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 from the Pacific Crest Trail
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:

uppersevenriserings
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 searching for Brook Trout
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.

Brook Trout from an Alpine Lake
A nice-sized Brook Trout. One second it’s in your hand. The next…

Empty Hand in an Alpine Lake
It’s gone, leaving an empty hand, a swirl of alpine lake water, and a memory.

Brook Trout in an Alpine Lake
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
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
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.

[tags]fly fishing, fishing, backcountry, lake, alpine lake, brookie, brook trout, wally the wonderdog[/tags]

Posted in Backcountry, Fishing Report.