A nice stop for lunch and some California Gold. The hike up was uneventful (and not particularly scenic), until we arrived at what I will dub Halfway Meadow, about an hour into the stroll. In typical meadow-creek fashion, the tiny stream meandered through the lush meadow, twisting and turning this way and that. Each bend, pool and run contained as many beautifully colored 4-7" Golden Trout as you could catch, before an errant shadow would send the whole lot scurrying every which way. Stealth, as with most small streams, was the order of the day - the deeply cut banks beguiled the fact that this stream flows in a much more robust fashion during the high water of Spring and summer snow-melt, the low-water no doubt playing a part in the paranoia of the delightful inhabitants.

Fortunately, the fish were perfectly happy to rise to a decently presented anything, so the robust floatation of the Spongebob Caddis made quick work of a few dozen pint-sized trout while we spent a couple relaxing hours in the meadow enjoying lunch and the crisp mid-day air of the High Sierra.

A low profile and casting from out of sight was the key to the meadow stream. "You planning on eating all that?"As we stepped back onto the trail, we quickly began the ascent portion of the hike, where the required elevation gain from 10,200 ft to roughly 11,000 feet picked up in just a couple short miles. The hike, as promised, turned out to be quite mild, though as we passed groups of other hikers on the trail, I couldn't help but look at their packs, reminded of my own just a few years back, and think to myself how much more enjoyable their hike would be if they could shave their packs from 40lbs + to sub 30lbs. I'm far from an ultralighter, but I did come to the realization a couple years ago that a lighter pack meant a more enjoyable hike, without sacrificing anything in the way of camp comfort.. It leaves me more time and energy to spend on fishing. If you're still backpacking with a 45-lb pack, you need to really consider looking over your gear list and figuring out where to shave the pounds - you'll be surprised how easy it is.

Just 100 feet from the site of our tent, the pond offered great warm up fishing. Not a bad view too!As we crested the ridge beyond which lay our destination lakes, we were struck by the beauty of the landscape, and by the wind - mainly the wind. There on the unprotected shelf, the wind was gusting what must have been 40mph. Hoping to find a nice sheltered campsite near the middle lake in the drainage, we arrived to find the promised location had excellent wind shelter in all directions, except the direction the wind was blowing. When a large group we had passed atop the ridge stopped to inquire if they might use this site, we happily obliged and sought a campsite closer to the granite walls that offered shelter from the howling wind. This middle lake offered quite some length for fetch, and at one end the wind had frothed the lake into foot-tall swells with whitecaps, not the mirror-glass sheen of a tranquil alpine lake we'd been looking for anyway. We took a few moments to consider our options while chipmunks watched us, growing ever bolder as they eyed our trail mix.

Typical cruiser from the pond. California Gold. The search for shelter brought us to a small pond, just below the outlet of the larger lake, but with considerably more shelter, and improved access to other parts of the drainage. We would make this home for the first night, though we ended up liking it so much we never moved camp. The small pond was filled with 5-8" Golden Trout, and between the strongest gusts, was perfectly fishable in the wind. The campsite proved an excellent location to make hikes to the other lakes in the area. We made quick work of setting up camp, and spent some time fishing dries to the small cruisers in the pond.

I couldn't help but be drawn to the sounds of the flowing water in the outlet stream, a steep, brush choked stream that lead down to the next lake in the system. As I fished the stream, were I could, I was impressed with the size of the fish that were making a living in this tiny water.

I caught this fish accidentally, trying to hook his larger pool-mate.

Robert caught up with me as I reached the banks of the downstream lake, and we continued flogging the water with small dries until hunger got the best of us. Back at camp we fired up the Jetboil, had a couple mountain house meals, and plotted revenge on any and all Oncorhynchus Mykiss Aguabonita specimens that had eluded us in the afternoon session. After a short hike, we were again standing on the shores of the lake. Dusk just moments away, the lake was filled with rings, as if rain was falling upon the surface, only these disturbances were coming from below the meniscus, the evening rise was upon us.
Its not raining.
Fishing to risers in the light of the moon. Welcome to the Sierra. The fish obliged us with more than our fair share of rises, and we returned the favor with quick photos and a hurried return to the water. To reach more fish, we waded ever further into the icy water, and the bites continued. Fish turned from eager to downright stupid as the moon rose, and we fished until the chills got bad enough to force the headlamps on and the reluctant march back towards camp.

Night falls quickly in the high Sierra, and the warmth of the afternoon gives way quickly to the chilling cold of the moonlight, and your intrepid angler/narrator found his way into the sleeping bag before Primetime television would have normally come to a close. Finding sleep in the evening hours is always a challenge, and awake, bored and intrigued by the piercing light of the full moon, we decided to step out of the tent for some experimentation with P&S cameras and long exposures, capturing some interesting images of a California 14'er basking in the moonlight, though wishing that my SLR battery hadn't reported dead earlier in the evening (it was back to "full" charge after a night of rest, go figure).

A California 14'er in the cool light of a full moon.

I've already gotten far too close, the fish have bolted. It became immediately apparent when we stepped out of the "got mountains mobile" to refuel for the trip home: we had left paradise behind. Sure, we were ready to go home to our wives, and in my case my baby daughter, but the 105 degree bake in the thick air of the valley floor made it tempting to pull a u-turn for the serenity of 11,000 feet, miles into the backcountry.

The trip worked out largely as planned, in 4 days time, we fished 5 lakes, 2 ponds, and 3-4 streams, depending on how you count. My, admittedly novice, flyfisherman brother in law, Robert, managed to catch the three biggest fish of the trip, goldens to 12-13", which is fine by me - I'm thrilled he's able to enjoy the simplicity and beauty of fishing wild places with a fly.

The trip started with a stop at the ranger station to pick up the Wilderness Permit, and we quickly ascended the road to the campground and trailhead that lay at 10,000 feet. We made quick work of securing camp, and set off for the tiny meadow creek to strike the first Gold of the trip. As forecast, the trip started on the windy side, the scant clouds that dotted the sky flew overhead, as if in a rush to get somewhere else, and after this first day, we'd not see another speck of white in the sky for the remainder of the trip.

Rob takes the first fish... every time. Golden Beauty.The fish were among the spookiest I've ever encountered, and despite my best efforts, Robert managed the first landing of the trip, a feat which he duplicated in nearly every body of water we fished for the trip. When removed from the water, the stream’s inhabitants beam with colors, but under the surface, their colors offer ideal camouflage from above, shadows at high-noon being the only tell-tale of a holding fish. The stream is small enough to be stepped across with a normal stride in many locations, and can easily be jumped nearly everywhere.

Plunge pool after plunge pool, lined with brush and full of Golden Trout. After breaking for lunch, we opted to go try a freestone section of a creek that was accessible with a short hike from the road. The freestoner offered faster water and less weary fish, but at the expense of much steeper terrain and tight, brush lined banks - in the end, all the likely spots held the golden nuggets which we sought, and I was shocked at how similar the water fished in comparison to the mountain streams of Southern California with which I am so familiar.

As the sun began to set, we returned to the campground, where we met up with Graham (who got tremendous pictures of his time in the Meadow Stream) and Eric, as the campfire got rolling, dinner was served, and backcountry secrets flowed in proportion to the beer.

The night proved to be windy, but otherwise uneventful, and by 8am we had packed up camp and moved to the trailhead, in search of backcountry gold...

...to be continued.



Last week, Tom Chandler asked Where readers were planning on fishing for the weekend, my response in the comments section was quite simple:

High Country. Golden Trout Wilderness and John Muir Wilderness for 4 days, catching (hopefully) about a bazillion of the worlds most beautiful trout, all likely under 12″.

Grab your backpack, it might be 105 degrees in the Southland, but its only 65 at 11,000 feet.

I couldn't have been more right. Still processing through the nearly 600 pictures taken, trying to sort out a few dozen worth posting, and the trip report is still in process. Perfect weather, perfect fish, perfect company.

Crystal clear water reveals a Golden Trout, right where it belongs: At the end of my tippet.

That long winded title is a fancy way of noting that all backpacking trips start with a daydream. Every fisherman has certain things he looks for, and spends hours considering how to experience them first hand. For me, this means one thing: I obsess over maps - Google Earth, Google Maps Terrain, Acme Mapper Topo, Tom Harrison Maps, and some DFG resources that I downloaded years ago, which are no longer available.

So when I got the Green Light Yellow Light (proceed with caution) to make a high-country adventure, I already had a few places in mind. What remained was simply selecting areas already researched that met the criteria of the allotted time.

• Golden Trout: My intention is to never go a calendar year without catching some of the world's finest trout. As there are no promises of another trip this summer, this one has to be a trek for Goldens.
• Streams: I will certainly fish the lakes, but I need to have some streams connecting the lakes in a basin to fish as well.
• High Elevation: The glory of the Sierra Nevada starts at the tree line. There's something about the land above (roughly) 10,000' that cannot be beat. It’s beautiful while desolate, harsh but welcoming, and despite largely lacking in native trout, wild trout now thrive throughout much of the Sierra.
• Distance: I'm not in the mood for a death march, I want to take a relaxing walk, make camp, fish, eat, laugh, and move to a new camp the next day. No 10 mile days on this trip, this is all about relaxation.
• Drive Time: being a short trip, and leaving Saturday morning (rather than Friday afternoon) means that shaving 90 minutes off a drive can make the 1st and last days a lot more enjoyable.

This left me with a few options, but eventually I pulled a Permit for a well-known lake basin in the South-eastern Sierra, and we set the itinerary: A roughly 6 mile hike will take us to the core of the basin, where we can set up camp and start exploring. At just around 1,000 feet of elevation gain, the hike promises to be among the least painful in the Sierra.

This basin is likely the busiest drainage I've ever backpacked into, so I am curious to see how many people we end up seeing. I'm sure we'll find a secluded spot nonetheless, but this may be a different experience than I have had in the past.

The permit wasn't available for Saturday, but that was OK, we will spend the day Saturday Day-hiking and fishing the waters near the trailhead, and then hike in early Sunday for the upper basin. I'd make the excuse that this is an altitude acclimatization technique, but I've never been much bothered by AMS anyway.

The next step is to start packing the gear…which I am starting in earnest tonight.

I'm going to once again blame the lack recent fly fishing on the birth of our daughter, and I'll again iterate that it’s been a good trade. That being said, the urge to pursue my finned friends was not diminished by the addition of a family member.

This story starts off 3 1/2 weeks ago, on the day before baby Addilyn's arrival. Robert (my brother in law) and I decided to go play a round of Golf (Historically speaking, it’s something I do 2-3 times a year). My wife was 9 days past due at this point, and found this activity acceptable, considering it did not take me out of cell range, was close to home, and would give her a couple hours break from the barrage of "Do you think she's going to come out soon?".

To the links we went, and $11 on a Sunday bought us 9-holes at the best standard-length 9-hole golf course in town. And we played.

And on this course, the 1st green, and the 9th Tee both rest alongside a pond, a small, shallow pond that appears to be just loaded with 4-6" Bluegill. I couldn't help but watch the school of 'gills swim around, chasing the small minnows and eating insects. I stood and watched when I realized that in that moment, given the choice of proceeding to the next tee or catching a bluegill smaller than my hand, my preference was for the latter. I played out the remainder of the round, with the realization that I was going to have to come back to this place, and I was going to be prepared.

Just 3 weeks later, Robert again posed the question... Do you want to play golf again? Yes Robert, why yes I do!The "Tackle".

The night before, I prepared my tackle: 5' Furled Leader, 3' of 5x tippet, and a size 16 Copper John (w/glass beadhead, for a slower sinking fly... or because I ran out of "real" beads, you decide). I rigged everything up and wrapped it around a foam fly patch to keep it all from getting tangled. As I stuffed the outfit into the golf bag, I added a spongebob caddis, just in case (wholly un-needed).

 On the first hole I broke all Golf Etiquette and finished out on the green before anyone in my group had started putting, in order to maximize my time on the water. I looped the Shorb loop of the furled leader around my fingertip and made a normal fly-cast. The Copper John dropped into the water and quickly disappeared with a flash. With a satisfied grin, I released the 5" bluegill while my group laughed and continued to the next tee. I packed up and followed them, 7 more holes to play and I will get more time.

After finishing hole number 8, I was pleased to see that the 9th tee was going to be a bit of a wait... so I upped the ante a little. I removed the rig from its stowage location, and rather than attaching to my finger, I used the grip of my putter, in a rudimentary Tenkara type setup (more on this later). The rig worked great, and in the time the group ahead needed to get beyond the range of my driver, I was able to land and release another 5 or 6 small bluegills.Rigged and ready. Some algae remains from the course pond.

Satisfied, I teed off for a double-bogey on the final hole, giving up two strokes versus my score 2 weeks prior, but it mattered little, this was a much better round of fly-golfing.

I realized at once that I had finally found something interesting and useful to use a Tenkara rod for, and if I played golf with any regularity I would be tempted to get a telescoping rod of some kind. I've never been particularly interested in Tenkara as an alternative to fly fishing (I see it needlessly limiting), but as an alternative to fishing with a putter... well, there I can see some potential.

I've been meaning to really outline my thoughts on Tenkara as a whole, but I will wait until I have had the opportunity to actually try fishing Tenkara style.