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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He’s the author of a couple hiking guidebooks, and while fly fishermen aren’t his primary market, I must confess that the earlier edition of his book was the vehicle through which I found a favorite alpine brookie lake.

Add his blog to your RSS reader, and enjoy the places he goes (and watch carefully when he goes anywhere there’s water).

After all, finding an out-of-the-way place – where other fly fishermen almost never go – is one of those shadowy goals a lot of fly fishermen hold, but rarely talk about.

His latest post is about protecting the local watersheds:

Hikers need to pay attention to water. Many of our favorite hikes travel along streams, and we want the waterways healthy and vibrant. Of course, many hikers also fish and thus have a special interest in helping streams. The presenters discussed the current situation of Coho and Chinook salmon in the Shasta River and the threats facing redband trout in the McCloud area.

One of the presenters, Dr. Rene Henery of the Upper Sacramento River Exchange, has created an excellent on-line slide presentation of Mount Shasta’s watersheds. Also visit the Protect Our Waters site for more information and to get involved. (For information on the controversy surrounding water bottling plants, and specifically the proposed Nestle plant in McCloud, visit Stop Nestle Waters.)

See you on the trail, Tom Chandler.

hiking, backcountry, backcountry fishing

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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.