without hesitation I gaffed it in the belly but when I pulled up the stick he wasn’t attached. Either was the hook! So now there’s a nice sized brown trout swimming around Secret Lake with a shark hook hanging out his ass. Crazy.
I laid back down on my rock and thought about all the ones I lost here in the past. One time I had a six pounder on a chain stringer tied to a cord for three days. When I pulled it in it started jumping and going crazy, finally opening the stringer snap for his swim to freedom. Another I barely had hooked by a lip thread and before I could net it with my little ol’ trout net the thread broke and he was gone. That’s why I brought the gaff in the first place.
I picked my lure out of the tree, retied and with adrenaline still pumping, resumed casting. For whatever reason I had more hits this evening than the last three but mostly from little guys that were only slightly larger than the lure.
At nine I snagged my lure and broke off. I moped back to camp to eat and change over to the shiny Bomber Long-A. I cast that until 22:30 then passed out.
Overnight the winds, as predicted, picked up to gusts of over 30 MPH, as heard by the roaring through the trees.
Monday after breakfast I went on a search and recover mission. I gaffed that fish in the gut, maybe the shark hook penetrated a vital organ and he went belly-up. With the prevailing winds from the south-west all night and this morning, the big brown should have washed up along the shore from the outlet to the beach. After an hour of scour I found no fish but did end up with a consolation prize of finding last night’s lure blown about fifty feet from where I lost it.
Later I ventured forth to fish the backside of Second Lake. I took a break at the first deep spot to cast bait and the Thomas Buoyant lure. Again the same baloney with the brook trout, they’re small and voracious.
I moved on guided by Peter Piper to the roaring music of the inlet. Jackpot! A ten yard stretch from the lake upstream to the first rapids was a meander loaded with spawning rainbows. This is what I've wanted to see all spring; late heavy runoff with horny fish. They were friendly too. Three dips of the lure produced three fish, one larger than normal brookie and two rainbows. Nothing gigantic but fun nonetheless. I dipped my camera for an underwater pic.
I spent an hour teasing them, netting two more using salmon eggs. You have to figure since females are spewing eggs, this technique matched the hatch.
Motoring along, I tried a point of land with access to the deepest part of the lake. In past years if I cast Power Bait as deep as I can, the larger rainbows will hit it. This is true at Secret Lake and also West Lake near Bridgeport. I ate lunch, snoozed for an hour in the dirt and when I reeled up the bait was unmolested.
To complete my circumnavigation of the lake I had to walk along a shear cliff then scamper down a boulder field. I was starting to wear out again as dictated by the strain pain in my back. I fished with the lure for a while where the boulders meet the water trying to entice a fattie out of its grotto lair but again more small brookies.
The path back to the main trail was a half mile through thick forest, marshy meadow, over small creeks and bushwhacking through laurel thickets. Ninety minutes later I returned to camp and immediately was in the tent to rest up for the evening casting festivities.
I was up and fed by the prime brown time of 18:30. By now the winds really picked up from 15-20 MPH during the day to 25-35 now. I had to wait between gusts to cast straight out, which brought down the productivity rate, otherwise the big Rapala flew crazy to the right. I stayed out until 23:00 with no hits detected. By now the moon wasn’t to rise until midnight.
Tuesday I hiked nowhere. I stayed put close to camp to rest my back for the march out tomorrow. I took a leisurely stroll along the lake shore looking one last time for any belly-up big trout but the search was in vain.
All week there were a lot of pan size browns and rainbows hanging out just below the outlet of Secret Lake so I focused on them. As I crossed the logjam I saw a five pound brown in the current that looked like it ahd a torn lip. Could it be my missing fumble catch? It’s the right size but I didn’t see any big hooks sticking out its side as it swam off. Maybe since the barb was removed the hook fell out and he’ll be ok for next year when I hook him up.
Meanwhile, I used a #18 mosquito pattern on my fly rod to catch four rainbows out of the outlet creek in about twenty minutes. That was cool but I had more fun lying on my belly taking underwater videos of them swimming and feeding in the current. I added five caught today to the four from yesterday so I could bring home nine for the frying pan. Also, this calculation will allow me to keep a slot open to make a legal limit of ten if I were to catch a biggie my last night.
After nap I was back at it starting at 18:30 casting into a now subsiding wind. All the way until 23:00 I noticed no hits while using the big Rapala brook trout.
While retrieving the lure I am devising in my head what my next landing set-up will be. More than likely it’s a big lightweight aluminum net with a long telescopic handle. It will be transported disassembled; the netting rolled up and stuffed into the pack and the handle slid into the rod case. The cam be bungeed around the outside.
Wednesday in windless clear skies, I had camp rolled up and fastened to the pack by seven and was fed by eight. I started walking at nine and by 13:30 I was back at the trailhead lot with no stops. Again, on the way out I was surprised to see, as all week, no pack trains or other campers. I encountered only two other day hikers. Fifteen years ago there were two pack trains daily.
One good thing about the Eastern Sierra is how convenient the wilderness is. I was home in only twelve hours after I began hiking. On the way I contemplated how to use Secret Lake in a slightly different way next year now that my beach and casting rock are kaput. Should be fun.
*****
From Breakwall Robert:
Hey boyz,
Here are some pics..... I was lucky enough to get the big fish of the
trip.....66 lb Halibut.....Caught my first salmon ever (silver)..... Caught
alot of black rockfish......Alaska is beautiful.....See ya
From James S.:
Fish,
Attached is the second victim of 2011 that fell to my angling skills. Went
for a picnic to Prado with the family. Didn’t get there until noon and it
was over 90 degrees, so wasn’t expecting to catch much. This guy decided to
jump on my line as I reeled in a bad cast. The only person I saw catching
anything was using heavy line and weight and casting to the middle of the
lake using a saltwater pole and reel. He caught about 5 large catfish using
shrimp and marshmallows. I’m going back to try that myself.
Note from the editor:
When we were kids I brought home 4 laremouth just like that from Alondra
Park and dumped them into my aquarium with some elodea plant. Within a
month I had 1 big bass and no plants.
*****
Fish News:
More details of the sinking of El Erik
Flood watch for Eastern Sierra near Mammoth
Sport fishing boat sinks off Baja
Ex-pats living in Baja help rescue survivors of sunken sport fishing boat
Panga full of dope found washed up at the Point Vicente opaleye hole
Eastern Sierra creeks are dangerous this year
New MLPA rules to take effect Oct 1
Report detalis activities of ocean predators - two thumbs up on the maps.
Silver Lake webcam (June Lake Loop)
Red's Meadow Road to open June 29
Swarms of kelp flies invade local beaches
