Striking Gold, and So it Begins

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.



Comments

[Justin McGruder]

Bitchen!!

Justin