High Sierra 7/26
Past two years for summer vacation backpack I hiked to other Eastern Sierra drainages rather than the same-ol’ beloved Secret Brown Trout Lake, where in 2011 due to record snow pack my favorite casting rock was submerged and in 2012 while camping on the other side of the lake I caught scores of trout but none were big like the five and six pounders I landed there in the past or the monster I witnessed take three swipes at the eleven-inch rainbow I was reeling in on my first visit way back in 1991. Instead of wasting springtime researching a different easily accessible Sierra tarn which maybe houses a larger size of trout, this year a persistent jones for whoppers has directed my id back to the sure thing, SBT Lake.
The paperwork is simple in these modern times. For the first night’s preparation campsite I made reservations at French Camp near Tom’s Place from the Rec.gov search site and put dibs on a wilderness permit from Rec.gov Inyo.
French Camp is convenient. I pick drive-up site 3 and back in right to a wooden picnic table, where I can with minimal effort sort out all my gear and stuff my pack for the next morning’s hike. Also it is a quarter mile to Tom’s Place resort and the highway where a home cooked meal is within walking distance. Normally I will cook while camping. Backpack logistics prevent this because you do not want to leave any food stink in your car or truck while it is parked at the trailhead all week. Bears will get in there and put scratches all over. Another handy aspect is many trailheads are within a 20-minute drive.
Sunday July 19 motor day I had everything ready, only needing a tank of gas and a thuringer and an elk sausage from Mahogany Smoked Meats in Bishop to gnaw on while in the high country.
Along the highway signs of monsoon over the mountains did not deter. All my waterproofing is ready.
I was at French Camp a little after four and had my pack ready by six. The Sunday night special flatiron pork tenderloin with all the veggies and salad giant plate load at Tom’s Resort was thick, juicy and tasty. This establishment is highly recommended.
Monday morning I awoke predawn in my camper shell and checked the time. Dang it! The malfunctioning light of my Casio fishing timer watch indicated a dead battery. I am dependent on knowing the exact time with an the hourly chime and moon position when I am back there to better prepare and be ready for the fish bite. These are all functions of the Casio fishing timer.
At six I abandoned camp and drove to the Breakfast Club in Mammoth for a carb- and protein-rich breakfast of beef machaca, eggs, hash browns and one of those half-pound cinnamon rolls all washed down with black coffee.
After that pig out I pondered watch repair. The restaurant is at the corner of the first traffic light in town, right where the shopping starts. How about that there’s a Rite Aid is directly across the street! On the hardware isle they had one of those plastic box toolkits with the six teensy screwdrivers, exactly what I was looking for. I have one in my toolbox, which was reluctantly omitted this trip. Four bucks later I had my watch cracked open so I will know which battery to buy. I have a whole drawer full of watch batteries at home and so did Rite aid for another $4. Now I have watch repair tools to keep with me at all times in my bag of tricks.
With the timepiece freshly charged and all the settings tuned I was back on the freeway to the trailhead a mere 45 minutes behind schedule. It is important to start hiking as early as you can so that you can pick a wilderness campsite before rain dark. The pavement had been removed from the ten-mile road that leads to the trail parking lot, which is no big thing in a truck. Problem was a 30-minute construction delay at the creek bridge where they had it down to one lane.
At the trailhead with truck locked, boots tied and pack strapped I was making my first steps with the 80 pound pack at nine-thirty. The air was cool and shaded by cumulus as I ascended the ridge which is way better than the direct morning sun bake that can happen during high pressure meteorological episodes. At this hour of the morning with this amount of clouds, we’ll definitely have rain tonight.
Two hours into it I felt freaking great for being two years shy of 60. Last week I summited Mt. Baldy – twelve hours up and down – as a final conditioning to all the past eight-months worth of bicycle and hike training. I am this close to achieving superannuated status.
Along the trail I happened upon a pair of dudes sawing logs. No. Really. They were sawing logs – not sleeping – as part of a trail rehabilitation project to prevent erosion in case one of these years it actually rains and snows up here. It was an equal opportunity endeavor as two hardworking women were painstakingly swinging their picks and shovels also.
From behind I heard someone greet me with good afternoon, I’m Ranger Clancy. Do you have a wilderness permit? Yes sir I do, I assured. This would be the first time I have ever been checked by a ranger for anything ever. Even though, I always keep the proper documentation in a zip bag just behind the most accessible zipper pouch of the pack. I directed him to the file cabinet, he found it without me having to dismount the pack and all checked out well. I see you don’t have a bear keg, he disapproved. Are you going to use the hang method? Yes sir, I complied. You know how to do it? Yes, you tie a cord between two trees then counterbalance the food bag with a rock on another cord across that. That’s right! Well have a nice time!
I have a bear keg but not with me. It weights a lot and doesn’t hold much. I only use it when it is mandatory. Every time I check in with the rangers at the Interagency Center in Lone Pine – where you pick up your reserved wilderness permits – they always tell me this is not an active bear area. To me it looks like very beary, not of high altitude with lots of thick forest. I guess any bears that should be here are instead hanging out down the road apiece in Mammoth near the trash bins.
After three hours I was at the top of the ridge viewing the peaks of the other side, half way to my destination. Darkening skies and distant cracks of thunder portended a burgeoning monsoon. The magic of this trail is you only climb 460 feet in two-and-a-half miles to 10,360 then back down 460 feet the other two-and-a-half to the lake. Most trails in the Eastern Sierra are up and up some more.
Four hours I was at the trail junction where a perennial spring flows. It bubbles out of the ground the exact same way during drought or after record snowpack. I filter pumped and filled both my 100-oz Camelbak and Nalgene bottle and also guzzled fifty ounces. The Mountain Safety Research ceramic water pump I picked it up in 2000 still flows fast and flawlessly. Maintenance requires a simple brush and rinse of the element after every trip.
At 15:30 I crossed SBT Lake’s outlet in search of a suitable campsite, right on schedule. Up a hill and hundreds of feet away from the nearest water I staked my tent on a level shady spot, put all my bedding inside and sealed the rain fly.
I went to the lake to fill my collapsible 2 ½ gallon water jug for rinse and boil, hung my food bag thirty feet up on the end of a dead tree limb then proceeded to set up my twelve pound lure casting materiel with the standard Rapala J-13 brook trout pattern stickbait lure.
I always think I am going to hike in and cast the big lure until the witching hour the first night. Good psych-up but that plan never comes to fruition. My back hurts and I’m exhausted. You would think sitting on a rock flinging stick baits all night is easy. It is but it hurts too good to last past two hours. The browns start hunting after the sun is off the water and into the night. You don’t want to put all the effort to get here and not cast the first night even though it is with some discomfort. Albeit by eight-thirty I was done. I ambled back to camp, ate a pack of freeze dried food then as soon as I hit the sack – as in sleeping bag – substantial ran began to fall as I zoned off.
Tuesday it felt good to sleep in until eleven. The ground and trees were soaking wet. I had a trash bag over my pack all night, which kept my gear and clothes dry. I had no issues with moisture in my Eureka Solitare tent.
After breakfast I needed to sew my boots. The outer threads of each are so old they broke and I can see my socks. With my trusty expedition sewing kit and two hours I used a large needle, nylon thread and the pliers of my Leatherman to re-stitch three layers of leather through the original holes. I bought these Red Wing Irish Setter boots used with new Vibram soles from eBay in 2007. At 13D they are a size-and-a-half over from my normal shoe. I can slide in a gel insert and over that a hard high-arch Superfeet Green insert and still have plenty of toe room to avoid blisters. They have served me comfortably well ever since. In 2013 I again had them resoled and now another trip to the shoe guy is needed for the full upper redo.
To test out my fine work I sauntered over to the lake’s logjam for a photo op. I filled my Camelbak and Nalgene bottle with water pumped from the outlet creek. You can tell there is a drought happening around here with all the dead trees on the ridge and the lack of any cirque glaciers on the peaks. Nonetheless the lake is full and the creek is flowing per normal. That was lovely and fun, time now for a freeze-dry lasagna lunch and nap.
I awoke fully prepared with rain suit donned and then grabbed my pole, net, creel and water and was back at my casting rock by six. The rain started at 7:30 but there wasn’t much wind with it. I easily cast the big Rapala far and wide in hopes the slightly stormy weather will entice a bite. My second time here in 1992 I caught a two- and a three-pounder during a nine o’clock driving hail storm. Tonight? Not one hit until I gave it up at eleven. I’m like Linus out there waiting for The Great Pumpkin or something.
Wednesday morning I was up at the crack of ten with a project in mind. I brought my folding pack saw with me this time to perform a little trail maintenance. To access the deep part of the lake where all the fat rainbows live, the path takes you along the shore of the lake tangled with aspens and fallen pine logs, making the trek slow and difficult. I have always wanted to spend two days clearing out all the obstacles so by the time I am ready to fill the creel on Friday it will be an easier hike to the spot. The saw is one of those Coghlan’s jobs I picked up at Big 5 twenty years ago. It cut through a sizeable fallen pine with only moderate effort so now you don’t have to climb over it.
By three I had the trail cleared about half way to the spot when rain commenced to fall right at lunch and nap time. I will finish the job tomorrow.
I didn’t have much rest time because the rain and wind picked up around four thirty. When it comes to brown trout, fishin’ in a blizzard is key. You don’t train all year to hike your aging ass up a 10,000 foot mountain and not take advantage of the opportunity presented to you. Fully clothed and booted I crawled out of the tent, grabbed my pole and bags and aimed for the casting rock.
You have to jump three rocks before the casting rock. When I landed on the second rock with my right leg, just like I have been doing since I was 10, I tumbled down with a tear of the vastus lateralis muscle. Oh boy did that hurt! I couldn’t believe it. I have never torn a muscle before, not even a hamstring. All the thigh strengthening and stretching I have done the past 9 months – and in fact since 1986 – now this. I was having difficulties getting over it.
I picked myself up and limped the few feet to the casting platform. I didn’t feel it when I sat there casting, only when I got up and pushed off with the thigh. Of course my first thoughts were contemplating the hike out on Sunday. Will it heal enough in four days? I use trek poles when I hike nowadays. Those will assist greatly.
Around seven thirty at night AM radio signals throughout California bounce off the ionosphere and into your radio. I use a Sangean DT400. As I cast the big lure, I listened to The Angeles absolutely annihilate the Red Sox over the airwaves of KLAA 830. Around nine the rain stopped as did the wind and we were back to a normal pattern with bats fluttering by, running into the fishing line as they sensed it curiously with their sonar set-ups. I gave another two hours to the effort but got nothin’ to show for it.
Hopping across the rocks back to shore I led with my left foot and didn’t feel my torn thigh much until I stepped on some little rock funny. OUCH!!! I almost went down again.
Thursday up at nine, fed and gingerly back over to trail maintenance duty. I am wearing my standard camouflage pants and shirt uniform so I will not be easily observed from a distance. I am pretty sure cutting live branches out of the way of your personal fishihng trail with a hand saw might not be exactly according to the USDA Forest Service rules. You never know when ol’ Ranger Clancy will decide to track you down and inspect your camp or otherwise at least find out what you’re up to in his wilderness.
Two hours into my endeavors I heard voices. Sometimes distant yackin’ bouncing against trees sounds like the flies that are buzzing around your face. I look over to view sure enough three tourists at the beach. I was sort of in their plain sight so I moved further into the bush to carry on my work cutting branches so they would not see me. You never know who is going to be a goodie-good and rat you out to the authorities.
After a while I saw in my Bushnell 10x42 waterproof binoculars the group was down to two and there is only one place for the other guy to go… straight for me. I hid the saw, pulled out a jerky snack and rested on a comfy rock. I could hear the guy coming and as he was within ten feet I said HI rather loudly. That scared the hell out of him. Those guys didn’t even notice me over here.
We had a nice chat. They are only staying the night and not fishing. He wanted to continue on through the aspens to the falls but he turned around and headed back saying it will take too long and that the trail is much clearer this other way. I agreed.
With saw in hand I continued to blaze my way to the deepest shoreline of the lake to a prominent lodgepole pine from where I could make obstruction-free casts tomorrow. On the way back to camp I made some small branch adjustments here and there and alas completed my trail clearing project. Now I can hike through with fish poles in hand and not worry too much about tangling everything.
After lunch ‘n’ nap I was back to the casting rock just before six when the sun went over the ridge and is off the water. Prime time around here is six until ten. That is when I have hooked all the big ones historically at this lake. By now the rain was over as any threatening clouds from earlier today had dissipated. The night was clear and windless. All you could hear were the falls and lure splashdowns. I cast until ten thirty with no takers. I was calculating how many casts per night I was making. Each cast takes two-and-a-half minutes to reel in and with a couple short breaks, that’s around 80 to 90 launches per evening.
Friday is fish day. I try to catch a limit the last two days to take home. That way they will be fresher than if I had caught them earlier in the week. The pan size won’t stay alive on a stringer all week like the big ones do. The way the regulations work, you can keep ten trout but not more than five per day. If I were able by law catch all ten in one day I would only fish on Saturday. There’s a lot of confidence hanging off that statement.
I was up earlier than usual at seven o’clock to get everything ready for the six-hour fishing excursion along the cleared trail. The plan includes me taking food and the kitchen over there so I can make a bait cast and while that is soaking on the bottom I can rehydrate breakfast. I pulled down my food bag from the dead tree, took out packages of scrambled eggs and ham, my bag of seven layer cookies from last Thanksgiving and a package of spaghetti with meat sauce for lunch. As I raised my bag back up, the branch I had the cord up and over broke clean off the tree. Without wasting too much time I slung it over a branch of a nearby live tree and tied it up. This is against the rules as food storage is supposed to be counterbalanced away from trees as I described earlier. This is the lazy man’s method. Basically I am only trying to keep the chipmunks out. I have never seen any traces of bear around these parts all the many times I have visited and the ranger station says not a bear area as mentioned.
That’s how they get you! Just as I strapped on my pack I saw something clamber up the food bag tree. Well if it ain’t a small bear cub. Uh oh, that means mamma is around. I look up and her head appears from behind the tree trunk intently focused on my picnic basket. Oh man, not much I can do now except enjoy the show and take pictures. I tried hollering with arms flailing and hitting it with rocks. Nothing was going to break her concentration. And as a standard safety tip, you don’t want to piss off too much a sow bear with cub.
The branch she chose narrowed and she couldn’t go out any further to snag the bag. Thinking swiftly she retreated and scampered out on the branch the bag was hanging from, snagged the cord with claw and reeled it on in. Nice catch! She proceeded to sniff out where the bag of jerky was, rip open the nylon sack and start chewing like no tomorrow. The cub stationed five branches higher caught a whiff of the smoked meat and started yelping and whining all the way down to where momma was gorging. Soon as it climbed on her back momma growled and swiped at it with her paw claw and her baby skedaddled in torment back up one branch.
As the freeze dried packages fell from the tree I gathered them up and stuffed them in my pack. After the jerky was gone they came down to investigate the rest of their booty but first needed a drink. Momma pounced on my Reliance collapsible water jug, punctured a hole and lapped up the dripping water. I asked, did you really have to do that? There’s a 100-acre lake right over there.
You know, I always like to bring a little something when I visit the homes of others but by now I pretty much have given these two a halcyon day. I had just about enough of this bear circus business. It was starting to butt into my allotted fishing time anyway. I put my pack back on, grabbed my poles and marched forth contemplating an early exit now that I don’t have much left to eat. I could consume trout and wild onions but I am not equipped to prepare them properly, although in an emergency I probably could. There isn’t enough calories in either to sustain you for very long. What is saving me at this point was the decision to put my bag of cookies in my pack to take with me this morning. They will power me back to the truck when need be if I can store them securely enough to keep out the wildlife.
At the fishing hole along the cleared trail I rather lost my appetite I was so bummed I might have to cut the trip short. Then what really upset me was something that completely slipped my mind while I was back at camp all deer-in-headlights with the bear thing. I have my Gopro and stick with me but forgot to pull it out! I could have put the camera in the bear’s face while it was yanking out the bag of jerky for a close up of the chew! I could have chased it around some and videoed that folderol! This will probably never happen again and I will regret this bit of absentmindedness until the day I die. What a dope.
Good thing fishing is fantastic here. Just what I needed to snap out of it. I set up my four-pound rig with a big treble hook on a two pound leader, wrapped a night crawler around the hook, molded on a wad of Gulp trout bait then inflated the crawler with an insulin syringe. I cast that out as far as I could into the depths anchored by a three-quarter ounce egg sinker. It took over thirty seconds to sink. One of the apens I cut yesterday made the perfect pack hangar.
As that outfit sat in a Handi-Holder with a bell attached, I fan cast a sixteenth-ounce rainbow pattern Kasmaster with the six-pound pole. I caught a lot but nothing very big. They were hitting the lure at all depths and even while the lure was sinking. In an hour I landed over ten healthy rainbow, brown and brook trout, however nothing over eleven inches. I kept the three largest rainbows. In that time I never had a bite with the big wad of bait out in the depths. I caught three nice rainbows using that last time I was here.
I took a break walked back to camp to see what remained of my food. I found the bears ate my jerky, the elk salami, a half bottle of Tang and one lasagna lunch. The rest of the freeze dry packages were all sliced open but for the most part intact. That means I will only miss out on lunch for one of the three remaining days. What a relief! I have enough food to last the whole trip! I gathered up all the packages and wrapped them in the shirt I wore on the hike in, which I left hanging in a tree, and hiked it all over to my fishing hole.
The jerky isn’t a big deal. I only use it as a hunger stop between meals. Also it helps repair broken down muscle tissue. I don’t have much of that this week due to all muscle breaking I did each of the five weeks before hiking in. My bum thigh will have to get over it and I am sure it will soon. I have two nice chunks of jerky left, one in my pocket the other in my pack. That will last just fine. The elk salami was just a treat and not important. I bring two eight-ounce bottles of Tang with me each trip and the other full one I placed in my pack this morning.
Also now I have figured out why I never saw any signs of bears before. Below my food bag was basically loose decomposed granite sandy soil without a layer of pine needle mulch and all I saw were Vibram tracks, not one bear track, even though they were walking all over the place. These guys are stealthy mofos.
Back at the fishing hole I flung the Kastmaster per usual and caught 10 more of the three species in the next hour. The bait rig wasn’t working at all. For fun I switched it over to a nightcrawler under a bubble with a slow sink to 40 feet. I caught three browns using that in maybe another two hours but still none were twelve inches.
I kept the five largest fish on a chain stringer in the lake then swapped them out as I caught nicer rainbows. I don’t keep brook trout unless they’re a pound and I like to put all the browns back so they can grow big and mean for me later on. If a fish dies I toss them out when I see a California gull fly by.
That was fun. I caught my five fat rainbows for the day. They’re the best tasting especially when they have the salmon-colored flesh, which all of these did. Back at camp I eviscerated all, removed the heads, rinsed them and sealed them in a gallon zip bag. To keep them cool and fresh until hike-out Sunday I wrap the zip bag in a large trash bag and store the whole wad under water in a shady part of the outlet creek secured by 3 medium size rocks.
At three thirty in the afternoon I was having my first meal of the day; breakfast for lunch. The other opened packages I took out of the shirt and placed them into another gallon zip bag. The packages that weren’t opened I put in my creel so I can keep them with me at all times. The creel is new and does not smell like fish or bait, just canvas. I deemed it safe to keep it in my tent as I snoozed as my six-day fermenting BO stench will overpower any aroma coming from the food bags. The cookie bag went into my steel mess kit held together tightly by a nylon strap. That was not to be stored in the tent but instead inside the nearest hollowed out log. A bear can likely chew through the strap eventually but at this point I am out of options.
Last year I brought my bear keg and kept the smelly stuff in there: the jerky, cookies and salami along with whatever freeze dry packs I could fit in. This will be the plan wherever I go from now on. The rest of the week’s freeze dry supply can stay up on the counterbalance apparatus, as they really don’t smell like much. Yeah I know bears can smell a thousand times better than a dog. I am thinking the smelly food in the bear keg will keep the amused long enough for them to give up and go look for the nearest berry bush.
After nap I was back at the casting rock flinging the lure and tuning in baseball. This was the most calmest windless night so far. All the stars and satellites were out and the moon was straight up at prime brown time. According to the solunar theory, wildlife is more active when the moon is either straight up or straight down. That is what the Casio fishing timer tracks. The previous days the moon was up before prime brown time. Also the shine of tonight’s first quarter moon will allow the big ones see your lure better. Around seven I had my first hit of the week using the big lure but it was a rainbow trout of eleven inches. Nice but I didn’t keep it. Many trips I would have caught five browns or rainbows of that size with the big lure by this time.
At 9:15 of the fifth night of casting I had a big hit. I set the hook, it pulled to the right but didn’t rip any drag. I could tell it was larger than twelve inches but not the six-pounder I was hoping for. It came to net in twenty seconds and compared to what I have caught the past day it looked gigantic! The hook-jaw male brown trout eyeballed in at three pounds but probably not that heavy. That is the tonnage I fantasize it to be, not necessarily what it really weighs.
High air fives all around. I caught a ‘big one’. I felt accomplished. I usually catch one per trip to this lake. Once I caught two five pounders in a week. Three visits I did not catch any. I tied the fish around the mandible to the end of a nylon cord then tied the other end to a tree. That way the fish can stay fresh until Sunday hike-out.
This rush gave me motivation to keep casting until close to eleven but no other hits were felt in that time.
Saturday morning I was up early to fish the deep spot for rainbows. First I went down to the casting rock for the weigh-in and photo ceremony. I set up my camera on a Gorillapod using a ten-second timer to shutter the perfect publicity shot. The fish is way cuter than me.
As I dropped my trophy back into the lake the knot untied and he swam under a rock. He was stressed out after being yanked out of the water by a rope and dangled for the several minutes used to take the photograph. I had not seen it swim out from the rock. The only reason I had my net with me this moment was to use it as a prop for the photo. I quickly grabbed it and covered the exit point on the other side of the rock. I reached under the rock at the entrance point and grabbed his caudal fin and pulled him backwards slowly until I could grab it with my other hand. He kicked, slipped out of my grasp and swam out the exit right into the net. WHEW! That was a close one. I have had them get away before. Four years ago a big one came unhooked while I tried to land it with a home-made gaff through the mouth. Years ago a six pounder pulled so hard the clip of the metal chain stringer on which I was storing it in the lake opened up as I pulled it in.
This time I tied it up using the Moe Bettah knot, designed by Moe himself, using more lead so it won’t unravel. Sheesh! My plans included showing off a big fish at the end of the week at the June Lake resort where Aunt Joyce and cousins Larry and Rick are staying. I would have to come up with some sort of corny nice animal story if all I had was a picture of it, like, it wasn’t big enough so I let it go to grow larger? Kill me now.
Life is good, now back to business. I walked to camp to pick up my pack and poles then set off for the deep spot to try for more rainbows. All I needed were four, a already have five plus the big brown in storage. I have been carrying all the rest of my food with me in case Yogi and Boo-Boo show up again, now that they know where some loser schmuck with a food bag is camping.
At the deep spot fishing was great. I caught many brooks, browns and rainbows with the Kastmaster, including a nicer brown of thirteen inches, which I let go. The bait rig was setup with a #14 treble hook, two pound leader and 1/8th ounce egg sinker with Gulp Chunky Cheese trout bait molded thereupon. I didn’t cast out as far as yesterday which worked much better. I was catching a brook or rainbow every fifteen minutes or so. By three o’clock I kept the four fattest rainbows for the day but still none were twelve inches. There are two strains of rainbows in this lake from what I can tell. There are the Colemans, which are the ones the DFW stocks in most roadside waters. They have a red band, spots and other parr marks. The other is the Kamloops, which are more silvery with few small spots and no red band. They have the small head and big fat body, exactly what you want. Those are the ones I keep.
Back at camp I cleaned the four and stashed them in the creek bag with the others.
After lunch ‘n’ nap I was back on the casting rock at six for one last attempt at a big brown. Again we had calm glassy conditions, words that can be useed to describe the bite. Not one bump in five hours until eleven except for the occasional bat zeroing in on the monofilament.
Sunday I was up at seven, rolled up camp, stuffed my pack and was fed by nine thirty. I told Aunt Joyce I would arrive at Pine Cliff around five. Hiking out, my bum leg felt half as sore as it did Wednesday. I focused on not putting much pressure on it while stepping up the staircase for two hours to the top of the ridge. I took two twenty minute cookie breaks and made it back to the parking lot by three thirty, right on schedule. The last hour of walking I could smell smoke and saw the haze pouring over the crest as my lungs stung. I put my bag of fish into the empty ice chest then stopped by Toms Place Resort for three bags of ice.
I pulled my laptop bag from the bottom of the load in the back of my truck to find that it was soaking wet due to a rain leak in my camper shell. I wiped of the computer and plugged it in to the server rack I built to fit on my passenger seat. It didn’t power up. Dead. I just spent a bundle adding 1.5 terrabytes of storage, 4gb of memory and Windows 7.
By the time I made it to Joyce and Larry’s, it dried out and turned on. Another big relief! I was able to download my pictures from the camera and show off my fish and bear shots as the rest of the relatives filed in for the spaghetti dinner Larry prepared. After seven days of freeze dry a real home cooked meal satisfied royally.
*****
Summited Mt. Baldy as the final conditioning for next week's Sierra backpack trip.
Built a server rack with charging station for my truck.
Had a golfball size lump removed from my breast
Easter at Malcom's Parent's house
From Maynard 5/2015:
So here's the pics from this years trip to Salt Lake City. We got a guide
again for the first day and fished the lower Provo. Tom came this time.
First day we must have caught 50+ (Du)fish! The smallest was probably 15-16
inches. Weather was wonderful and we went back the next day. All in all, a
great trip! It was also moms 80th birthday. We threw her a big party. Good
time was had by all! Take care
*****
2015
Sierra opening day photo from Jim L.
*****
Fish News:
Bluefin already biting close to shore
Biggest bass of the year so far
Another giant largemouth, from Morena
Lake record redear sunfish from Diamond Valley
Kid catches fish from storm drain