How did this Happen?

I miss this pool dearly.I'm sitting here, its the middle of November, and while I've had a good year, albeit very busy with the arrival of my daughter, I realize that I never visited my favorite creek all season. Not once. Its not special by any means, a tiny trickle of water cascading down from the upper elevation watershed.

What it lacks in flow, it makes up for in gradient: a never-ending staircase of plunge pools. Some large, some small, but every one is just loaded with gorgeous wild (possibly native) rainbow trout. They're not the biggest speciemens, rarely exceeding 10", and 5-6" being respectable average. What the fish lack in size, they make up for in beauty, numbers, and willingness to attack a dry.

The steep gradient also has some streamside benefits. While fishing is still best accomplished in a direct upstream manner, the vegitation is dominated by large timber, and the steepness of the canyon walls ensures a high canopy, as little sunlight reaches the canyon floor.

Native? I may never know. The simple truth, is that it is this creek that really taught me to be a creek fisherman, without it, I seriously doubt I would be the fisherman I am today: Poor casting skills, limited knowledge of entemology, stuck in a rut fly-tier, and absolutely hooked on tackling trout in tiny streams.

The first time I visited this creek, I was with a buddy, and we spent a couple hours determining that the tip we'd gotten about this stream wasn't a great tip afterall - as we'd certainly confirmed there are no fish. Never caught one, never saw one, never even figured out how someone would go about fishing such a tiny trickle of water.

A couple weeks passed, and something inspired me to make a second trip to that steep, rugged canyon. I will never understand my interest in returning to this fishless creek, but I just had to be sure. This time I set out alone, fished for a few hours in the afternoon, and eventually hooking a tiny brown trout - or at least that is what I assumed that dark fish was which I saw for only a split second. I was wrong, it was certainly a rainbow - in the years since, I've caught hundreds of fish from this creek, and not one of them has been a German import model.

Flows barely fluctuate seasonally.

Confident that there was in fact a population of trout, I ventured back for a third trip, again alone, and what great success! I had close to a dozen rises, and actually has the opportunity to unhook a couple of them by hand. Its the only fishery to which I have given so much for very little return - but my efforts paid off, as it became a personal gem, shared only with closely trusted friends, and visited freqently for a couple hours at a time, usuially on a summer afternoon after work.

It didn't take long after that third trip that counting of fish stopped entirely, there were plenty. After a head injury sustained during a tragic bocce ball accident sidelined me from the wilderness for a few weeks a couple years ago, this old friend was the first place I longed to return to.

But not this year. This year I was like every other angler, driving past as if there was no creek there at all (of course, from the road, that is precisely how things appear), on towards bigger and better things.

Its only November, perhaps its not too late afterall.

It is nice in the fall.

Back for Seconds

It was with great anticipation that I sped up the mountains, returning to the location where just a couple weeks prior, rugged terrain and ambitious plans left me feeling like I'd fallen down a flight of stairs. (No stairs involved, but the falling was certainly a common occurrence) Being solo, I planned a much less adventurous route, hoping to keep the bushwhacking to an absolute minimum.

The high canopy leaves ample room for casting.

Amidst the chirping of birds in the cool morning air, I quickly strung up my double-ought and pulled on my waist-high waders. As I reached for the tippet spools to extend my furled leader, I recognized my dilemma: a full Camelbak, some snacks, waders, maps, GPS beacon (SPOT II)... everything except the waist pack which contains flyboxes, forceps, tippet, floatant... A ten second mistake that cost me 2 hours of time from the start of the day... making this short Saturday on the water include a lot of time in the driver's seat.

Impressive flows for fall, especially considering this is Southern California.

I arrived, the second time, took a couple deep breaths and allowed the frustration to fade away, as I scrambled down to the fern-laden canyon.

Trout are far more beautiful than they need be. I've pondered before the hazards of fly fishing in Southern California, snakes, poison oak, and stinging nettle being the common concerns - but this canyon feels different, in my mind, if nothing else. I’ve seen neither nettles nor urushiol-bearing shrubs - rattlers are likely present, but compared to other creeks, this one just seems less "snakey". Still, I find myself on constant lookout... it feels like a place where Cougars(not the surgically enhanced 40-somethings) could sneak and pounce, and that keeps me always looking over my shoulder, not that I could hope to see one if it were trying to stay out of view.

Fishing solo is a mixed bag. The paranoia surrounding the streamside perils skyrockets, but there is no greater joy than the solitude and serenity of a remote trout stream tucked away in a rugged canyon. 

Browns are the only trout with red spots on their adipose fins. The big girl was holding in the shallowest of water, out of view here only because of the small patch of reflection. This deep canyon stream is a creek fisherman's paradise. The cool(icy cold actually), clear water flows from pool to pool, cascading over miniature waterfalls and moss covered granite. Fishing finds browns in all the likely spots, and hooking one is almost sure to spook all residents of the affected pool. Sneak is of the utmost importance, and I wear waders as much for the padded knees as any water resistance provided care of the 2oz of Aquaseal that holds them together.

The stream holds more than its fair share of 7-10" browns, but I had known from the reconnaissance mission two weeks earlier that a few 12"+ fish called this creek home. As I fished up to a large (given the surroundings), shallow pool, I knew that it must hold more than a single fish, and choosing the right spot for the 1st cast would make the difference between catching an average fish, and catching one of the Lane Bryant models ...

I have a knack for taking pictures that make big fish look small. I approached the pool with all the stealth I could muster, and began scanning, a couple smaller fish were holding in the faster run on the right hand side, and there was a promising looking deep, dark, shaded spot, just on the left side of the head of the pool. As I continued my approach, I began to look over the broad, shallow, flat area of the pool at the tail. In just 6 or 7 inches of water, plain as day, sat the largest fish I'd seen all day; that was the fish that would get my first and ever-important cast.

What can I say - I have a thing for that special fin. Taking a moment to study the area behind me revealed a back-casting lane, from which to launch my assault against this nuclear submarine. With a minimum of fuss the fly landed perfectly, just two feet in front of her nose, and the fish did not react in any way. As the fly drift slowly back towards the strike zone, I could see neither a look of concern nor interest. Fearing defeat, I watched and the fly drifted directly overhead, and only then, as the fly began passing by, the fish rose for inspection, and while drifting back in the current with the fly, slowly and without fuss ate it. No slash, no aggression, no emotion, just the classic Brown Trout rise and take.

Mustering every ounce of my own patience I counted down the hours split second for the fish to return to the resting position (The New Zealand "God Save the Queen" ritual comes to mind) before lifting my rod and bringing the line taut. A battle ensued and I wound up the victor, holding in my hands one of the finest trout I've seen in Southern California, and easily the nicest fish I'd found in waters this small. A few quick pictures and a release, and I stood there alone, in awe of the preceding moments. A quick bow and thanks to the stream and it’s Creator, and I resumed fishing, though I never regained the focus and determination... I was satisfied, and the rest of the afternoon was just gravy on top.

Printed on dot-matrix?A few more pools (and the same number of trout) left me feeling that I had already gained enough from this one stream, the urge to explore sent me hiking back to the car, to take off in search of another couple blue lines that I'd been eying up.

The first creek turned out to be oft-feared seasonal creek - bone dry in this case - and certainly without trout. On a map it looked to hold promise, but the reality just wasn’t there. The second creek was a slightly better picture, as a tiny trickle of water slipped through the dense brush and crossed a dirt road - locked away from public vehicular travel, but no signage indicated anything other than forest service land was involved, I continued from the gate on foot.

I let the fish go in the middle of the road. Hopefully he does not get hit by a car. Well fed and healthy for the smallest of streams. Figuring the road itself was as good a place as any to start, I quickly spotted an 8" Trout (later determined to be a nice healthy Brown), holding just upstream of the road. Though somewhat interested, the fish was quick to refuse my Spongebob caddis that had seen such great success just a few miles down the road, but a parachute ant was attacked with vigor.

I spent some time working the water up through the brush. Most holes lacked space enough to even bow and arrow cast, so it was more dapping and dangling than any real form of fly fishing , but the creek surprised me - the quality of fish was far better than one would expect from such tiny water. The Browns seemed to be the predominant species, but a few rainbows were mixed in as well, making for some always interesting variety.

Calling this a small stream would be pretty generous. Confirming the population I suspected did exist, I made the decision to head out early and stop by a few more creeks on the way home to get an idea if there was year-round water - of the two checked, both had some water, but only one looked to have any chance of holding fish or being fishable. Some exploration lower in the drainage will hopefully yield another new secret spot sometime in the future.

Surprise Rainbow!