High Sierra Backpack 5/24
In the olden days the only way to know what specie of trout inhabits each of the hundreds of high country lakes of the Eastern Sierra was to go there and catch some. Hooray for the inforfishin age, now all we have to do is look on the right side of the California Fish and Wildlife website to find the 41MB PDF titled Eastern Sierra Back Country Fishing Guide. From the Cottonwood Lakes north to the West Walker River we can now at a glance know what bodies of water contain what type of fish and how close they are from parking. Studying this list over winter I spotted a lake with Golden Trout situated three miles from a trailhead at the end of a four-mile dirt road, the perfect locale for a four-day exploratory backpack practice sortie.
Tuesday, beating the upcoming holiday crowds, I drove to Lee Vining and toured some back roads to kill time while acclimating my body to high altitude. Ten thousand feet high on the Log Cabin Mine road, where snowpack eventually covered the 4x4 trail, the grand views of Mono Craters and Mono Lake were spectacular. On the way out I made a deposit into my karma bank by assisting a fellow off-roader who broke down, by tugging his Jeep with a tow strap up a short grade so he could coast back down to Tioga Road. There he had a support crew of other buddies to help him fix the problem or take him somewhere.
I didn’t bring my usual barbecue and stove setup because the road to the trailhead is only a mile south of town, where four good-enough restaurants are located. At the Whoa Nellie Deli I ordered the barbecue chicken sandwich with fries and a milk.
At a flat spot along the dirt road half way to the trailhead I pulled out my Kaboom and chair and rocked out for an hour. Next, out came the Coleman cot, sleeping bag and two pillows.
Wednesday morning I awoke at seven and drove back to town for a huge carb and protein fortified breakfast of Denver omelet, hash browns and a giant cinnamon roll at Nicely’s Restaurant.
Back to the dirt road and to the trailhead, it’s a well maintained track that a car can probably negotiate but it was good to have a truck with low-low gear for the steep bumpy section. When I pulled up I was shocked to see a newer Toyota sedan parked among the pines. I hung out with some nutcrackers but that party was short-lived as my pack was for the most part ready to go; all I had to do was bungee on my sleeping bag. I was hiking by ten.
From the trailhead you pass a locked gate and follow an old steep four wheel drive road through mixed coniferous forest for a mile-and-a-half, thirteen-hundred-foot elevation gain. Once atop the ridge the double track narrows to the normal single hiking trail before you drop down into the next canyon through which the lake’s outlet creek flows. That practice hike up Mt. Baldy last month conditioned this old body that now I feel no pain, only gain, and as I stood atop absorbing such a wonderful high mountain view, a freezing wind slapped me in the face and almost knocked me on my ass backwards if it weren’t for a quick move with my trek poles for support. That’s the trouble with May up here. The lakes up to 10,500 feet are ice-free and open early this spring due to a below-normal winter but the air is not ready for prime time humans. Good thing we had cloudless sunshine, otherwise I would have had to top off my two long sleeve shirts and full on jeans with a parka.
Once I descended down to where the trail follows the course of the outlet creek I was surprised to see it carried so much water and looked extremely fishable. Just then I encountered Joe Camry coming back down the trail. First thing I uttered after hi was, so that’s a rental car, right? He laughed and admitted no, that’s really his car and he also has an F350 but that costs too much to drive. By noon he had already gone past the golden trout lake and on up into the canyon to the next lake above the tree line that according to the guide is shaped like a popular urinary organ and fishless. Hey whatever works and he’s not a fisherman either so that was good.
The last mile and a half to the lake was not very steep at all compared the first gruntings of the hike and by 1:30 I was gifted by the sight of yet another beautiful fish hole all to myself .
I always like to set up camp near the inlet creek so that I can have the best quality water to drink and also to gawk at any spawning trout coming up out of the lake. Today my fetish fantasy came true as there were two pairs doing it in plain sight. They were big too, all four were over twelve inches. I surmised the lake has been iced out for over a month and that means the majority of the spring spawning golden trout have gotten all that out of the way for this year and now a few stragglers are moving in and out of the upstream riffles as the need arises.
Camp is situated not only so I will be close to the good water but also I will not be too far from the deepest part of the lake. I could tell by zooming in with Bing Maps the lake is predominately shallow with a single half-acre deep spot just to the left of the snowdrift covering the opposite shoreline.
Once I was done with camp I walked over to said choice spot with all my gear and started out casting the usual wad of Berkeley Gulp Chunky Cheese dough bait molded to a #16 treble tied on to a 2-pound leader and ¼ ounce egg sinker. The whole thing took to a count of five to sink, meaning not very deep at all. I like my Sierra lakes to have some depth where the fish have plenty of space to grow big while sucking up scuds all summer.
As I cast with pole two a rainbow trout patterned Kastmaster, the bell clipped to my bait rod sounded. I thought, gee that was quick, must be the wind waving the dinger around but no, the pole bent over and I was on. Moments later I pulled up a ten-inch golden trout that I carefully released.
I retied, re-baited and cast again as far as I could into ‘the deep’, then picked up my other set-up for only two lure tosses before my bait bell went off again! Wow this is fast and easy, I saw big trout in the inlet creek spawning, now I hooked two fish already in like ten minutes. I feel I died and went to heaven! This second golden was a good one, measuring in right at twelve inches and adorned in full spawn blazon that looked fabulous flopping around in my creel.
A bald eagle came prowling over the water looking for surfacing trout but as soon as he saw me he flapped past the lake out of camera range to circle over the forest. First time I have seen one of these guys way up here. I’m thinking he was just passing through looking for a snack on his way back to B.C. or Alaska after wintering in Big Bear.
Well that was fun, time flies faster than an eagle; it’s already past six, time to rehydrate dinner. Afterward near the inlet I made many casts with a three-inch jointed brook trout patterned Rapala and actually had a strike that didn’t stick likely due to the fish’s small size. I checked for an evening rise but due to the cold relentless wind none was noticed.
Thursday morning at five I stuck my hand out of my tent and said screw that getting up early crap. It’s twenty degrees out there! I waited until eight, tied on my boots, put on my jacket, all the while my hands were oxymoronically feeling the painful numbness. I had already readied my pack with breakfast and all fishing gear last night, so off I ran back to the deep spot where it was relatively warm and sunny.
There, I cast out the bait rig and fired up the stove to rehydrate a bag of scrambled eggs and bacon by using boiled lake water. M-m good, baby.
As I cast my lure I noticed that I am not getting any bait bites. I’m thinking maybe the fish are nibbling but the wind has picked up since yesterday and it is hard to tell with the rod tip whipping around and all. I would have to sit there and hold the bait pole in my hands all day and that would eliminate any lure fun. Sometimes when I reeled in the bait line after twenty minutes the wad of dough would be missing. Could they be out there stealing it undetectably?
It’s already noon and I got nothing. I think I saw only one jumper all morning. Maybe they’re bird shy of that bald eagle again today circling nearby. Who knows.
I circumnavigated the lake looking for a fishy looking spot. I didn’t find much, the lake is very shallow and I did not see any fish in the crystal clear water except for another one jumper way out in the middle.
As I crossed the outlet creek I looked for fish in the riffles but didn’t see any there either. I’m not saying there aren’t any, just saying I didn’t see any.
On my way back to the inlet creek to cast to the outside edge of the delta, I found that the four spawners present yesterday had vacated back to the lake.
I cast out the bait and laid in the dirt for a nap. I didn’t have time for much of that as the pole bell sounded right away, resulting in the second keeper of the trip, another fat-belly twelve-inch golden added to the creel. Upon eviscerating yesterday’s fish, I found the big bellies are caused by stomachs indeed stuffed with scuds.
The next two hours spent casting bait and the Kastmaster along a fifty hard stretch of shoreline resulted in nothing.
After a nap it was time for the evening rise. By now the wind had calmed enough to allow prolonged glassy water occurrences between twenty mile per hour gusts. All the way until dark I used a bubble/fly rig with a bead-head gold-ribbed hare’s ear while the Gulp bait soaked but all the way until dark I saw only one fish boil. That was very odd. Most lakes up here, even though you don’t see many trout swimming around during the day, will look like a rain drops hitting the water after seven o’clock in the evening with all the hundreds of fish rising. At 7:30 however I did land a ten-inch golden on the bait rig that was lip hooked and released safely.
Friday the wind was gone but at 5am the air temperature was the same frigid 20-something degrees. Again I waited until 7 before ambling down to the shoreline to the right of the inlet delta where I resumed casting the hare’s ear and bait. Finally after an hour I landed keeper number three, a 12-inch golden that dined on the chunky cheese.
As I lie in the dirt staring up at the sky I saw many commercial jetliners flying overhead all day and heard them all night. This spot lies below the flight path to the Bay Area metro zone. I was so high and some were so low they were kind of loud for what you would want while visiting your favorite wilderness zone.
I cut off the fun at twelve so I could be back at the truck by three and home by ten. Even at noon in bright sunshine at the end of May, I spotted sizable icicles at the inlet creek where I filtered water for the hike out.
The trail back crosses the outlet creek fifty yards down from the logjam, where on the way in I saw no fish in the riffles. On the way out I crossed through a trail-less grove of bushes two pools down from the woodpile and saw two fourteen-inch goldens sitting there waiting to inhale bugs or possibly your salmon egg on a #16 hook. I was tempted but with all my tackle packed and out of time, I left the creek for some other day. This drainage is definitely a five-dayer; the added 24 hours could be used to fish the two-miles of stream awaiting below.
It took me three and a half hours to hike up and only two to hike back down to the trailhead. The afternoon light during the drive south was extremely photogenic. Use the scroll button to pan right my favorite shot of the day. From Conway Summit you can see from left to right: Coyote Ridge, Mt. Agassiz, Inconsolable Range, Bishop Pass, Mt. Goode, Mt. Gilbert, Mt. Tom, Mt. Humphreys, and a chunk of Wheeler Crest. Literally awesome.
*****
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