Posts tagged: alpine lake

Fly fishing in the fall is akin to a high-wire balancing act; almost everything’s actually fishing well (or at least it should be starting to), and adding a high-stress note is the realization that almost all of the good fishing has a fast-running clock on it.

That’s fly-rod wielding Older Bro Chandler, checking out a lake we didn’t fly fish.

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.