He’s either hiding from trout or praying for a clear backcast.

Still, with clouds and drizzle in the forecast, I decided - despite a great big steaming pile of unfinished work - that I needed to fish a small alpine stream I’d somehow bypassed all year long.

I call it “Stream X” (and no, don’t bother writing to ask), and while it’s hardly a secret, it’s also not particularly well known, and given the paucity of truly good small streams around here, I’m sorta hoping it stays that way.

Off he goes, but not before I get a picture of those gorgeous colors.

With any luck, it might stay a little-fished stream. Finding it amidst a labyrinth of dirt roads is never easy (and I supposedly “know” where it is), but what’s most important is that it’s challenging fishing - especially when the water is low, and the fish spooky.

At the best of times, you need to sneak up on ‘em - and while the abundant snags and bushes provide some cover, they also make casting nearly impossible when you’re sneaking around like a frat boy outside a sorority house window.

The result is a daylong circus of snagged flies, improvised-on-the-spot casts, muffled obscenities, and yes - a handful of embarrassed brown trout.

That’s an embarrassed brown trout if I’ve ever seen one.

Helping matters a little was the drizzle, which at times turned to rain. Helping a lot less was the wind, which happily gusted pretty much every time something delicate was going on streamside. Or maybe it just seemed like it.

I fished Chris Raine’s 8′3″ 4wt hollowbuilt bamboo rod - a hair on the strong side for this stream, but useful when the wind blew. Raine was waving his new 8′3″ 5wt staggered ferrule design around, and after testing it for a bit, the only knock I had was that the rod didn’t display the native intelligence needed to avoid backcasts into trees (someday they’ll build one, trust me).

The 8′3″ 4wt and reel (manufacturers should pay me for this kind of photo placement).

Flies didn’t seem to matter (as long as they floated). I concluded the fly needed to bounce off overhanging grass in the stream or even scoot long the undercut banks themselves; not one of my six trout came out of a riffle or the middle of anywhere.

Most the browns we catch around here lack the bright red spots, but not these.

Chris did about the same, and after a bunch of hours spent skulking, knee walking, hunching, climbing over downed trees, and (yes), catching the odd trout, we were both pretty bushed.

Fall color was definitely on display up there.

Fortunately, we had less trouble finding the way out than the way in, and I drove away pretty pleased with the day - it was challenging fall dry fly fishing and I’d enjoyed modest success - but I wondered why I’d waited all year to get here, and if I’d make it back before the first snow closed the roads.

See you in the mountains, Tom Chandler.

fly fishing, fishing, fishing report, fly fishing small streams, small streams, brown trout, bamboo fly rod

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I brought a fly rod, but fishing was second fiddle; after a couple hours of hiking, we found ourselves at a pair of mountain lakes (frequently visited and fished mountain lakes).

Hot damn; more beauty than you can shake a fly rod at.

Lately, I’ve been striking out on the mountain lakes like the Yankees have been striking out at the ballpark, and part of the reason is the timing; the lakes are still best in the evenings, but I’m usually dragging my flattened writer’s butt out by then.

No matter. Catching fish is a desirable byproduct of going fly fishing, but if it was all there was to the gig, then I’d probably stay home.

I won’t say things have been necessarily grim as of late, but at times, I clealry have lost sight of Wally the Wonderdog’s credo, where you find a little joy in every day, even if it’s simply because you’re sniffing a whole lot of new stuff in a pretty place.

Still, the Wonderdog’s very serious about his trout fishing, and I know beyond a doubt that he’s pretty fed up with me not catching trout, despite him helpfully pointing out the places where the trout obviously are:

“They’re right there, you schmuck. Catch one…”

Still, the focus was getting a little babe time outdoors in the company of the L&T - with all the stress, worries and hassles of everyday life stripped away. It’s a little like stepping into the kind of carefree existence we pretend we want before we clutter our lives to the point of madness.

In fact, to prove my point, I’m conducting a simple online test here on the Underground. Who would rather compile another STP report in a cubicle than do what the L&T’s doing?

The L&T at Upper Deadfall Lake: few fish, but quality napping.

I rest my case.

The fly fishing news? Not a single riser dotted the horizon, and as near as I could tell not a single trout attempted to burgle my streamer, Hare’s Ear soft hackle, Yong Special midge, or - and given all the hoppers around I was sure this would work - a grasshopper pattern.

Even wearing the Singlebarbed hat didn’t help.

It’s a short fishing report to be sure, but that’s the beauty of modern fly fishing; unlike our prehistoric fly fishing ancestors, you don’t go home skunked and hungry.

There are sandwiches and gorp to be eaten, and when you get out of the mountains and within cell range, there’s even a steaming pizza waiting at the pizza parlor.

I have no reason to print this other than I like it.

Still, at times I’ve used the phrase “your money or your life” to justify changes in my lifestyle that others would suggest weren’t in my best financial interest, and in a conversation this morning with a certain cranky rodmaker, I allowed as to how choosing “my life” over money in 1999 probably added a decade or two to my fast-diminshing urban lifespan.

As usual, I’m overcommitted when it comes to the words that have to be written, but I have managed to eek out time for another fly fishing trip later this week.

See you on the creek, Tom Chandler.

fly fishing, fishing, alpine lake, backcountry, hiking

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Fall is landing on the Mount Shasta area with both feet; yesterday morning it was 37 degrees at Trout Underground/Man Cave World Headquarters, and the acorns are hitting the ground hard (hard enough that you don’t want to stand under oak trees for long).

Once winter’s freezing temps and snows come, most of the fly fishing simply shuts down.

Of course, it’s also true that spring and summer fishing comes with a timer attached, but it never seems as brutally final as the end of the fall season, an error in perception that’s more a reflection of human psychology than reality.

It’s also a perception that’s unlikely to change soon.

So it’s fall, and my Oldest Brother is coming up, shiny new fly rod in tow.

He wants some room to learn to cast the thing, and he’s a monster backpacker and hiker, so we do what any fly fishing guerrillas would do; we headed for the hills, fly rod tubes strapped on our packs.

Hiking an uphill trail and fishing a downright beautiful lake.

Last winter, my brother and I attempted to cross country ski our way up a river canyon and over two ridges to visit a mountain lake; we didn’t quite make the last ridge before the legs turned to rubber, but today seemed like a golden opportunity to show him what we missed (sans eight-foot snowbanks).

The Trip Outshone the Fly Fishing

Unfortunately, the hiking was far better than the fishing - though no, I wouldn’t trade the whole enterprise for a ten-pound trout.

Grey clouds scudded by overhead (sometimes at warp speed), and though I humped in my better-than-a-decade-old Bucks Bag float tube, I never used it, figuring we’d get hit by a “pack that thing and let’s get out of here” thunderstorm the minute it got wet.

The trail was damned steep, and I had a chance to regret the extra weight while dragging my butt (and my float tube’s butt) up a fair amount of seemingly vertical trail.

Wally the Wonderdog, alert for risers (he didn’t see any)

Unfortunately, the brookies were largely a no-show; my brother landed one, but I was across the lake and didn’t get a picture.

Later - fishing this year’s theme fly (a big, glittery streamer that I’d have told you was too big by half for this lake) - I hooked up with something that gave me two ponderous head shakes before it sawed my line through on some downed timber.

Deep breaths, don’t swear…

Fly Fishing & Hope

Was that a big brookie? Who knows, though several years ago I caught a beautiful 14″ male in spawning colors from this same lake, and a spin fisherman claimed to have taken home a 16″ brookie (of course) a year later.

Among fly fishermen, it’s not so much an article of hope as it is a given; lakes always contain at least one great big trout - even alpine lakes, where the growing season is hellaciously short.

Downed timber is good for fishing, but bad for landing.

In the end, my brother made amazing progress with his cast, and we both hiked back out with a sense of having accomplished something, even if that something didn’t include photographs of a brook trout.

Wally the Wonderdog sniffed everything in sight, big eyes laughing and his necktie-sized tongue hanging out the side of his jaw, and then he collapsed in the back seat and slept all the way home (and all evening).

Dogs can do that; they’ll double your mileage during the day, and then while you’re running the day’s activities through the deeply flawed Human Perception/Tortured Writer/What’s It All Mean filter, they’re happily dreaming of chasing rabbits.

The Nitty Gritty Fly Fishing Gear Details

8.5′ of James Beasley-built bamboo fly rod goodness (and a much-abused Ballan reel)

Because I was tired of technology and glitter - and needed a packable 3-pc fly rod - I fished an 8.5′ 5wt bamboo fly rod built many years ago by James Beasley. I haven’t fished it in a while, and like any great fly rod, it left me wondering why that had come to pass.

Based on an exceptional Orvis taper taken off a rod built in early 1945, the rod might be a teensy bit delicate for an alpine lake, but it made the roll casts I needed (and you need a lot of them here), and handled the breezy, gusty winds just fine.

Flies ranged from a #14 Hare’s Ear Soft Hackle to some kind of rabbit-haired Zonker streamer (the fly that produced a visit with Mr. Ponderous Head Shake), though I also admit to hanging a chironimid (midge pupae) under a stick-on indicator for a half hour (just long enough to remind me why I never do it unless the fish are really jumping on the rig).

In truth - given the cloudy skies and impending winter - when this lake will freeze over - I expected more aggressive fish, but brook trout also spawn in the fall, and I wonder if they weren’t preoccupied (this is the kind of fish psychology I can understand).

The small pile of filleted brookie carcasses left on the bank suggests there aren’t as many trout in the lake as their used to be, though “fished out” is the coward’s way out.

There’s plenty of brookies there; I just didn’t catch any.

How Much is Left?

The question now - at the end of September - is how many alpine trips are waiting for me this year? The first big snowstorm doesn’t usually arrive until just before the holidays, but we often get something just before thanksgiving - a storm often big enough to close the higher trails and lakes.

Then there’s the little matter of the Upper Sacramento, which will turn on at some point (though never as early as people think). Then there’s the McCloud (which closes to fishing November 15 - a deadline shared by many rivers in the state), and Stream X, and the Rogue, and… you get the picture.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Then again, most fly fishermen fail The Sanity Test at some point ("you mean you let them go?!"), and there’s no denying the beauty of alpine brook trout — or the places you find them.

An alpine brook trout. Bad picture, gorgeous fish.

The view from the trail. (Don’t walk and look at the same time.)

My brother Scott hiking in. Note the similar but less handsome features.

The landscape dwarfs us (which is part of the attraction)

 
Today on Oprah: Wildflowers and the bees who love them.

With my older brother in town, we headed up into the mountains to find what a travel agent might call a Quality Solitary Fly Fishing Experience.

A backpacker (they’re almost as weird as fly fishermen), he’s recently taken up high country fishing and wanted a few hints.

Typically, I caught fish, but had little idea why, and explaining to a novice why brook trout would eat an Adams dry when there weren’t any bugs on the surface isn’t easy (you try it).

The WonderTroutDog.

The biggest brookie was probably 10 inches in length, but clearly, the true length of any fish involves a complex equation, the variables of which include the setting, your mood, the weather, and the amount of effort you put into catching it.

By that measure, our biggest brookie was probably closer to 15 inches, but of course they weren’t — which is why this week will find me fishing the rivers mentioned above for bigger trout.

No trip is complete with the antics of Wally the Wonderdog, who ranged all over the landscape, and once we were on the road home, conked.

Wally the Wonderdog crashes.

Then again, I conked too - a reminder I’ve got more hikes ahead of me before I’m in any kind of backcountry shape.

Just before we left, our somewhat pristine environment was fouled by the arrival of a couple ATVs, one of the drivers of which really, really liked the word "f*ck," being as he used it as a noun, verb, adjective, and yes — a comma.

It was a jarring reminder that civilization still existed outside of our little alpine bubble, for better or worse.

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

I’m not going to pass along every rumor and story as if they were the truth, but it’s possible Chris Raine was fishing the Upper Sac and saw his backing while Dave Roberts was fishing the Upper Rogue and apparently saw god.

Others report mixed results; big bugs and fish one night, and nothing the next.

Naturally — with the fly fishing picking up all around me — it’s my cue to come down with a cold, which seems to be making the rounds up here.

Still, I’ll be out there, and I expect more than a few of you will too.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Google Maps added a "Terrain" feature last fall, and it was decent — yeah, cool, I can look at terrain features, whatever. Well, Google just announced that it added contour lines to its maps, making them pretty comparable to USGS topos. It looks like trails and campgrounds are even marked in most national parks.

Cool. Now you’ll know exactly how much suffering you’ll undergo discovering if that thin blue line holds fish or not.

 
The Upper Sac with contours (What–I’m going to reveal a secret?)

Then again, suffering is bad, the backcountry’s filled with dangerous, carnivorous predators, and the scattered fish are small anyway, so it’s probably best just to fish where everybody else does. I’m just saying is all.

Still, for masochists with a death wish (backcountry = danger), Google Maps is useful and yes — free. We like free.

See you suffering horribly, Tom Chandler.

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.

[tags]fly fishing, fishing, brook trout, brookie, backcountry, the high country[/tags]

Dave Roberts fishing a 7.5′ 4wt on a small, southern Oregon stream

After all, small streams aren’t about magazine-cover hero shots or an endless stream of big dumb fish. Small streams are one of the branches of the sport where you truly embrace the role of predator (if you don’t, you’ll be a largely fishless fisherman), and the intimacy of the setting is wildly seductive.

It’s really just you and the fish (well, not exactly; see “word of the day” below), and when you mess up and spook a good one, you marvel at the finely honed instincts trout use to survive in a tough, predator-friendly environment.

That’s provided, of course, you’re not throwing a temper tantrum at spooking him.

Bluelining For Dummies

Dave Roberts called, said he’s been doing a little bluelining, and hinted he was onto something. When I heard that, I (once again) abandoned my adult responsibilities, drove north to Southern Oregon, met up with Roberts, and like a pair of rugged, extra-manly mountain men, we headed into the mountains (only with paved roads, a powerful truck, cell phones, modern fly fishing gear, electrolyte replacement drinks and air conditioning).

Beautiful, but a little on the minuscule size; an alpine brown trout

Our first stop was beautiful, but surprisingly bereft of eager trout. The stream looked like it should be loaded with fish — and it probably was — but sometimes these alpine streams don’t wake up until the afternoon.

After we scratched out a handful of finger-sized rainbow and brown trout, we decided it was time for Plan B.

“Plan B” was another blue line on a map — a slightly smaller and even prettier stream that turned out to be filled with small trout.

Between streams, Roberts and I took a few minutes, sat on the tailgate, and ate a late lunch. In those minutes, we ran through a whole laundry list of the world’s problems, neatly solving them between bites of our by-now soggy sandwiches.

It’s a recurring theme on our trips, and it’s one of the reasons we fish together so frequently. At the very least, it’s one of the payoffs of fishing with a good friend (it’s not the soggy sandwiches).

Today’s Word: Deadfall

Alpine small streams are known for their difficult conditions, and ours are largely defined by the amount of dead trees scattered about. In fact, 80% of our alpine stream fishing time is spent in the following activities:

• Stepping over deadfall
• Climbing over deadfall
• Slithering under deadfall
• Straddling deadfall
• Walking on top of deadfall
• Walking around deadfall
• Tripping on hidden deadfall

After a while, deadfalls ceases to be just wood on the ground; it becomes a tormenting entity placed in your path by a vengeful god, who clearly wants you to lose a lot of weight or break a leg.

Dave Roberts in the stream — the only deadfall-free place in the area.

After a few hours of hand-to-deadwood combat, a good forest fire looks like a reasonable, sane alternative to even fifteen minutes more climbing, slithering and cursing, and you wonder why the forest service bothers to extinguish the things. Fire is our friend, right?

On the other hand, a well positioned piece of deadfall can provide cover to a stealthy fly fisher, providing what may prove to be deadwood’s sole redeeming feature. In fact, that’s today’s question, Undergrounders: Deadfall — friend or foe?

Back to Plan B

Stuffed with sandwiches, we hit the Plan B stream, and immediately started getting bites. The variety was impressive; Dave Roberts actually scored a Brookie/brown/rainbow Grand Slam from a single riffle.

I managed rainbows and browns, but ironically — given the Underground’s full-fledged embrace of all things Brookie — a brook trout evaded me.

An alpine Brookie. Why did they shun me?

At one point, my patience also evaded me, and Dave was forced to quickdraw his flask of 15 year-old whiskey to keep me from breaking my fly rod over my leg.

Fortunately, the fish started coming from the places you think they would, and after the morning’s beating, we were recognizably fly fishing a small alpine stream again.

Finally — after several hours of fishing our way up the Plan B stream (and running out of water along the way) — we turned and hiked out (over acres of deadfall, natch).

The Gear

You can start a pretty good fight on the Internet message boards by simply asking “what is the ultimate small stream fly rod?”

The answer, of course, is that there isn’t one, and I proved it pretty conclusively yesterday. I fished an 8.5′ 4wt Diamondglass that was a pain when maneuvering through tight spaces, but a joy once I actually got to fish it.

By contrast, I used a 7.5′ 4wt hollowbuilt cane rod (by Chris Raine) on the Plan B stream, and found it far less painful in wooded and restrictive spaces, but not quite as useful when pitching bugs at fish.

I don’t think the answer is an 8′ 4wt; I think the answer is to make your own choice and start avoiding contentious message boards. Dave fished some a 7.5 4wt cane rod and Hardy reel (he’s soooo predictable) while I fished my 4wts with an Orvis CFO III reel (which Orvis wants you to think is a 5/6 wt reel but handles a DT4 nicely).

I told him I prefer the quieter Orvis over the Hardy reel because I’m a classic, understated genius while he’s a loud, obnoxious redneck, and all he said was “what’s your point?”

Well played, Roberts.

My only gear oddity is my recent embrace of a small North Face hydration pack, which also has room for a minimal amount of gear. I use a small Orvis pouch on a Lanyard — big enough for one good-sized fly box — and the whole rig allows me to carry a fair amount of water and the simple fly selection needed for small streams, and to do so far more comfortably than with simply a vest or chest pack.

It’s today’s tip, absolutely free of charge.

Since I’ve got real work to do, I leave you with a moment of fly fishing zen (again at no charge):

See you on the blueline, Tom Chandler.

[tags]fly fishing, fishing, fly fishing small streams, bluelining, backcountry, dave roberts[/tags]

That’s why — on the heels of our Family Glamping Nightmare Post — this well-written piece on the Salon site (by Gary Kamiya) caught my eye; it’s about a man who caught the outdoor bug after it seemingly skipped a generation in his family. Great stuff:

My grandfather first went to Buck Lake, in California’s Emigrant Wilderness, just north of Yosemite, in 1937. He and his buddies hiked 16 miles to the lake (his pals rode horses part of the way, but he insisted on walking) and spent a week or two fly-fishing, telling tall tales and having a great old time. Grandpa’s Buck Lake trips went on for 30 years, until he was in his 70s, and became a part of my family’s lore. Grandpa was born in 1894, and he remembered a horse-drawn wagon trip he and his family took across Northern California as the great adventure of his life. He started delivering the mail on a rural route in a horse-drawn buggy. He was part of that single, remarkable generation of Americans who went from growing up in an agrarian-dominated society before cars — a life in many ways little different from that of a medieval peasant — to witnessing the moon landing.

Later in the piece, we read this:

But the Buck Lake tradition didn’t die. Grandpa never took his own children there, but David decided to revive the expeditions. He organized a backpack with his two sons and two of his nephews, my cousin Jonathan and me. We hiked in and had a glorious time. That was 32 years ago, and various combinations of the clan have been going in ever since.

You can read the entire article here. It instantly made me nostalgic for the Fall camping/backpacking get-together featuring my three other brothers. On the surface, it was a chance to reconnect our somewhat far flung lives, but in truth, there was always something far more interesting (and revealing) going on. Time for it to happen again, eh?

See you in the wilderness, Tom Chandler.

[tags]backpacking, wilderness, camping[/tags]

This lake’s a hike away. This fish is a Brookie. (L&T Nancy photo)

The L&T Nancy, Wally the Wonderdog, and the humble Trout Underground headed for hills, and hiked for 90 minutes to a pair of lakes I love to fish, mostly because they’re filled with Brookies.

Strangely, I found more than I bargained for; at one point, I’d cast to the left and catch a small rainbow trout from a pod of them (who stocked the rainbows?). Cast to the right and I’d get bit by a Brookie.

Little wonder Brook Trout are the Official Char of the Trout Underground.

The rainbows were new, and I can’t help but think they were recently stocked in this tiny alpine lake. Damn. Advocating for one species of fish over another nowadays can bring charges of finny ethnic cleansing from the more righteous among the fly fishing world, so all I’m going to say is that I like Brookies, native or not.

Of course, no backcountry adventure is just about the fishing. The trail runs along the top of the ridgeline, so you alternate between stunning views to the east and then the west.

Once you arrive, you’re greeted with vistas like this:

If you don’t like this, then check for a pulse; you may be dead.

In fact, I fished two small lakes, though one proved far more productive. The L&T Nancy and the Wonderdog swam in the upper lake, giving me a chance to fish without Wally’s attempts to retrieve the trout once I hooked them.

Later, Wally found his own way down to my spot and took up sentinel duty, watching for rising fish. Twice he spotted one, helpfully swimming out to the riseform, apparently unclear on the concept of cruising fish.

Wally the Wonderdog waits… (L&T Nancy photo)

Hiking & Fishing the Backcountry

It was a hot day and even at the 6000′+ altitudes, our hiking trio suffered the heat. In fact, the Wonderdog — whose dark coat soaks up every erg of light energy — stopped often for water breaks on the trail, and today, his usual morning bounciness is gone, replaced by… sleep.

I know how he feels; I’m moving a little slowly myself. Still, the hike isn’t necessarily the poor part of the journey, and in the interest of providing even a teensy bit of “how-to” information, I’m including the rare Underground Gear Photograph:

I know that fly fishers obsess about fly rods, but in the backcountry, your boots are what carry you to the fish, so make sure the damned things fit — and well. Lots of people are wearing trail shoes (the Montrail trail shoes seem to be popular choices among the lightweight backpacking set), though I prefer the ankle support of lightweight hiking boots. (Bay Area fishers who like to hike should check out the newly remodeled Two-Heel Drive blog for information.)

As for fly rods, you need something capable of protecting midges on 6x tippet, yet suited to a little wind. An overlooked characteristic is the need for a roll cast; these alpine lakes are usually ringed by trees and offer few wading opportunities, so you either hump in a float tube or work on that roll cast.

I know that fly fishers want to fish their 3wts in alpine lakes because the fish are typically small, but the winds are big and you’re often making some long casts. I like to fish an 8.5′ 5wt Steffen Brothers fiberglass rod, though I could easily go with a 6wt.

In the interest of being a weight weenie, I’ll point out that wet wading is typically lovely in the summer, and that a pair of flip flops weigh little and do an OK job, though they don’t offer much protection.

Water Everywhere. Or Die.

When it’s hot, water is your best friend, and we twice ran into well-meaning but underequipped groups on the trail who lacked enough water. That’s bad.

Both the L&T Nancy and I went through the contents of our hydration packs, and even though the hike was only in the 1.5-2 hour range, we stopped frequently to make sure Wally the Wonderdog got enough water to keep the canine swamp cooler running.

Until next time, see you in the backcountry, Tom Chandler.

[tags]fly fishing, fishing, backcountry, high country, alpine lake, [/tags]

The lead Undergrounder (me). Don’t I look handsome & virile? (S. Bertrand photo)

After last week’s Stream X adventure, Steve Bertrand and I went looking for fish on a slightly different stretch of the stream, hoping to get there via a different access point.

Amazingly (and “amazingly” is the right word if you ever saw us trying to read a map in a moving car), we ended up at the right place, catching the same skittish brown trout on the same dry flies in the same tiny stream.

Brown Trout: A Many Splendored Thing

Out here, we don’t catch a lot of brown trout, so when you find a stream full of them, you tend to marvel at the color — and the variations between them. In the space of thirty minutes, we landed the three browns below:

This brightly colored specimen came off a sunny bank

This one even had some rainbow-style coloration (in addition to bright red spots)

Steve caught this fish from an undercut bank; he was a muted, chocolate color

Sneaky. You Gotta Be Sneaky.

Any trout raised in a shallow, narrow stream will grow up skittish. Predators loom large on a daily basis, and once a fly fisher’s profile pops up on the radar, the fish run like they stole something.

Steve Bertrand on one of the few “open” sections, doing what has to be done.

You pretty quickly fall into a few predator-friendly behaviors, like fishing from your knees, keeping your silhouette below tree level, and largely staying out of the creek, though the surrounding trees and abundant deadfall usually have something to say about that.

Embrace sneakiness, and you might get to see the trout (before spooking them).

The Wild Wild West

The fishing was excellent; Steve and I caught good numbers of browns, though in truth, we both had our moments with the fly-eating trees, leader-vacuuming deadfall, and predator-aware trout.

Of course, the difficulties are offset by the general lack of fussiness on the part of the trout, and if you don’t think the setting justifies a walk (even a fishless one), then you’ve driven to the wrong part of the country — we don’t have many shopping malls up here.

During the trip, we saw a bear, many deer, trout, a hawk, and even a cotton tail rabbit (plus the usual array of birds, chipmunks, butterflies and other bugs).

Another aspect of the Wild West is — of course — humanity, and the group camping at the access point were playing music so loud that you could hear it upwards of 3/4 of a mile away.

Ahh, sweet wilderness.

The Details. The Future.

The equipment and flies involved weren’t too dramatic; Steve fished an older Orvis 8′ 4wt (the softer Orvis tapers are good for this kind of work), and I fished a newer 8′ 5wt Diamondglass rod that was also big fun on this tiny water.

A short cast under the overhanging brush, and viola!

I don’t think fly selection was critical, though a smaller yellow stimulator matched some of the stoneflies flitting about, and that fly worked about as well as could be expected. If you’re headed for water like this, keep in mind your short-range trick casts are more important than fly selection (like your fly box, don’t leave your bow-and-arrow cast at home).

Steve and I each landed a single Brook Trout, and I wonder about the Brookie population in the stream. Could call for more research. Until then, see you on the Alpine creek, Tom Chandler.

[tags]fly fishing, fishing, brown trout, bluelining, small stream, alpine fly fishing[/tags]

A meadow, a cliff, a stream, and a fly rod. Tough place to go? Nope.

Losing a reel (given my somewhat haphazard organizational style) isn’t exactly earth shattering, but it is a good indicator that I’d better go fishing somewhere. Anywhere. Soon. (And that I should pick a rig where I haven’t lost the reel.)

Local guide Steve Bertrand called, suggested a stream I hadn’t fished in three years, and we were off. Simple as that.

I brought my 8.5′ 4wt Diamondglass rod (I knew where my 4wt reel was), and we got to work. For purposes of not being too cute, I’m just going to call it Stream X — a small alpine springer running through an absolutely beautiful part of the country.

The browns in this small, alpine stream are brightly colored. Check the red spots.

Populated mostly with brown trout, it’s one of those streams I should fish far more often than I do. I can’t explain why I don’t, being as I’d suggest it’s the kind of thing I love to do.

Yesterday, I finally did.

It’s not the easiest stream to fish; even though Bertrand and I had both been here multiple times, finding it amidst the maze of dirt roads involved a bit of “Braille pathfinding” — that process where you try a road because it looks like might be the one, get lost a little bit at a time, and then backtrack as soon as it becomes clear you were wrong.

It’s not big. It’s overgrown (this is an easy stretch) and tough to fish. Still, brown trout. Hmmmm, brown trout

Once you’re on the water, you find yourself crawling over and under seemingly miles of deadfall, fighting your way through tall weeds and hooking our flies on every possible obstruction (many times).

You gotta be sneaky. These fish run at even a hint of weirdness.

Due to the mild winter (I think), the browns were a teensy bit bigger than I remembered, and I caught way more 9″-11″ fish than I thought possible.

Both Steve and I landed browns in the 12″ range, but the big fish of the trip was a butter yellow 14″ specimen.

We don’t get a lot of Brown Trout around here, so even the small ones look cool.

It’s not refined, elegant fishing — you’re doing pretty much whatever it takes to get the fly on the water, and once you do, you’re faced with the problem of a hookset (and whacking your rod tip against a limb).

And all that assumes you were sneaky enough to get near ‘em in the first place. Fish that grow up in small, shallow creeks don’t forgive shadows, splashes or loud approaches; marching up to this little stream is a useful exercise, if only because you get to see how fast fish can swim.

Once you realize that you’re a predator — and that you’d better start acting like one — things get a little smoother. Still it’s also humbling when you don’t spook the trout, hook one that runs through the pool that just stumped you, and see a dozen trout flush from cover.

Predator? A pretty poor one.

Once you’ve actually hooked a fish, the trouble’s just beginning; the fish seem determined to throw the hook or wrap your leader in a downed tree, grass, or tree roots in undercut banks.

And don’t think it only sounds like fun. Hell, it is fun, and it gets to be even more so when you hook what can only be described as a Bonus Fish (The Official Char of the Trout Underground):

Yep. A Brook Trout. Hmmmm, brook trout.

We both caught a single brook trout. We have no idea where they came from, but the existence of a brookie in a spring creek only an hour or so from my door means plans have been hatched, though execution remains uncertain.

The details aren’t particularly important (#14 yellow stimulator), but the overwhelming sense of being largely free of the pressures of everyday “real” life was definitely reviving.

This week, I plan to fish one (or more) of the local lakes. Naturally, you’ll be among the first to hear about it.

See you on the road to mental health, Tom Chandler.

[tags]fly fishing, fishing, spring creek, brook trout, brown trout[/tags]

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.

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

You gain a sense of the moment, hopefully catch a few trout, and walk away with what amounts to a frozen snapshot of what you think the river is all about, though most of the time we’re wrong about that.

Hazel Creek through the trees. Pretty, pretty stuff.

If fishing a river delivers a snapshot, living alongside one for a few days tunes you into much more; the animals, the weather, the river’s moods, history — even how it reacts to sun and rain.

That’s why — when Ian and Charity offered me a chance to piggyback a backpacking trip onto their outfitted trip to Hazel Creek, I jumped at it.

They (and their outfitter) ferried a group of nine anglers across Fontana Lake, where they set up camp.

Light action 8′ 5wt and a few flies — all that’s needed on Hazel.

Calling it a “camp” is a little misleading; they slept like royalty (cots and big tents), ate like kings (fresh-made Blackberry Cobbler, steak, shrimp kabobs, pancakes, margaritas — the list goes on), and fished like demons.

It was a lavish production, and judging by the the number of anglers who said they were ready to sign up for the next trip, the whole enterprise is bound to be repeated.

The hike up Hazel Creek was flat, easy, and carpeted with wildflowers.

Because I’m prone to fits of isolation and self-denial, I packed my backpack with instant oatmeal and Top Ramen, and hiked five miles up the drainage.

I enjoyed being alone on Hazel Creek, but admit that being served great food while you focus on fly fishing isn’t the kind of thing I should reject out of hand.

Still, I think I made the right decision. I was hoping to lose weight, not gain it.

More Hazel Creek, farther up. Beauty, eh?

Still, there I was, five miles from the lake and setting up my ultra-lightweight “one-man” tent, which frankly felt more like a coffin.

Naturally, it started raining almost right away, and the Coffin Tent became less an abstract thought and more a temporary home.

For the next 11 hours, this is home; the inside of the Coffin Tent.

Still, the next day (Friday) dawned wonderfully clear, so I hiked up the Bone Valley — so named because an April blizzard trapped 100 cattle in the tiny valley and killed them, leaving bones strewn everywhere.

That was in the late 1800s, so the bones are gone. What remains is a perfect little valley, complete with historic cabin (built in 1880).

The cabin in Bone Valley, which is bigger than a coffin.

The fishing was slow until 11:00, when the rainbows started hitting my dry. I don’t think fly selection was particularly important, though I believe a yellow fly improved the odds a bit (there were many yellow stoneflies flitting about).

Not unlike the trout back home, except he fought with an accent.

All the fish were small, and after a couple hours, I hiked back to camp, made a late lunch, contemplated the river, and eventually headed a short ways down Hazel Creek.

It was a beautiful evening, and I was getting lots of eats on the small stimulator dry (lots of yellow stones in the air).

The fish included a couple of nice brown trout, the Tennessee version of which are so brightly colored that I marvel each time I catch one.

The red dots are bright, and the fins are orange. Gorgeous.

Later, I came to a large pool and didn’t get a single bite. I thought it was strange until I discovered one of Ian’s group had stuck a 26″ brown trout there only minutes before.

Oy.

Later in the evening, I stumbled on a Sulphur hatch (with spinner fall) and managed a few more fish.

A good day. A very good day.

I also stumbled across a snake that Ian later said was harmless, though I reminded him that I could have jumped back in fear, fallen and hit my head.

Harmless my ass.

That night, it started raining again (more hours in the coffin), and the next morning the creek picked up considerable color.

Still, it was falling and clearing, and reasoning that the rain might wash the yellow stones off the leaves and into the water, I threw a small yellow stimulator.

And yes, score one for intuition.

A frog (or toad, I can never tell which) overlooking Hazel Creek.

For a while I hammered fish — until it started raining hard. The water rose, it muddied, and the bite shut off.

Damn. I sloshed my way back to camp, and was confronted by the fact that I had nothing to do for the next 20 hours — and no dry place to do it.

By that point, the Coffin tent smelled like wet feet, which wasn’t all bad as I needed something to distract me from the wetness (and yes, next time I’m bringing a book).

One of the true joys of backpacking is when things get wet, there’s no way to make them dry until it stops raining.

And typically, everything gets wet.

The next morning, the sun came out, so rather than pack a bunch of water down the trail, I spent an hour trying to dry my gear.

Everything was wet, so it looks like I’m holding a wilderness garage sale.

Somehow, all the gear in the picture above fit into the pack below. (Never underestimate man’s ability stuff.)

It only looks light. It’s heavy.

I hiked down the trail back to the lake — going fast and losing elevation all along the way — and encountered members of Ian’s group.

First came Charity and her client, then I stumbled on Ian fishing alone.

Ian Rutter pottering about on Hazel Creek.

Finally, I was at the lake, and for all intents and purposes, the trip was over.

Of course, I’m leaving out a ton of stuff, including the contents of eight pages of notes I made in a small notebook.

Rather than fall too far behind my blog posts, I’ll cover the basics here and try to write an “end of the trip” wrap-up post that will be fraught with meaning and laden with deep thoughts.

Otherwise, you’d be reading this in October.

Hazel Creek Trip Fun Fact #1

On the trip over I drank a large soft drink, then drove over “The Dragon” — a stretch of road so twisty and curvy (330+ turns in 11 miles) that motorcyclists come from miles around so they can test themselves against it. I lost the test. Even though though I was driving, I attained a state of advanced motion sickness, pulled over, and barfed on my own shoes. Nobody was more surprised than Ian.

Hazel Creek Trip Fun Fact #2

The first night in the campground I met Larry K — who owns property on the Holston River, which Ian, myself, and some Nameless Guy had floated the day before. Amazingly, he saw us go by, correctly identifying Ian’s boat, Ian, and the fact that I lost a fish right in front of his house. Ahh, Lost Fish — the ties that bind.

Larry the boat watcher.

Hazel Creek Trip Fun Fact #3

Thought I took a couple of rods, I mostly fished my 8′ 5wt Diamondglass rod — a fairly flexible, slow tapered rod that was largely perfect for Upper Hazel Creek and its tribs. You want a rod able to throw big flies if needed, but soft enough to work at leader-only ranges.

Hazel Creek Trip Fun Fact #4

Hazel Creek is a fascinating area, home to a truckload of history, including logging operations that largely leveled the area, the eventual loss of those jobs, the reversion to a rural society — all of which was displaced when Fontana Lake was built and cut the area off from the rest of the world.

Some remnants remain: cabins, cemeteries, and even a rusting old iron headboard at my campsite.

Though I was ready to get dried out (and yeah, a warm shower wasn’t entirely outside my realm of thought), it was hard to leave Hazel, knowing it’s entirely possible I won’t make it back there again.

Look for a wrap-up post on my Tennessee trip (I’ve got two days of fishing yet to blog), where I plan to write more about Hazel Creek. It’s worth a few more words.

See you up the creek, Tom Chandler.

[tags]fly fishing, fishing, hazel creek, bone valley, tennessee, smokies, great smoky mountains, gsmnp, backpacking[/tags]

On your living room table, a map is a completely different animal.

I’m killing a lot of time fantasizing over Ian Rutter’s GSMNP fishing map.

It’s not a guide as much as it is an icon of possibility; a window to what can be, if only you had the time, the weather and the legs.

In simplest terms, a map is hope in print form.

With careful planning and a cup of coffee, you can take upwards of a dozen fishing trips — without ever leaving your living room.

Return on Investment

A map offers an exceptional payback for the minimal time invested, and that’s ignoring the trip you actually take.

For the last week, I’ve been jumping between Ian & Charity Rutter’s map of the GSMNP and the stream descriptions in their Smoky Mountains Guide Book.

I’m having a hell of a lot of fun.

It’s blue-lining — but without the sweat, aching feet or 30 pound pack. Sure, it’s nothing like actually being there, but I’ll only get to do that once.

Those who see a map as nothing more than lines and directions might want to rent an imagination prior to planning their next trip, if only to see what they’ve been missing.

Fly Fishing Tennessee’s Backcountry

This year’s trip to Tennessee begins with a half day in the park with Rich Margiotta (the first half of the day will be spent getting a license, etc), followed by a drift trip with Ian and Rich on one of Tennessee’s tailwaters.

Next comes my 3.5-day backpacking trip in the Hazel Creek drainage — and there’s plenty to see and fish there — but Eagle Creek beckons too, though the six-mile one-way hike means an early start and late arrival back at camp.

It also means I’d miss some intriguing blue lines on Hazel Creek.

Decisions, Decisions…

After the backpack trip, I’ve got a half-day to get organized for the final two days of fishing.

I’ve never fished Abrams Creek, so I can’t catch the flight home until I fish what some have described as the crown jewel of the Smokies.

My final day of fishing could end up like the past two years; on the Little River above Elkmont.

In fact, the smaller, upstream version of the Little River could become a last-day tradition, but in this case, it means passing up the tiny, overgrown brookie stream I fished last year (and want to fish again this year).

Can I do that?

Ask me in a couple weeks.

Until then, I’m studying the map. Wonder where I’ll go tomorrow.

See you at the cartography desk, Tom Chandler.

[tags]fly fishing, map, blue lining, smokies, gsmnp, great smoky mountains national park, ian rutter, backpacking[/tags]

Perverse even.

Still, we know the Best Hikes blog had its heart in the right place when they rated the World’s Top 10 hikes.

Given that last year saw me in the backcountry more often than most years - and next year will likely find me out there even more - I’m keeping a close eye on the Best Hikes blog.

[tags]best hikes, hiking, backcountry[/tags]