The Backcountry Experience: Brookies, Beauty, and Yahoos…
By Tom Chandler on May 26, 2007 in Backcountry, Fishing Report
It’s not as if I huddle in a one-room cabin and mail explosive devices to non-fly fishing strangers, but when I’m fly fishing, I’m prone to anti-social behavior.
It’s one reason why I love the backcountry; you can hike and fish all day with the reasonable expectation that you’ll never see another human being who didn’t hike in with you.
Mount Shasta as seen from the Pacific Crest Trail. What a view.
I like that, but it’s Memorial Day weekend, and though I re-traced the steps of the group hike from last year’s Outdoor Blogger Ho-Down, I still encountered a handful of backpackers (and their unfriendly dog) at the first lake.
Wally the Wonderdog seemed a little miffed by the chilly reception from the other canine (it was just me and the Wonderdog today), so we headed to our “backup” lake, where we were greeted by this:
Rise rings — these generated by happy little Brookies.
Yup. Rising fish. Not a lot. And not big, but they were Brookies damnit — the Official Char of the Trout Underground. (Speak not despairingly of them, or face the wrath of the Wonderdog. You’ll see why a few paragraphs down.)
I strung up my 8.5′ 5wt Steffen glass rod, tied on a #16 Hare’s Ear Soft Hackle, and proceeded to catch Brook Trout.
Unfortunately, the Wonderdog — who had shown little interest in trout — suddenly developed a yearning to retrieve a hooked Brookie (perhaps he’s a discerning dog, only showing an interest in Brookies).
Wally the Wonderdog hunting Brook Trout. No chance.
This rapidly grew into a problem; if you met the Wonderdog, you’d know he’s goofy and enthusiastic, but once he focuses, he does so to the exclusion of pretty much everything else (including his personal safety).
As a result, I caught eight Brookies (including two 11″-12″ specimens), but only photographed one — an 11″ beauty with the requisite Brookie neon colors.
A nice-sized Brook Trout. One second it’s in your hand. The next…
It’s gone, leaving an empty hand, a swirl of alpine lake water, and a memory.
Later, I shot this Brookie cruising the shallows for bugs.
The Wonderdog’s insistence on retrieving a Brookie put a damper on the fishing, but created a source of amusement I never expected.
Suddenly, he noticed every rise, and swam his pudgy body out in pursuit of the closest fish.
The short, stocky Wonderdog has as much chance of catching a Brook Trout as he does of running down a Cheetah, but he’s never let reality stop him before, and he wasn’t about to now.
Wally the Troutdog. It sings, but… I don’t know.
I took a break from fishing and scribbled a few words in my notebook, then noticed a large ring around the sun — an interesting phenomenon caused by ice crystals in thin, high-altitude clouds.
Ring around the sun; just one more Underground oddity.
I sat for a few minutes, drifting off in the sun, and was jolted awake by a pair of gunshots on the ridge right above the lake, followed by voices coming down the rough, 4-wheel drive road to the upper lake.
Suddenly, the area seemed a little too crowded for my tastes, a diagnosis confirmed when two other hikers showed on the far side of my little lake.
A crowd. Ye gads.
I gathered up my gear, packed it away, called the Wonderdog away from his Quest for a Brookie, and started the 1.5 hour hike home.
Wally the Wonderdog leaving the lake… reluctantly.
The Wonderdog’s coal-black fur soaks up every erg of solar energy the sun throws his way, so on the hike out along the PCT, we stopped at the few remaining patches of snow and packed him in the white stuff.
Thus cooled, we hopped in the Underground Wet Dog Mobile Smell Center (my summer ride — a two-wheel drive Toyota pickup whose yellow paint has seen better days), and drove down the South Fork of the Sacramento — a normally deserted road down a tiny canyon.
Today it was overrun with trucks, dirt bikes, ATVs and campers, and on the spot, I abandoned my plans to return later in the day to fish the south Fork.
Disappointing, but you can’t be truly disappointed in a day when you catch brookies in a beautiful lake, even if it is surrounded by too many people.
See you in the backcountry, Tom Chandler.
Technorati Tags: fly fishing, fishing, backcountry, lake, alpine lake, brookie, brook trout, wally the wonderdog
ijsouth | May 26, 2007 | Reply
I found out the other day that (unexpectedly), we would be getting Memorial Day off. The thought crossed my mind briefly of packing the kids and the gear in the car and driving the 9 hours to Tennessee, but then I thought of the crowds. It’s no fun battling traffic you can encounter any week day driving into work.
Tom Chandler | May 26, 2007 | Reply
In one sense, not fishing because of other people accords them a lot of control over your life; more than should be true.
On the other hand, I hate crowds. Still, the crazy weekends only come a few times a year.
ijsouth | May 26, 2007 | Reply
Well, I’m headed to Tennessee in a few weeks anyway…it’s a good point about crowds. Around here, you’re going to have them no matter where you go, no matter when. Last Fall, I took a day off in the middle of the week specifically to avoid all the boats. I had a couple of spots pegged, and every one of them had someone on it, fishing. So, grin and bear it.
However, I was determined to avoid what I encountered the last time I was up in the Smokies. I made the mistake of going through Pigeon Forge to get from one end of the park to the other; I had no idea there was a hot rod convention in town. It took me over an hour to go less than a mile.
Kentucky Jim | May 27, 2007 | Reply
That’s a fine dog. I cannot understand why you continue to refer to him in such demeaning terms. The picture of him “trout pointing” is great.
Kentucky Jim | May 27, 2007 | Reply
Oh, yeah. Nice Brookies, too!
Tom Chandler | May 27, 2007 | Reply
ijsouth: Pigeon Forge! On prior trips I’d avoided that abomination. This time, Rich Margiotta forced me to drive through. What a cancer on the face of the planet…
Kentucky Jim: Sure, he’s cute and all that, but his attempts to retrieve my hooked trout put a damper on the fishing. He is a good dog, but not so much a trout dog.
Kentucky Jim | May 27, 2007 | Reply
There’s a solution for everything. Don’t take him fishing.
ijsouth | May 27, 2007 | Reply
My kids, of course, love looking at all the junk in Pigeon Forge…I try to keep the blinders on them. I instinctively try to avoid anything that even approaches “tourist trap”; I was that way even as a kid - give me a choice between Disney World and fishing, I’d choose fishing every time.
One way to look at it is this; these tourist areas probably divert a lot of the crowds that might otherwise be in the park, forest, or whatever. For me, I’ve never understood why people, who have to battle traffic every day of their working lives, voluntarily go on vacation to an area where they have to do the same thing.
I’ve learned my lesson; I normally approach the park from the Townsend/Tremont area, since it is the closest to home. However, when I want to get to the other end of the park, I’ll take the road along Little River from now on. Even with it’s 18 miles of twists and turns, it’s better than dealing with Pigeon Drop…all you have to deal with is a bit of Gatlinburg, which usually isn’t too bad.
David Knapp | May 27, 2007 | Reply
Love the pictures of the brookies, especially the last one of the feeder in shallow water…very nice! I have been annoyed by people in the backcountry on more than one occasion. It seems I am more easily irritated when I am expecting to have solitude… Worst was in the fall a couple of years ago when a couple of spin fisherman kept leapfrogging me up Little River above Elkmont in the Smokies. By leapfrogging I mean they kept jumping in just above me…I just don’t understand… Finally hiked another mile and lost ‘em for good.
Ed | May 27, 2007 | Reply
That’s a great picture of the ring around the sun. I’ve seen that phenomenon a few times here but never that clearly. Did you do anything to the photo to enhance the contrast there? Or was it as clear as the photo appears? Regardless, cool.
andy fincham | May 27, 2007 | Reply
Hello,
My name is Andy. I like your blog and shall visit it fairly regularly. I am an angler moving from Alaska to Maine who has fished all over the place. I shall leave my footprints here on occasion.
We used to sight cast speckled trout and red drum in the shallows of Pamlico sound behind Hatteras Island. This “ring around the sun”, usually on days so hot your ears ring, is called a sundog. At least by me it is. The first one I saw I thought some significant intergalactic event was imminent and an end to the boredom was finally at hand!
Kentucky Jim | May 27, 2007 | Reply
When I was a boy in Kentucky, we used to see a “halo” around the moon on some nights in the summer. They were quite distinct, and usually quite large around the moon. My father, who had grown up on a farm, but had become a man of science, told me it was a “Moon Halo”, and that it meant that it would rain soon. As I recall, he was frequently right about that.
andy fincham | May 28, 2007 | Reply
Moon Halo, huh? That reminds me of one Easter my Mom showed me how god sent his message to us about Christ victory over death by showing the cross in the night sky. Came to be a trick played by the screen in the window. My Mom wasn’t terribly religious and just kind of made it up on the spot. No wonder my church has trees hanging over it and fish running through it!
Kentucky Jim | May 28, 2007 | Reply
We saw the “Moon Halo” when we were outside. I think it occurred because of moisture in the air. Perhaps the same is true of the sun halo shown above.
Tom Chandler | May 28, 2007 | Reply
I think the ring around the sun and the moon halo are both examples of the same atmospheric effect.
Essentially, they’re caused by the ice crystals in high, thin clouds — which are often the first sign of an approaching front.
That’s why the “rain coming” prediction is often a correct one.
I don’t see them that often, but then, my mother also taught me not to looking into the sun all that much.
Tom Chandler | May 28, 2007 | Reply
David: Running into people on the Upper Sac isn’t that uncommon, and if that flipped me out, I’d be a basket case by now. Still, I think you’re right — I have bigger expectations in the backcountry, so the mere appearance of another person is often enough to send up a red flag.
I admit it’s odd; despising someone for seeking the same things we are doesn’t make any sense at all…
Patrick | May 29, 2007 | Reply
Same isolation keeps bringing me back to the Tioga Pass area of the high Sierras…anyone willing to walk just a bit can leave almost everyone behind. And yes, gotta love those flashy, fun and sometimes frustratingly fickle wild brookies.
P.S. I think I reached a new high in despising someone this weekend. I’m not a full fledged fly fisher - only started this year - but I cringed to see a guy across a small stream chucking a (live) worm with a fly rod.
Larry Swearingen | May 30, 2007 | Reply
Hey TC,
I’m back at work now from my 11 day trip to the Upper Sac. It was great! Fishing was Great. Weather was Great. Friends were Great ! I didn’t run into TOO many people fishing over Memorial Day Weekend. If you think it’s crowded there then you should try the Lower Owens River in the Wild Trout Section or Hot Creek on a 3-day weekend. Un-friggin’-Believable.
You guys who live along the Upper Sac should take a mandatory trip to LA once a year so you apreciate what you have.
Larry Swearingen
Tom Chandler | May 30, 2007 | Reply
Larry: Glad to hear you had a good trip prior to becoming the Underground’s Indiana & Surrounding States Official Correspondent.
As for the mandatory trip to LA… No. It’s really that simple.
Jessica | Jun 15, 2007 | Reply
Speaking of hiking.. Check out this article in the Friday edition of the NY Times.. On Mt. Shasta, Winter’s Wrath Knows No Calendar.. http://travel.nytimes.com/2007/06/15/travel/escapes/15Shasta.html
Tom Chandler | Jun 15, 2007 | Reply
Interesting. Fly fishers who think our rivers got a little crowded during the “boom” years should try to climb Mount Shasta during “peak” traffic days.
My brother lived up here upwards of 30 years ago, and the mountain was largely deserted.
Today — with Shasta becoming the “Everest of the Silicon Valley” (Outside Magazine I think) — the “standard” route up the mountain looks like a concert ticket line.
Oy vey. Anyone of my readers who want to climb the mountain (there aren’t any trout up there) should probably contact Mt. Shasta Guides.
I know the owners and they run a tight, tight ship.