Trip of Epicness 2010

Welp, I think it's official... I don't have fun fishing the E. Walker anymore... It's been about a 12 year long run on that river with some big fish..... but it's just not worth it for me anymore. Just like some of my other past favorite rivers, the number of fisherman on that river at any given time has exceeded the number of fish in the river.

They can have it!

When every fishable piece of water has someone  on it, standing thigh-deep right in the holding water, lookin' like he just fell out of a simms catalog... I'm out... To me, no fish is worth doing battle with a hundred dudes acting like they own the river. They can have it...

Instead, we figured we'd have more fun rattling off some rounds hill billy style at the local shootin' range. What camping trip would be complete without dispatching a few rounds from the ol' assault riffle?

Just holding that AR makes you feel like a boss

The runoff is comin'...

Sleep tight tiny dancer.

Here's some fallout from camping at 8,000 feet in the middle of May.

Gritty coffee and eggs cooked in bacon grease... breakfast of champions.

Like the crowds weren't thick enough on the first day... where did we go on day two?

Hot Creek....

Imagine a quiet piece of water where you can fish peacefully and you'd be surprised to see another fisherman all day.... now image the complete polar opposite of that.... that's Hot Creek.

I had never fished south of mono, so I had no idea what to expect. We got to the creek and looked down the canyon and I almost lost it when I saw a dude (and ladies) on every inch of that creek as far as you can see up and downstream. You've never seen so many cars worth more than $70k parked in the middle of nowhere. People were packed in there so close, that you had to be careful casting your fly upstream 'cause you were likely to hit the guy downstream with your back cast...

It might be hard to see without zooming-in, but there are 5 other dudes in this picture, covering no more than 150 ft of water.

Water to fish was at such a premium, that some people, once they got a hold of some water, didn't move ALL DAY. Or, sometimes it just felt like you were swapping spots with someone. You'd look up and the guy above you would start walkin' away, so you'd haul ass up to where he was to fish some new water, and as soon as you got to your new spot, somebody had already filled your old spot.....

How was that better than the E. Walker?.... well..... the 30+ fish days made it bearable, and that's only fish to hand. We lost as many as we landed. In spite of the fly fisherman circus, we were blowing up that river like hiroshima. Other people were catching fish, but not nearly as many as we pricked. For some reason we had the Hot Creek juju, cause we were hookin' up on every cast. I had a guy tell me that Hot Creek is one of the most technical fisheries he'd ever fished..... It would've been harder to NOT catch a fish. There had to have been an average of 4 fish per foot of river, because we would sit on a hole and catch fish nearly every cast... for hours.....

The first day, Cole and I didn't move for at least two hours, catching fish after fish.

We had double hookups, big fish, little fish, rainbows, browns. I even caught some cutthroats.

On the second day Josh, Cole, and I all posted up on a great hole under this huge overhanging rock and banged fish out of there all day.

Josh had a banner day with fish on back to back casts three or four times.

Josh had the hot brown trout fly, pickin' up browns left and right.

On the way out, Cole slid over to this tiny hole where I picked up a good fish the day before, and stuck the best fish of the trip right before we mounted up.

None of the fish we touched were very big (18-20" tops), but the numbers of fish caught made up for it big time. Great fishing, but still way.....WAY.... too many people around that creek to make it worth a trip back.

Oregon's Waters.

Where will I go when I retire? Probably somewhere in Oregon....



It's people like Brian Huskey from Fishbite Media that really remind me why I love to fish. His Warren Miller-style video clips bring back memories of all the days spent on those middle-of-nowhere creeks with my good friends and good fishing.

Winter fish porn...

Just a little more winter fish porn madness...

Krakowwww!

Round 3...

The barneys from the bay can have the Yuba. I'm tired of driving up there and finding like 30 other dudes corked-out on every stretch of fishable water, acting like they're giving me a lesson on how to catch a Yuba trout; slashing at the rising fish wondering why they aren't taking their black and tan parachute adams... They can have it... I'll wait until summer when the fly fisherman hatch turns off and the real fishing turns on...

In the mean time... I'll try to find some other way to get my fix....

Hows about a 20 inch Truckee torpedo?...

Now that's how you ring in the new year!

How can a trout get so fat eating a bug so small?

Why does the Truckee hate me?

We were deserving of a redo on the Truckee after the last showing. Spending 6 hours stuck in traffic last time for an hour and a half of fishing definitely sucked, but we did catch fish in that hour and a half, and that was enough to send us back. So, this last Sunday we went back for seconds. Again, we knew there was a storm coming in that night, but it didn't slow us down. Like the mouse to the electric cheese: we wanted it regardless of the shit we might end up going through... again, and again, and again, and again...

At least the storm held-out until we were off the water, but this time it wasn't the weather that defecated on a perfectly good day of fishing. Oh no... the weather?... no problem... roads?... totally clear... broken rod?... not that day... skunked?... nope... how about an overlooked barb on a size 18 hare's ear?... life sucks...

No explanation necessary...

Regardless of the well over-exaggerated unnecessary fine that I'll probably need a payment plan to pay-off, the day wasn't a total loss: the fishing was pretty damn good! There was so much snow covering the rocks and the banks that it was actually easier to get around in the river.

Cold water meant that the fish were holed-up in the deeper slower-moving water, but they were surprisingly willing to take a fly. I would go so far as to say that they were actually moving quite a bit to take the fly. Presentation (as always) was pretty important, but it didn't seem like you needed to put the flies right in front of the fish.

The hot fly for me was a size 18 tan hare's ear (barbless).

Fishing the Truckee this time of year lends itself to sight fishing, but we were only able spot one hole the entire day with fish in it that we could see. Granted, there were about 8 fish in the hole, and we managed to land 6 of them.

Scott with a fatty that we could see eating suspended critters in the water column.

Most of the fishing was to good-looking water, and generally that would produce fish. Scott's hot fly was a midge larva/pupa that you can see in the corner of this fish's mouth.

Because of the lower flows, the fish were congregated in deeper water, which meant that where one fish was there were likely others. Most of the time we'd fish to the same hole even after two or three fish had already been pulled to hand from it, and still catch fish.

The fish were healthy and had plenty of energy even in the cold Truckee water. Several times a hooked fish would actually run up and down and in and out of the pool it was hooked in. Not the same lethargic fish from the last trip.

I don't know what the water temps were, but the water felt cold enough when you put your hand in it. The air temps were probably in the 40's with a fairly stiff wind. Skies were partly cloudy, and in the sun it felt like 70 degrees.

The Truckee proved, once again, to be a great winter fishery... Just remember to pinch your barbs...

Louise waving goodbye to the Truckee after a citation and a hook in the finger.

Storm?... What storm?...

We should've heeded the signs before we even got into the car... but... as any other 'junkie' fisherman knows, once you get into that glassy-eyed, inviolable, mode of fishing... ain't nothin' gonna' stop you; not even mother nature.

It's easy to explain WHY we picked the Truckee, after a banner winter season last year from the town of Truckee to the state line, but it's a little harder to explain why we picked this last Saturday to test the waters this season. Every weather report was saying that the storm wasn't even going to hit the VALLEY until 7 pm... we could totally get up there before the clouds even move-in, slap the water for a few hours, pull a couple nice fish in, and then cut-out before a single flake even falls...

...what the hell were we thinking?

The first sign was a pretty obvious one: Louise calls about 7:50 and says that the Folsom Auburn road is closed and she'll be late for our 8:00 am meeting... no problem... The next sign: I meet Scott in Auburn. We look up at the clouds, and they're barreling-in eastward at probably 40 knots... I kept saying that it was probably just a marine layer that was moving-in before the low pressure front... wrong... The next sign: Louise calls again and says that the entire north-south thoroughfare is closed from El Dorado Hills to Watt Ave. and that she won't even be able to get through until 8:30... getting worse... Probably the most obvious sign: after getting on the road, we hit Yuba Gap and the outside temps are in the mid teens... what the hell were we thinking?

Oh well... we made it... The water through town and above Boca was ffffffffrozen solid, but the water below Boca looked delicious. Temp was about 14 degrees at Boca.


All smiles while we were rigging up, but (again) we Should've Seen the Signs Sooner...the four esses of bad fortune....

The first snowflakes started falling just as we were looping our indicators on.

Notice the shadows on the glove... oh ya, the sun was still poking through at this point.

The trip wasn't a total bust. Between de-icing the guides on my rod and trying to thaw my fingers, I managed to hook and land two beautiful fish on a size 18 hare's ear about 200 yards below the LT and BT confluence.


About 15 minutes later, the clouds opened-up and it just started puking snow.

Scott and Louise working the water hard, regardless of the conditions.

Louise hooked-up with a nice fish just above the Hirschdale on-ramp, but it came unbuttoned before she could get it to hand... No worries. With the water at about 38 degrees, and the wind chill around -10, it's better that you didn't have to put your hands in the water like I did. My fingers still hurt.

Even though Scott got the big skunk, the shittiest day award had to go to Louise after snapping her rod in half just above the middle ferrule. We were only on the water for about an hour and a half, but I guess that's what happens when the power of bad luck is on your side. Good thing that was basically the end of the day anyway. After breaking two of the same rod (if I knew the make and model I'd potty-mouth the manufacturer right about now), hopefully this time the rod maker will send her a rod that doesn't break.

The broken rod was pretty much the straw that broke the camel's back, so we rolled-out hoping to avoid getting stuck in Truckee... nope...

Traffic was dead-stopped just west of the bug station. The freeway was shut down so crews could mop-up a nasty crash involving a sleepy truck driver and a cal-trans worker (so we were told). We sat, stopped, bumper-to-bumper with about 1,000 other motorists and watched as the roads went from clear, with some dusty snow blowing across, to socked-in with about 8 inches of snow.

After a couple hours we were really getting rummy, having gone through all of the 500 pictures on Scott's camera. Scott - it's time to put some of the pics onto a CD or something. Good thing there was a 6 foot traveling buddha to laugh at.


We fianlly pulled-off the freeway to regroup and get some carnitas in the stomach, but just as soon as we ordered the food, a guy told us that the road had just re-opened... "Check please!"

After two and a half hours of slow-going and dodging Honda Civics with chains on the wrong tires, we finally made it back.

Nice and toasty inside the car, but still a little frosty outside. Brutal wiper conditions.

That was probably the last time we fish before a storm, but it sure made for some great stories.

Trout Fishing, Deliverance Style...

When the good ol' boys meet fly fishing. How is it possible to plop a huge fly right on top of a trout and have it not spook? Them down south trout just ain't scar'd a' nuttin! Get-r-done...

Yuba Duba Doooo

Made a trip up to the Yuba this last Friday after work for about 4 hours of evening swinging with the spey rod. Although I normally fish the Yuba with my 5 wt single-hander, I've been fishing it recently with my 7 wt spey rod to help get the gear out to the fish, especially in those spots with all the willows at your back. It's been working great, and swinging soft hackles has been very, VERY, productive. I think the Yuba trout don't like to move a whole lot, and without a drift boat it's hard to get a nymph rig right in front of the faces of those fish holed-up in the middle of the river. With the spey rod I can get a huge swing which basically covers every inch of water from bank to bank. So far this has proven to be really effective. The 7 wt rod works great, but if I had a 6 wt spey I think I'd prefer using that instead: I think the 7 wt is a little too much gun for those resident rainbows... although one of the trout I pricked this last Friday put a steelhead-sized bend in it... Since it's all I've got, I'm going with the 7 wt.

I started out downstream from the Hwy 20 bridge about a half mile, right in the thick of the willows.

-- Anyone who's ever waded the Yuba below the bridge knows the stretch I'm talking about: there's great, wide-open, fishing right below the bridge for about a quarter mile, then there's about a quarter mile section packed with willows lining both banks, and after that, wide-open fishing again. I see most people passing this stretch of willows probably for the simple fact that it's more of a pain in the ass to cast there than it's worth in terms of numbers of fish. I like the challenge, so I've always run through that section with my single-hander trying to get the flies out to some of those larger fish in the middle of the river. Even though you can wade out about 10 feet, without some really "creative" casting, nobody's gonna get their flies out to those fish... but I always try (not too successfully) for some reason. That's where the spey rod comes in handy.--

I was using a two fly rig, but rather than using two different flies I tied-on two of the same basic brown and tan soft hackles that I tie just for the Yuba. These flies always work great in the hard-flowing flats and tail-outs of the big runs on the Yuba. By using one bead head and one weightless soft hackle, I can swing the flies in (what I'm guessing is) a non-linear pattern, which seems to produce more hook-ups. I think I often get a short take on the lead fly (the bead head) and an, immediately following, hook-up on the tailing (weightless) fly, although I've hooked several fish on the lead fly too. I've actually had a double hook-up with this setup, which didn't last very long thanks to those meaty Yuba trout.

Swinging was a little slow on Friday evening with only a few short takes and one fish that promptly broke me off. I stuck to it for about an hour or so until the fish started to rise all around me. I was starting to see some caddis bouncing off the water and it was pretty clear that the fish were eating them from their slashing exploding takes. I swear, as the fish came busting out of the water I could hear tiny laughter... That was when I really wished I had brought another rod with me to throw dries...

Finally I just gave up and started high-sticking with the spey rod near these rising fish. I'm sure that was pretty interesting to watch. Eventually I gave that up too.

As a last resort, I decided to try the impossible, and took off the intermediate skagit cheater and sink tip and put on a 10 ft floating cheater. To that I attached a 9 ft 3x tapered leader, and on the end of that went the ol' E/C caddis. I gooped the fly up really well for fear that it would spent most of its time underwater if I didn't... It was a little harder to get a good cast with this setup. Turning the fly over was a little bit harder, but once I did... WHAM!... a nice 18+ inch resident rainbow.

Next cast... another 18 or so inch fish... And the next cast... you can guess. I pulled 6 fish in without moving my feet, with one fish probably being well over 20 inches. That fish broke me off, but not until after bending that 7 wt spey rod and spooling 50 yards of line. Another fish unseen.

The Yuba is hot right now, and with this rain the steelhead should be pushing up into the system some time by the end of the week or early next week. Get it if you can!

Back to the Beast... Carson that is...

This last Sunday I took a trip back to the East Carson with a couple of my old middle school teachers (not your normal school teachers) trying to find some monster late season rainbows. We hit the water at first light and spent most of the day fishing our way downstream towards the state line.


Although we didn't see a lot of people, we saw way more than I though we would see. Most of the people we saw were actually on their way downstream as we were heading up and out of the canyon around sundown... Either they were camping, or they're way more hard core than I am... and I didn't see a whole lot of camping gear.

The morning started slow for myself and Louise, but Scott was unhooking a fish every 5 minutes. He was pulling fish from every piece of water...
Gurgly 2 foot stretch right in the middle of a rock garden... fish on...
In the middle of a roaring waterfall... fish on...
In the trees behind the bank... fish on...

Although he was catching numbers in the morning, his largest up to that point was only probably about 14". After about his 20th fish I was starting to think that he had just caught one, and kept hooking it back on his fly and casting it back out.

Scott's fly du jour was one of my all time favorites, Cutter's E/C Caddis, wihich I had tons of in my fly box, but refused to put it on. Scott's never shy to tell you what he's using, but I was holding out with the setup that I had, hoping to find a 20+ inch toad at the bottom of one of the larger pools. Getting the larger fish to rise to a dry is always harder on the E. Carson, so I usually stick to a nymph rig unless I can spot a huge fish chowing on duns or emergers, which wasn't happening.

About a mile and a half in I found a larger pool stuffed with fish that I couldn't get to take anything. Tons of fish with a couple of bruisers down at the bottom. Not monsters, but still pretty big. It was clear that they weren't interested as they slowly moved out of the way as my flies passed by. I tried lots of flies, but these fish were way smarter than me, so I sat down next to the pool and just stared at the fish as they laughed at me.

While I was sitting there I sort of had an epiphany... I realized that I spend ridiculous amounts of money on extremely overpriced gear, and an infinite amount of time trying to fool a creature whose brain is no bigger than a raisin... Kind of funny, especially when most of the time I don't catch anything... Just thought I'd share that.

It wasn't until about 9-10 o'clock that the fish started to really get active. After sitting there next to that pool for about 15 minutes the fish began to sip some kind of bug off the surface, or so I thought. Midges was the first thing I though, so I put the midge dry patterns on and tried to fool these fish, but again, that wasn't happening. Midges, I don't think, were on the menu that morning. I tried a few other tiny midge/mayfly patterns with the same result. It's really frustrating to watch a fish slowly come up at your fly and then eat something right next to it... it got real old after about the 20th or so time...

Finally, thinking that these fish might not be eating dries, I found a tiny trico mayfly nymph in the box and tied it on. The fish would actually come and look at this fly, but they wouldn't commit as it sank in the water column, so I pulled another nymph of the same out of the box and tied it on as a dropper, but this time I soaked it in floatant to help neutralize the sinking of the other fly... That did the trick... first cast, fish on, and it wasn't a small fish.


Four more fish came out of that pool before I turned and noticed a couple of fish way above the head of the pool in about 4 inches of water sippin' flies. I hauled a huge cast from behind them and though that I may have put them down with my flyline, then.... WHAM! I was fishing without an indicator so it was hard to recognize the take with all the other fish, but there was no mistaking this take. The fish ripped from the head of the pool to the tailout dragging my flyline to the bottom as it went.


Back and forth for a while... but this time I was smarter than the fish.


A little bit later I caught up with Scott and Louise who had gone down river. Louise had finally gotten the skunk off and Scott was on fish #2,045; still using the same E/C Caddis.


They were working the head of another big pool that I thought might hold some big fish, and that was very much confirmed as we looked down from a big rock at the edge of the pool. We could see several big fish in that pool, but there was one submarine in there that was easily pushin' 10 lbs. Now THAT trout looked like a steelhead. I gave it my best, but those fish were way smarter than I am.

We eventually turned at that pool to head back up river, and I finally gave in and put on the E/C Caddis too. We came through all the water I had already fished and managed at least 2 or three fish out of the same water that had blanked me previously.

In one pool, I hooked a fish at the head on the E/C caddis, and as this fish was scrambling back and forth, another fish came flying out of the head of the pool and started trying to EAT my fish! I could feel my fish getting its tail bit at by the other fish, and my fish was no minnow. About 10-11 inches. Scott quickly tied on a sculpin and slapped it on the water right next to my fish. That bigger fish came rippin' up into about 3 inches of water and sucked that sculpin down.

Trout was definitely on the menu that afternoon.


Nice fish, but an even better story.


If I can't catch them myself, at least I can chum 'em in!

The Pewter Fork

...Captain's log, stardate 090913... I ventured into the what was considered the unknown wilderness amidst the wild and unreached stretches of the El Dorado National Forest. I had been sent there on a mission to verify the self-sustaining growth of an invasive species planted in these woods nearly 20 years ago by wandering travelers. This unauthorized plant was first noted by government officials only months after discovering the first of this growing species; however, it was the choice of the government and state (against little opposition) to sustain and encourage the growth of this species in hopes to promote their special interests. "What is this unique species?" you might ask... "What foreign species of creature could possibly sustain itself through, or have the cunning to avoid, such harsh winter climate only to show itself in these woods for a few select months in the summer?..." I'm talking (of course) about the western wooly east bay resident...

For many years this creature laid dormant in its cool, sprawling, highly-populated urban environment until one faithful day it was discovered that there is in fact life outside the city... and it is grand!... It's now my duty to observe these creatures in their new environment to make certain that their population growth has been successful... Using several guideline observations, I was going to prove that this species is in fact thriving in the forest, with large concentrations surrounding some of the finest fisheries in the western sierras, more specifically, the Silver Fork of the American River.

Once on the river, I discovered multiple locations inundated with their modes of transportation. Immediately I found myself surrounded by multiple people walking amongst the rocks, but it wasn't until nearly 300 or so yards futher down the river that I found a true representative specimen. A stealthy approach allowed me to observe this creature in its new environment, displaying its natural behavior. While surveying this subject I immediately noted several of my guideline observations... Over-sized SUV carrying one passenger with vanity plates and a "Nissan of Martinez" plate rim.....check.... $700 waders on in the middle of a bone dry 90 degree day.....check..... Slashing fly-casting motion with a fly rod and reel that definitely cost more than my last car.....you betcha..... This was clearly what I had come down here to see.

I decided to cautiously approach the creature in hopes of a friendly encounter...
"How's the fishin'?" I asked from the top of the hill above the river.
.....5 seconds of uncomfortable silence.....
"It's good." He said quietly.
"What flies are you using?" I asked.
.....5 more seconds of uncomfortable silence.....
"Dry flies..." He said shortly.
"What dries are you using?"
.....10 or 15 seconds of silence before I just turned around and walked back into the woods quietly..... It was clear that this subject was threatened by my presence, and so I abandoned all of the common courtesies that I'm used to and decided to give him a wide berth in hopes that my actions hadn't affected his natural behavior.

My encounter was a complete success! It was clear that this species had been successfully planted and was thriving in these woods. Clearly the natural behavior of these creatures has not been affected by their new environment nor the behavior of the natives in the area. This discovery was clearly a testament to the resiliency of this species and the undying devotion to bringing that elitist attitude with them wherever they may roam. I just can't wait to see how the species evolves in these woods in the coming years!

.........
.........

All joking aside, that guy was brutal. I though he was going to start yelling at me... and for what?... being nice?... Just when I think things might be different, the same a-hole shows his face again on another stretch of water... Can't they just leave the attitude at home? And without a doubt, it was another guy with a fly rod in his hand... The gear guys at the bridge were at least human enough to wish myself and others good luck... No worries though. It takes a lot more than that to get me fired-up, especially when I'm fishing. What person in their right mind has any reason to be an ass while they're fishing... You could be at work...

If you're wondering how the fishing really was on the Silver Fork, it was pretty good. No big fish, but tons of smaller 8 to 10 inch rainbows rising to dries all day, with a larger brown trout every now and then. Beautiful scenery down in that canyon... no attitude needed...

I started off above the Caples creek confluence using a nymph rig that was turning fish here and there, but wasn't really doing as well as I though it would. The only fly that was catching fish was (once again) my not-so-famous trout slayer. It's not that the other flies wouldn't have caught fish, it's just that trout slayer is so tasty to fish that the choice is simple... at least that's what I tell people.

I was trying to dredge the bottoms of some of the larger pools hoping to find some monsters that I though were lurking, but the only fish that came up out of the bottoms of those pools were still 8 to 10 inches. I saw a couple of larger fish but they were maybe pushing 14 inches. WHERE ARE ALL THE HOGS!? I know they're in there...

The real heat didn't turn on until I got down below the Girrard creek confluence. I found a large pool with what looked like a good flow and some seriously fishy water. Slapped on a BWO emerger dry, and low-and-behold... 20 fish in an hour... out of the same pool... Who needs to move when the fish come to you!?

...I have become the fish whisperer...

Just kidding. I think maybe I had luckily hit some water that hadn't been flogged yet that day, and happened to catch it in the right light when the bugs were coming off. It was a pretty nice layout though: the head of the pool was tight and deep and then spread out to a width of about 20+ feet with soft flows. The water was about three inches deep spanning the tailout, so it was easy to stand in the back of the pool undetected and cast, drag free, up into the gurgle at the head of the pool.

Again, mostly lots of these guys:

But every now and then one of these would come up for a hook and feather sandwich:

Great day (except for that tool I ran into) and lots of fish. I think I might be coming back before the season closes. This next time though... I'm waiting for the other person to initiate the conversation...

I Thought I Knew, But I Was Wrong...

This last Friday we spent a day up at about 9,500 feet fishing some of the eastern sierra waters out of Bridgeport. The original intent was to hike to and camp at Tamarack Lake for several nights and fish for brook trout in both Tamarack and Hunewill Lakes; however, as D-day for the camping trip grew closer, the plans slowly changed: Monday... now it's a two night trip and we have to be back early on Sunday... Tuesday... we have to change the dates because of some inane excuse... Wednesday... now it's a one-night trip and we have to be back before Saturday evening... Thursday, we have to change the camp site because the forest is under fire restriction (camping up there without a fire can get a little chilly at night... trust me... I know). The night before - I was hesitant to assume that the trip was really going to happen, but I knew I was going by myself if I had to...

Much to my surprise everybody was ready to go and on-time at 5 am on Friday morning, which was really weird for these guys considering that Josh is (or was) the king of, "I'm just leaving," but won't show for at least 30 minutes after he said he would, and Jason is the master of the shade-out (shade-out = no call/no show... you know... stuff you'd get fired for at your job). Good people, just not very punctual. I guess these guys had a change of heart. Either that or they were scared that I might break in to their houses and drag them out - when it comes to fishing, I don't really mess around.

After an irregularly on-time exit from the ville we made a quick stop at my parent's place to pick-up some wood, a float tube, and (to our surprise) some world famous artery clogging calorie dumping tooth rotting delicious double fudge brownies. If you've ever had Sue Plank brownies, you know what I'm talking about. After that we were on our way. It's really a short drive to Bridgeport from Pollock, only about 2 and a half hours, but we managed to make it there in less than 2. When the anticipation builds so does the amount of lead in my foot. Let's just say that there were a few corners through the Walker canyon where I deposited some tire rubber.

No trip south to Bridgeport would be the same if we didn't stop at the casino in Topaz... not to gamble though... The Topaz Chevron is home to some of the finest road toilets in Nevada. Clean tile floors, spotless vanity mirrors, and an unending supply of 2-ply that you just don't find roadside anywhere else. Josh gave it the Howenstine seal of approval.

After we pitted for a few, we hauled-ass up to the Trumbull lake campground to try and secure a campsite before the grounds filled up with yahoos from so. cal.

Every year there are more and more people in these campgrounds. Not just one specific campground, but ALL of them throughout Bridgeport are filling up every weekend. I called the ranger station on Thursday to check the availability and the woman in the office said that the reservation sites had all been reserved for the entire weekend at all of the camp grounds in the region. If we were going to get a first come/first serve site we were going to have to get there early, so we did, and there were only three open sites. One was covered in small 5 to 10 pound sharp pointy rocks (perfect for tent camping), the second was about 18 inches away from the pit toilets (audible range), and the third (thank god) was decent. Without that last site we would've been pretty much screwed, or nauseous the entire time.

I was a little unsure at first as to whether this site had been reserved or not (the campground's reservation system wasn't exactly a perfect science), so we quickly threw everything out of the truck and set up camp and took off before anyone could say anything. We paid of course. I don't think anyone was going to say anything anyway, not after we unloaded a small arsenal of shotguns, rifles, handguns, and about 75 pounds of ammunition from the bed of the truck.

It was funny to see the looks on people's faces as they walked out of their RV-4-Rent trailers to see 4 sketchy-looking 20-something guys cocking shotguns next door at 8 in the morning. No amount of paper-thin rental-trailer wall was going to put their minds at ease that night.

From the campground, we drove for 12 or so miles up a dirt road towards the lakes before hitting the trailhead.

The last time we came up to these lakes we had the unfortunate luck of arriving immediately following a flash cold front and snow storm, and after an hour and a half of hiking through the snow we came upon two very frozen lakes... Needless to say, we didn't really catch many fish that trip... This trip was to be the reconciliation and reparation for our botched trip two years ago... boy was I wrong...

A beautiful hike and a beautiful lake...

But no fish...

The fishing was so shitty at Tamarack that we didn't even bother hiking the extra 500 vertical to get to Hunewill. If there was even the slightest possibility that the fishing was half as bad at Hunewill as it was at Tamarack we weren't going to exert the energy to find out.

We fished the entire shore line of Tamarack. I tried, literally, every fly in the fly box with not even a look. We saw a few fish, but they weren't moving for anything. I even stomped in the water about 4 feet from three stationary fish and it didn't even spook 'em. They just sat there and laughed. The only time I could really get the fish to move is when the flies would bounce off their faces, and even then they were moving to get out of the way. Streamers, dries, midges, caddis, PT's, emergers, stones, terrestrials, you name it... nothing...

I think the high frustration levels were pretty obvious when I looked over and the other three guys had stripped-down to their underoos and jumped in after the fish. Jason busted-out the birthday suit to try and save some flies from being victimized by a rogue tree branch. He saved the flies, but not without being immortalized by color photography first:

Sasquatch has been found, shaved, tattooed, wearing sunglasses, and in the Hoover Wilderness. I don't know which was funnier, Jason naked in the wilderness, or Ryan's very manly undergarments.

Jason and Ryan put their drawers back on on we split. Enough was enough.

That was it... not a single fish... I though I knew for sure that we were going to slay these fish all day in that lake... I though I knew, but I was wrong....

All hope hadn't been lost though. There was one more piece of water on the way out that was either going to make or break the trip. Two beaver ponds along the trail were all that was left. As we came up on the ponds we saw some fish rising here and there which reignited the fire in Ryan and Jason. Both of them bolted to edge of the reeds to get their line in the water. Meanwhile, I followed the trail around to the other side of the pond to an open area in the reeds and started casting. Mind you, this is not a large body of water, in fact, at its deepest the pond is probably about 20 inches deep with a surface area of about 60 feet by 30 ft, but we could see fish in there, and lots of 'em.

First cast... fish on... Second cast... fish on... Third cast... fish on...

Then, like the fishing gods had finally been appeased, everybody started hooking a fish every cast. Not huge fish, but beautiful 8-10 inch brookies. Fish after fish after fish to hand. Now that's what we were looking for, but next time remind us to not hike the extra 1/2 mile past these beaver ponds to not catch anything.

I think in a matter of about 15 minutes we had hooked and released 20 fish each which, I'm pretty sure, composed the entire fish population of that tiny beaver pond. Shortly after, the rises stopped and we were looking at each other wondering what was next. Then, like I could have guessed, Jason, Ryan, and Josh all stripped-down again and began to ford the boggy marsh of reeds to another beaver pond about 50 yards away. I hesitated to follow, but I was the only one who wore shorts which meant that I got to keep my clothes on, so I took my shoes off and went for it.

First step into the reeds was sort of like stepping into a giant barrel of cottage cheese (not that I've ever done that): really soft but kinda' firm at the same time, and probably smelled about the same. As your foot pressed the reeds down into the water you could see the mud coming up through their roots as they began to snap under foot. Every additional ounce of weight placed onto a single foot caused you to break through more and more roots which meant that you were sinking deeper and deeper. If you went slow enough you would prevent all of the roots from snapping at once which would keep you high enough to keep your knees (and your shorts) above the swampy water. If you were to stand in place and jump quickly you would snap all the roots keeping you up and just sink about 2 more feet in the swamp mud, not to mention the random spots where you would step and instantly sink up to your belly button. Josh probably has a few words to describe that feeling.

Jason had no problem with the swamp because his legs are about 10 feet long but the rest of us suffered a little trying to get to the other pond.

I think Josh suffered the most. I looked over and there he was desperately hanging on to some reeds, submerged just below his elbows, "Uhhhh... Can I get some help?.... I think I'm stuck..." he said quietly... I tried to get over to him, but that wasn't happening. Another moment in which I couldn't help but laugh quietly... Sorry Josh, but it was pretty funny...

After braving the boggy marsh we finally made it to the second beaver pond where we were hoping that the fishing was going to be just as good as the first (it better have been considering the Vietnam creep we just went through to get there), and it was. Fish after fish after fish... Every cast... Jason was able to use his stilts to get to some prime real estate where I think he managed 30 or so fish without moving a foot.

Again, the rest of us were left to splash around in the muck, but that didn't slow any of us down, each of us got at least 10-20 fish apiece even waist deep in...well... waste.

These fish weren't the slightest bit choosy, if it floated and looked like it might have legs, they were eating it. Well-worth the trip across the tar pits.

Crawling out of the swamp was just as fun as crawling in. I think Josh ended-up waist deep a couple more time as did Ryan. Once out, I got a chance to look down at my feet, which felt fine while I was in the swamp, and was happy to see some blood and nice cuts all over the sides of my feet and in-between my toes... still worth it... We all washed our legs and feet off in the cold clear creek running into the pond, or at least it looked clear. Everybody but Jason made it out of the creek clean and feeling good. Jason had the pleasure of pulling some high sierra leeches off his ankles courtesy of the creek... still worth it... and pretty funny that it only happened to Jason...

Walking back down the trail felt much better after having caught 40 or so fish. I couldn't imagine hiking all that way having not caught a single fish. It would be like hiking all the way to a lake like... oh let's say... Showers lake... and not touching a fish... that would suck... good thing that's never happened to me before.

A little smokier on the way down, but we were all so tired that I don't think it mattered.

Again, another successful day of fishing even though we didn't catch any fish out of our destination lake. We all had fun and caught plenty of fish as well as some bacteria out of the swamp.