Secret Brown Trout Lake 8/1
Last summer I took one week vacation for my seven-night backpack adventure but had no time to visit buddies who were also around the Eastern Sierra those same days. This year I allocated two weeks in order to have time to goof off before and after the hike.
Monday July 23 I left home at four in the morning and after three gear and tackle stops in Bishop I finished setting up my big tent at the usual site five in the main staging campground before noon. I always reserve this spot through rec.gov because I can back the truck right to the picnic table used to set up my pack.
I later drove up the road a few miles to Convict Lake to visit perfect neighbor Kenny, who was glamping with family in his big giant luxury trailer. As we were yackin’ about nothin’ a big nasty thunderhead rolled in over the crest right towards us. The twenty-minute deluge had no impact on us as we sipped waters around the breakfast nook. Once the clouds cleared, the air outside smelled so good!
Speaking of, the road from Bishop to Lake Sabrina was hit by a sizable mudslide Sunday trapping hundreds of unhappy campers for a day. The Inyo County and Caltrans worked feverishly to open a lane this afternoon.
After a couple hours I told Kenny see ya and as I headed back to camp I noticed how gorgeous the lit hills looked against the dark monsoon. I stopped here and there to admire some of the other close-by peaks.
You don’t want to have camp stoves and barbecues sitting in the back of your shell-covered pickup truck all week at the trailhead in fear of a passing bear sniffing them out and popping the top like a can opener. Instead of cooking, I hike the quarter mile to Tom’s Place Café each evening. Tonight I watched baseball while wolfing down a bacon cheeseburger with A1 sauce and fries.
Another thing accomplished is, just hiking to the restaurant and back helps in the acclimation process due to an elevation of 7,200 feet. Also, just being outside walking you experience the scene, all rainbows and butterflies in the mountains John Muir called ‘the range of light’.
Tuesday morning I slept in until six then headed to Mammoth for an ham and egg footlong and coffee at the Subway. I wasted time tootling on some backroads around McGee Creek, eventually pulling down the tailgate and eating breakfast while studying Baldwin Peak for no special reason.
For my next trick I backed the truck to the table and proceeded to stuff my pack with all essentials for tomorrow’s hike. Afterward I had no agenda the rest of the day except to just sit there relaxing and listening to KIBS on the Kaboom while snacking on summer sausage from Mahogany Smoked Meats and Kettle chips all washed down with bottled water.
The night’s dinner at the café was taco Tuesday. More rainbows were poking through the trees that evening on the way back to camp.
Wednesday morning hike day the tradition is to visit Breakfast Club in Mammoth for a beef machaca burrito and large cinnamon roll with butter. I thought they opened at six but I saw the sign notifying me six thirty. To kill a half hour I drove up to the lookout near The Mountain for an early morning shot of Ritter Range.
After the filling high carb and protein hike meal, I zoomed to the trailhead and was trekking by nine. As I got going I felt strong. Up and over the first set of small switchbacks I kept track of time by certain landmarks and calculated I was far ahead of schedule compared to the previous three years. Not only did I train harder all winter and spring but also my pack weighed less on account of I only brought two fishing outfits this time, one with twelve pound test to cast the big J-13 Rapala in the evenings and another six pound to toss Thomas Boyants in brown trout pattern. No bait this year, which in turn saved much needed space inside the top pouch without the worm box and several jars of salmon eggs and dough bait clogging it up. Past years small brook trout attack any bait offerings before quality rainbow or browns find it rendering the whole exercise a waste of time.
The training included bicycle up and down a one mile hill two or three times a week and a ten-hour hike every Saturday or Sunday in March through July in the Santa Ana or San Gabriel mountains. By the time I summited Mt. Baldy July 4 I was in such condition I made it up Bowl Trail in five hours and down Backbone Trail in four. That is something like three hours faster than anytime up and down that mountain before.
Next thing I know I am at the lupine patch where the trail leads down into the next drainage and minutes later I had a glimpse through the trees of my destination, Secret Brown Trout Lake. I reached the upper lakes trail junction by two, an hour-and-a-half sooner than ever. This is where there are nice logs to rest upon and also a cold spring that pops out in the bushes from which to filter pump water with my MSR MiniWorks.
Once my hundred ounce Camelbak Antidote was refilled I marched on non-stop to the lake, crossing the outlet logjam in only six hours fifteen minutes, over an hour sooner than last year and I didn’t even feel any effects. I was quite pleased of what my 61-year-old bod gifted me this special day.
I leaned my pack against my usual camp rock and the first thing I pull out was my 50-pound Rapala fish scale. As I un-bungeed all the roll-up items from the frame I weighed each. The bear keg was ten pounds and the pack with gear and clothes crammed within was 45. I calculated the whole thing put together with jacket, sleeping bag, pad, rain suit and tent was 70 pounds.
I noticed this last mile to the lake the trail had been little used the past month or so and there were no other camps at the usual sites along the east shore. One big clue was the lack of fresh horse dung.
I removed my shorts and T-shirt and dressed in Real Tree long pants and shirt. I quickly pitched my tent and set up the sleeping pad and bag before any afternoon rain squall might start. After filling my five gallon Reliance jug with water I was ready for fishing but I arrived so early I had to wait sitting on a rock staring at mountains for an hour before the sun was off the water. That is when the big browns rise from the depths and start their nightly hunt. Around this time the distinct smell of forest file drifted over the crest and you could see the haze start to build.
Due to the relatively average Sierra precipitation this past winter the lake was filled to it’s normal level allowing me undeterred access to my favorite casting couch.
Around seven thirty is when AM station from across the west begin to tune in. I listened to KNX for a while for news of the Ferguson and Lyons fires near Yosemite and Mammoth that were sending smoke my way. At this point any containment of neither was in sight. I launched the J-13 in brook trout pattern until eight but was too pooped to continue any longer. Back at camp I boiled water for a hearty Mountain House meal of Italian Steak then crawled into the tent for a long rest.
Thursday morning I crawled back out around ten and planned to do nothing but rest all day. The only camp maintenance chore after a scrambled eggs, Tang and granola bar breakfast was to run a cord between two trees and counter balance my food bag up and over to keep any marauding bears at bay. What I do is keep all the smelly stuff like jerky and granola bars in the bear keg along with the first three days of freeze dry provisions. The rest of the meals are stored for later strung up on the cord.
Just as I completed that task I saw a lightning bolt strike about a mile to the east. I draped a trash bag over my pack and hunkered down in the tent untuil the cell blew away. Next thing I know I am waking up two hours later for a chili mac with beef lunch. After another couple hours stare-down with the mountains I was back in bed resting up for the evening’s activities.
Which is basically casting the brook trout J-13 all night while listening to AM radio news and baseball. Angels and Dodgers don’t come in very well but the Giants broadcast from Fresno does. Even though they’re not performing well this season, they have a good team and I love Buster Posey and listening to the great announcer John Miller.
Tonight we have clear smokeless skies with a small threat of showers. I donned my rain suit as the drops fell but didn’t really need to as the precipitation stopped soon thereafter.
The past two years I timed my brown trout trip one week after my annual July 4 Mt. Baldy hike so that I will be it tippy top condition for the trek. Problem was we had no full moon those weeks and fishing sucked. Historically at this lake I always experienced better action with the night light up. This year I fit in one more training hike up Icehouse Canyon ten days later, and then twelve days after that, up here I came for full moon tomorrow.
Also what I was giddily anticipating was both The Moon and Mars rising in tandem tonight over the eastern timbered low ridge. And I’ll tell you what; the scene did not disappoint. First, as the cumulus and sunlight waned, Venus set behind a mountain peak to the west, leaving Jupiter and Saturn shining brightly. As more stars appeared here came Mars bigger and redder than ever minutes before the first arc of the moon arose.
Whoa, hook up! What a great way to reenter the mind from outer space back into the atmosphere! Unfortunately it was only a small twelve-inch rainbow that wiggled enough to free itself as I lifted it up before a snapshot could be taken.
I was actually feeling more hits in the subsequent hour before the next one stuck. This time it felt a little bigger anyway but not much fight. As I tried to lift it out of the water I noticed it was heavier than the last one. In this case I dipped my net to bring it ashore and saw it eyeballed in at a pound-and-a-half. You never know. This might be the monster of the week. I unhooked it and in the net ran it over ten trees down where I tied a cord to a root yesterday. To the other end I jaw tied the brown and gently placed it into the water. This way it will stay alive the rest of the week and still be fresh fare on hike-out day.
I had one more hit the rest of the night before I gave up at ten.
Friday morning I hiked around the lake. I brought with me water, jerky, my folding saw and pruning shears. The past three years I have been maintaining the impromptu trail on the west shore of the lake by cutting out the thick tangles of aspen and pine that are in the way of free foot travel. This year as I snaked my way back to the waterfall I only had to cut three small branches.
Along the trail I enjoyed the many wildflowers and mushrooms blooming left and right, some I have never seen before. Especially going crazy everywhere in sight was fireweed. The falls were as pretty as ever and the sound is captivating. I crossed the inlet creek and strolled along the east shore past meadows filled with yarrow.
A little further down the line, movement across the lake caught my attention. Through binoculars I spied three adults and two children casting lures near my zone. Once back over there I engaged them in some chitty chat. They didn’t seem too friendly and wanted to get going back to their Second Lake campsite. Bye bye.
After the daily lunch ‘n’ nap, under hazy ‘n’ stinky skies, I returned to my rock for another night of lure launchin’ ‘n’ baseball. There was no wind and any rain was miles to the east. The moonlight was bright, however I had no hits by ten thirty.
Saturday morning I felt like hiking somewhere I’ve never been, to a low peak to the northeast in order to snap a pic back towards the lake to show all the mountains along the Sierra Crest. We have the main trail that leads downstream through a thick tamarack forest, which by the way was as lush as I have ever seen, with many varieties of wildflowers painting dark green grass and onions. At the point where the trail dips down into the canyon you cut the other way and blaze your own trail through the sagebrush and rocks, through aspens and pines toward the peak. After three hours negotiating my own pathway was slow going and I could tell summiting would be for another year. However I did find a clearing that allowed a fantastic view of the drainage and crest. There are more peaks back in there higher than what you see in this shot but trail-less forest shut down any hope of a higher view.
Back at camp, after the daily lunch ‘n’ nap, under hazy ‘n’ stinky skies, I returned to my rock for another night of lure launchin’ ‘n’ baseball. Today I went with a rainbow trout pattern J-13 and actually had more hits from what were likely little guys. As the moon rose I hooked up to one that felt more sizable than most of the week so far and I soon discovered why; The brown hooked itself in the back. Too small to keep, back in the drink it swam. That was about it for the rest of the night.
Sunday I moseyed down to see if Thursday’s fish was still alive and to snap a pic. It was and here I am.
Later I hiked through another zone I never have, along the west wall of the canyon downstream from the lake. First thing I found were many tamaracks that were knocked over by the avalanche of 2011. Some were dragged several feet as seen by the log lying far from its root divot. Nature has its funny way as you could see hundreds of seedlings popping up all around the downed crowns, which in turn as they decompose will serve as nutrients for the puppy trees.
Ambling along aimlessly, I found a lovely view of the peak I wanted to climb yesterday. I saw I maybe reached a quarter the way up, meaning it will be a greater challenge than anticipated. I should print this pic and keep it with me next time as a guide how to avoid the thickets as I summit the top.
Soon I found a small spring-fed creek flowing through a thick green area replete with more fireweed, purples and yellows, a large onion patch and another variety of mushroom.
Back at home base I was kicking back on a comfortable rock when a group of friendlier hikers came through asking if I saw any of these types of mushrooms around here, as one of them opened his bag to show. I pointed right over there, where those trees fell in 2011. There are two big ones on the trail. Then I told him, I’ll bet your are one fun-guy. Hardy har har, you know, sounds like fungi. Ok then.
The other dude and I got to talking. He was telling me they like to stay at Second Lake because thirty years ago his uncle spotted a huge brown trout there and has been back every year trying to catch it. I said that’s what I’m doing too! In 1991 at this lake I saw a ten pound brown follow a twelve inch rainbow I was reeling in and the monster took three swipes at it. I been back ever since, albeit not every year, to try to catch it. He told me his uncle saw that big ol’ brown jump out of the water near shore and whack bushes with its tail then come around and suck up all the bugs that fell in. Best fish story anecdote I’ve heard in a while.
Soon all were on their merry mushroom way and for me it was time to rehydrate lunch, prepare tackle for the evening then curl up in the tent for nappy time.
At five thirty I awoke to a stronger smoke stench then any day before and I mean choky smoky. From the casting rock I could barely see the mountains. Also I had no hits in the three hours I gave. I got to thinking, I hope the air isn’t this polluted when I hike out on Wednesday. There’s no way to breathe hard and I can’t postpone my departure another day or two because I’ll be out of food. Next time if I hear of fires near where I will hike I probably should bring an extra two days’ worth the provisions in case I need to wait until the air clears.
Tonight I had a different plan. Since the moon would not rise until much later, I decided to cast until nine then get up and fish early tomorrow. After dinner I crawled back into the tent fully clothed with boots on.
Monday my watch alarm sounded at three thirty. Last night I left all my gear at the casting rock. Only thing I needed to do was visit my bear keg for a jerky and amble on down.
Oh what a beautiful morning. Moon up, calm air and glassy water. I didn’t even hear one animal chirp for over an hour. I cast until the sun hit the water around seven without one hit then headed back to bed for a while.
Later on after breakfast I set up my six pound outfit with the aforementioned brown trout pattern Thomas Buoyant for some casting over in the deep end. The results were as expected. For whatever reason I only catch rainbow trout with this lure. No browns nor brooks the past few years. Today I nailed several like this one and this other one but none were big enough to get me exited enough to keep.
In the evening the skies cleared nicely for the lure launching. I stayed on the same plan as last night, casting until nine with no hits felt.
Tuesday morning I was casting by three forty under a bright moon. Same ol’ boring thing. No takers of the rainbow J-13 until the sun hit the water at seven.
Later on I stopped by the outlet creek for some
pretty pictures
and to dip my GoPro on a stick into the flowing water to try to video
feeding brown trout. I snuck up on this one fourteen-incher
undetectably but as soon as the camera hit the water they all scattered.
I dunked it under the banks, roots and rocks thinking they were hiding under
all that. I won’t know if any will be in my movie until I look at the
files at home.
video
I hiked downstream to the nearest wild onion patch to cut a couple pounds to take home that I will use to make three jars of salsa. Lately all stores I have been shopping now have heirloom tomatoes available in their produce stands and the softest gooiest of that variety make the best salsa along with the sweet mild flavor of the wild onions Recipe.
My last session of evening J-13 flinging for the week came soon with no smoke under threatening skies. No rain came but neither did any bites by nine.
Wednesday I lucked out. I was up by five thirty under the influence of crystal clear cool windless air, perfect for the harried hiker. I rehydrated two breakfasts, one to eat after I reassemble my pack and another four hours later mid-hike. I tried this last year and it worked out well. Other years I would eat only one breakfast before the hike and found myself out of gas after five hours. Just to mention, Mountain House has a new flavor this year called Southwest Breakfast hash. It is one of their best ever.
I went down to the lake to retrieve my ‘big one’ which by now had died. It didn’t look in too good of shape with its eyeballs and gills all bleached white. The meat was still firm and it didn’t stink so I cleaned it, inserted it into a soaked creel then wrapped the creel in the icky white long-sleeve T-shirt I wore hiking in, which I also soaked to keep the quarry cool until I put it on ice over six hours from now.
At eight I was on my way out, stopping by the junction spring for a re-fill. In a mere two hours I was up and over the ridge to the level trail before it descended down into the next drainage in which the trailhead awaits.
Some other people were hiking in: Mom, Dad and the two kids. Mom asked me how far to the first lake. I figured they had hiked at least four hours to get this far. I said, hate to tell ya but it’s another two hours. The pack-wielding girl of the family folded her arms and gave Mom stinkeye like I ain’t seen since I don’t know when. To assuage her pissiness I assured the whole group at least from here the trail is all downhill.
During the noon newscast on KIBS I heard there was another mudslide that closed highway 158 yesterday between Grant and Silver Lakes. Since it is a loop road, nobody was cut off but we now realize how dangerous monsoon week can be. I lucked out to have only one day of light rain the whole time.
After breakfast number two, I was well ahead of schedule and encountered another Dad with four girls. Everyone sees I have this rod holder sticking up with a large net attached to my pack and asks, how was fishing? Pretty good, lots of rainbows on the Thomas and that I stayed seven nights. One of the girls blurted, you actually camped way back here? Then dad asked how far to the first lake. I said, hate to tell ya but its at least four hours. They went another half mile then turned around and passed me about a half hour later.
Around one the skies quickly turned dark and drops began to fall. I was only a mile and a quarter from the trailhead and didn’t bother to stop to install any water proofing as the coolness of the rain felt quenching against my cotton covered skin. I could see lighting over on the far ridge across the drainage but nothing directed toward me.
At two thirty I was at the truck sliding in my pack and tying on tennis shoes for the drive out and got to thinking I should go for eight nights next year. As I motored the nine miles back to the highway I saw in my rearview the thunderhead catching up to me. I hustled up driving to the second drainage north where I know of a dirt road where I can put on clean clothes and drain my cooler. I missed the downpour by only one mile.
FIELD TEST
This year I felt rich enough to afford a Yeti Tundra 64 ice chest, using it for the first time this trip. Last Wednesday I bought two of those ten pound newfangled ice blocks from Vons Mammoth, dropped them into the Yeti and sealed it off. Eight days later both had melted but even though the chest was in rather warm conditions under my fiberglass truck shell all week, the remaining water was ice freezing cold and that Coke Zero I cracked open first thing after I hiked out was the best.
As soon as I was about a mile from the Mammoth turnoff I hit a wall of smoke that blanketed the whole town. On Old Mammoth Road I stopped by Salsas Taqueria for one of their giant green chili pork burritos.
I drove on to Deadman Camp, where I got everything ready for the night then sat on the site’s splintery picnic bench to chow down. So good. I recommend that hole in the wall for quick in and out Mexican anything you want.
Thanks to all the smoke it was hard to sleep this night as my sinuses started to close off. A shot of Afrin did the trick but still the stench was overwhelming.
Thursday morning there was no relief as the smoke was thick all the way to June Lake, where after a four quarter shower at Pine Cliff Resort I met up with Aunt Joyce and Cousin Larry, who cooked us a tasty breakfast. Thanks bro!
After some catching up I drove over to visit Big Chuck at his Gull Lake pad, where he was busy planting aspen trees along his driveway. I was sitting there sucking up a Mammoth Brewery Golden Trout Ale and was feeling faint due to the smoke. He kept digging until all four trees were in like he’s used to it by now.
Later back at Camp Joyce, I met up with more cousins Jen, Sandor, Rick, Ron and I forget the rest of your names. I timed the visit perfectly. It was Thursday fish fry night and everyone except me filleted rainbow and brook trout, dipped them in spice mix and served up the best fish and salads ever. Larry’s homemade tartar sauce was killer. Dude you haven’t emailed me the recipe yet!
For dessert, Pine Cliff resort has their weekly ice cream social every Thursday. Now, I haven’t had any ice cream in quite a while but I figured I burned enough calories the past week that It wouldn’t kill me to eat two scoops of mint chocolate chip for a buck.
Good conversation was had around the campfire including confidential information concerning a new secret weapon they used at Silver Lake the other day. Everyone who trolled with this particular lure, using lead core line, only landed brown trout and plenty of them. I will try one at my lake next summer and report back. Of course I will not be trolling but I will be able to cast it a long way out and reel it in at various depths to a hundred feet or however deep the lake is.
Around ten I said my goodbyes and headed back to Deadman, where again it was not easy to sleep in all the smoke.
Friday I awoke late, packed up and headed south. I kept my map handy as I had ample time to check some roads here and there that I never been on before. Near Mammoth I took Meridian to Sherwin Creek road back out to the highway. The air cleared somewhat except for The Mountain was still shrouded by smoke. Near Sherwin Creek I hit the line between smoky and clear and it was nasty all the way into Bishop.
I took the old highway south from Tom’s Place to Paradise Camp, then cut over on Pine Creek road through Rovana. Very scenic but not much of fish interest for me here.
In Bishop I stopped by another Mexican joint El Ranchito for Camarones Del Diablo. Very tasty. Heading south I veered off near Keogh’s to take an old beat-up stretch of 1950s highway that led to the exploration of other dirt roads like the back way to Secret Golden Trout Lake.
Around six I made it home, unpacked and began to prepare the next two days for my upcoming trip in a couple weeks.
NEWSFLASH
Two days after arriving home from vacation the Holy Fire started Monday afternoon. By Wednesday I was evacuated and stayed at my pal Craig’s house until the smoke cleared Saturday when I heard on 89.3 KPCC the evacuation order had been lifted. I had already packed all my papers, money, computers, clothes in the truck Tuesday and when I returned I found all the houses in my ‘hood were saved but it was a close one as the whole Cleveland Forest is gone. Some who stayed until Thursday said a fire tornado came ripping through with high winds blowing embers everywhere but the firefighters were ready. Photos. Due to this almost catastrophe, instead of hike fishing I spent my next 4-day vacation at home cleaning up and enjoying it before the mudslides come.
*****Owens River to Expect High Flows
