Einstein Was Wrong: Fly Fishermen Know Everything Does Happen All At Once

I already live where other people vacation, so it doesn’t feel strange that I’d spend my long weekends at home, letting the weekend warriors have their day(s) on the water.

Adding one more hideously over-equipped body to the scrum isn’t likely to tip the scales from simple overcrowding to elbow-to-elbow fishing, but then, Steve Bertrand did take one of his weekend guide trips to Mossbrae Falls, which was overrun with tourists.

As he relates it, a half-dozen photographers were clicking away at a scene that’s so postcard-perfect every fly fishermen’s seen it a dozen times – even if they’ve never been to Northern California.

I’m always happy when the local tourist industry enjoys a banner weekend (which by all indications it was, suggesting people are vacationing as much, but traveling to exotic locations less), but that doesn’t mean I want to be a part of the crowd.

I did manage to sneak out and visit a nearby small stream where the fish are small and the “prime” water widely dispersed – a reality which guarantees the bare minimum of competition.

It went largely as expected; the water’s still a teensy bit too cold for the trout to abandon all caution, but a few small fish rose to eat my dry fly (and one large one I’d say was a stockie).

Sadly, my camera found a temporary home on the kitchen counter (waiting for the return of our pond-diving bear), so there are no pictures of this tiny stream – or the tiny, parr-marked trout that inhabit it. (Everybody loses when the cameras stay home.)

The Upper Sacramento River

Word has it the Upper Sac’s been fishing on the slow side of OK, though more than one hopeful sort suggested it’s getting ready to pop in the way you only find for a couple weeks in spring.

You know the drill: flows are down so the whole river’s fishable; the water’s warming and the bugs are getting serious about procreation; and with the bigger bugs starting to hatch, the bigger trout start to look up.

That kind of thinking focuses me on a few spots on the Upper Sacramento that I know hold big trout, but can’t be fished well with streamer or nymphs.

The big fish hidden there are really only vulnerable when they’re willing to slither out of their log jams to eat a big dry, and yes, we’re probably headed for one of those stretches soon.

Naturally, you’ll hear all about it here – but mostly after the fact. After all, I’m a writer, not a psychic (or a fool, though some have trouble telling the difference).

Time Exists So Everything Doesn’t Happen at Once

Einstein said “The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.” That might be true from a cosmological standpoint, but it’s a damned lie when it comes to fly fishing.

Everything does happen all at once when you’re a fly fisherman, and sorting out the possibilities is either a joyful exploration of potential, or a reminder that we’re all going to die long before we cram in enough fly fishing.

How you view it is your choice.

I’m starting another 1.5 weeks of a burdensome work schedule (anyone but a freelance writer might consider my schedule “normal”), and then my ability to make the best “it’s all happening right now” decisions will be tested – both by my clients and my willingness to drive farther than the eight minutes to the Upper Sacramento.

You could say I’ve got several destinations in mind, but that the savvy fly fishermen waits until the last minute to make those decisions, carefully piecing together the slices of fly fishing intelligence that comes his way.

The backcountry’s opening? The Salmonflies are a week late? Pink Alberts already? Green Drakes?? There are crowds here, but Stream X is empty?

That kind of thing.

I’ll let you know. And – assuming I remember my camera – bring you along for the ride.

See you on some river, Tom Chandler.

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