I need one more big project to clear the boards before firing up some fly fishing time, but instead of a Wonderdog-driven afternoon walk, I heaved the sausage-shaped mammal into the truck and reconnoitered a couple of spots on the upper river.

Wally the Wonderdog on the Upper Sacramento River
The gods Wonderdog is pleased, my friends. That means good fishing this year.

The first spot wasn’t on the river at all; it was the jumping-off point for a proposed (and certifiably crazy) 10-mile (one-way, all uphill) winter ski to a frozen lake for… ice fishing.

If any of my fishing friends suggested it, I’d recommend a 72-hour stint in a padded cell (sans shoelaces and belt), but at the end of winter — and in a twisted, bizarre way — it sounds almost reasonable to me.

That, my friends, is a subconscious cry for help.

The Upper Sacramento

With the start of the ski route sussed out, Wally and I turned our attention to a couple spots on the upstream end of the Upper Sac.

The snow on the roads is gone and access is not an issue, but sadly, nothing was happening on the water. I didn’t arrive until 3:00, but I never saw a bug, a rise, or even a suspicious wrinkle.

Thinking I missed a hatch, I went through the eddies and backwaters looking for shucks, drowned mayflies, etc — and found nothing. Upriver access point #2 yielded exactly the same results, so it’s likely I’m not missing much.

Wayne Eng’s been out on the river and it’s a largely deep nymphing game for him, and neither of us knows much about what’s happening way, way downriver, where it’s warmer (and the less-hardy people live).

The river itself is in good shape; flows are reasonable for this time of year and while the water clarity doesn’t approach fall levels, it’s pretty good.

I believe I saw the beginnings of a couple redds, though inexplicably, the trout don’t place little red flags next to the things (I’m not a biologist, though I play one on the Internet).

‘Tisn’t the Season

I’ll be blunt; this isn’t my favorite part of the fly fishing year on the Upper Sacramento. A sense of ennui surrounds the river (or at least my perception of it), and activities like the Ice Fishing Ski Trip of Doom and the Annual Reorganization of my Leaky Wader Collection start to seem more reasonable.

At some point, I start to see real hope of the spring hatches and I’ll snap out of it, but until that happens, brace yourselves for more really, really bad ideas.

See you where the deer and the Wonderdog roam, Tom Chandler.

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