The Backcountry Brookie Hike: The Underground Carries a Lot of Stuff

 
30 pounds of float tube, fishing gear, lunch, backpack and alpine lake add up to a pretty picture.

With the Upper Sacramento fishing a little slow, I’ve been dying to get up into the backcountry and chase some alpine Brook trout.

There’s a simple way to accomplish that (put fly rod & flies in daypack, walk to lake, fish, walk home), but in my tortured mind, the simple route is akin to wimping out. Instead, I crammed 30 pounds of float tube and gear into my Osprey pack, and — loaded down like a water buffalo headed to market — off I went.

Slowly.

The drive up to the trailhead was sobering; the South Fork of the Upper Sacramento is moving so little water, it’s become a series of standing pools with only a trickle of water at the heads. The lack of a snowpack is really taking its toll on that little stream, and I can’t imagine the wild fish populations are faring too well.

Damn.

It’s not a fishery that sees a lot of fly fishers — and the trout are mostly tiny – but I fish there several times each spring, and it hurts to see an old friend fallen on hard times.

Hiking. More Hiking.

It took me an hour and a half to reach the first lake. It was predictably gorgeous, though it lacked the essential “happy little trout jumping for joy” element.

In fact, there was damned little happening at all.

In the fall, these alpine lakes sometimes don’t wake up until the afternoon, but I think I’m a couple weeks ahead of “fall.” Things could be slow until early evening.

Still, I fired up the float tube — my decade-old Bucks Bags Mustang that has seen a lot of water with me — and fished.

Two hours — and two missed fish — later, the float tube idea wasn’t looking so great. So — like all manly backcountry types, I altered the plan to fit the conditions.

“Gosh” you say — striking your forehead with your palm. “This Chandler guy is freakin’ brilliant.”

And though modesty prevents me from agreeing publicly (it’s true), the fact remains I got out of the float tube, wandered down to the next small alpine lake, and caught:

 
The Official Char of the Trout Underground — just revving up the spawning colors.

Although time was limited, I managed to hang several Brookies and a pair of rainbows.

These were brightly colored, pretty Brookies (of course, they weren’t effeminate or un-manly), and I’d guess they’re starting to rev up the spawning colors for the fall.

Catching them was (as my fishing friend Howard used to say) “pure fun on a stick.” They seemed uninterested in floating ant and parachute patterns, so I switched to a #16 Hare’s Ear soft hackle, stripped it back slowly and irregularly, and set the hook when the fly’s tiny mylar wingcase disappeared.

I never cease to marvel at how I don’t feel 90% of the takes I actually see, and it makes me wonder what I’m missing whenever I fish beneath the surface.

Fly fishermen like to think of ourselves as largely Death From Above on trout, but evidence suggests that — as crafty predators — we rank somewhere just above the Three Stooges.

Picture Imperfect

Sadly, I only have three photographs of the whole trip. Turns out some dolt left the digital camera’s memory card sitting on his desk, and didn’t realize it until the Dolt used up the camera’s minimal internal memory.

In other words, the three pictures you’re seeing in this report are the only three pictures that exist. (Hopefully, no one asks for a refund.)

The Bucks Bags Mustang sitting pretty.

More Hiking.

Finally, a group of ATVs showed up, creating huge clouds of dust by spinning donuts on the bare dirt, so I packed up the gear and headed up the steep, rutted road, which lead to the even steeper rocky trail up the ridge, which lead to the up and down trail back to the trailhead.

All that lead to some sore legs, which lead me to thinking I’m not as young as I used to be, but clearly, that thinking is counterproductive.

After all, I’m still young enough to catch Brookies.

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