Leaky Waders

It's kinda lame when you wake up at 4:00 AM full of anticipation to catch some trout...drive a couple hours on adrenaline and coffee to find a lake you've never fished, but heard good rumors about...pay to fish, freeze your caboodle off gearing and rigging up...pick out the perfect fly to launch into still water...hike through spiky planted brush...which digs into your flesh and tears it's share off as an offering...wade slowly into the crisp 56 degree water...pull out some line to cast as a BREEZE starts to ruffle up the water...then realize, at what is still 0-dark early, that you have leaky waders.

THE fishing hole

I couldn't wait too long to continue from my last post. As much as I may have taken some time to think about the river and spirituality, I was there to catch some fish.

That was the main reason to drive 5 hours [6 if I was legal] and eat my $1.95 breakfast at Kmart in Bishop...catching FISH. Trout to be specific; Rainbow Trout to be particular.

So, after getting skunked at the Lower Owens, driving an additional 40 minutes to the Upper Owens and trudging through knee high snow, I was at the river. It was beautiful.

This part of California is awesome in the winter. Looking west, rising out of the valley were the Sierra Nevada's, COVERED with snow this year. There are also some mountains to the east, and I'm lame; I don't know what they are called. But, this year even they had a ton of snow.

The Owens, just cuts through the valley. Turns all over the place, kinda meandering. The air was fairly butt-cold [at least for a surfer from So Cal]. A crisp 30 degrees with a slight breeze. The sun was out and as I stepped carefully towards the river I saw a trout rising. Now after getting skunked for a couple hours, my heart was doing palpitations seeing a trout rise.

Common sense told me that THIS IS WINTER. I should be nymphing, with like size 20 [freaky small for the non-fishing folk] little zebra midges, trailing behind something else. But, here was a trout rising.

So, even though my pole was rigged, I cut it all off and stuck on a dry fly, caddis something. On the fourth cast, BAM. Fish on. So good. About a 10 inch wild Rainbow. At least as wild as they get here. Beautiful colors. A perfect moment.

I made a few more casts [read: 30 minutes] as I rounded the next bend and saw a big turn in the river. The way the water hit the turn, it pushed left with gravity, but pushed an eddy to the right as well. It was a fairly large pool, maybe 20X20. What I saw next, seemed like it should be happening to John Gierach or something. Fish rising. EVERYWHERE.

I thought I wasn't seeing what I was seeing. Pockets of fish popping up all over the hole. In the seams, out of the seams, along the banks, in the middle, EVERYWHERE.

So, I just started casting...and catching. In the next couple hours I landed 10 bows all between 8-12 inches. It was magical. To take in my surroundings, and feel like I actually knew what I was doing. It was total Mastercard. I wasn't sure I deserved it, but I felt BLESSED. Fishing doesn't get this good for me or most people I know. I felt humbled and special. I wanted to put it all in a package.

I caught a few more, but felt greedy. I was hoarding. What made the time even better, was actually calling my buddy over and sharing the fun. It's also why, between me and him, it will always be known as THE fishing hole.

The River....

I recently got to get on/in the Upper Owens River near Mammoth Lakes, CA. It was cold. There was 3-4 feet of snow along the highway and I was knee-highing my way to the water through soft snow. I also had to negotiate over a barbwire fence with my waders. Not a time for sissies or for slip-ups.

Actually, to back it up a bit, I had started fishing the Lower Owens River, where it comes out of Lake Crowley, near Bishop. But, the water was flowing too fast...there was too much of it moving. The fish were 'off' or maybe I just sucked. Nothing was biting.

As I was standing in the water though, I could feel it moving around me. It could not be stopped. There was a certain pressure I had to keep using in my legs, just to make any progress as I made my way up the river. Of course if I fell on my butt, I would just be flowing with the river. I'd also probably drown as my waders filled like a water balloon. A totally heroic way to go for sure. [Gravemarker: He left like he came...in a water-filled sack].

I started getting all thoughtful about it though...the flow; the stream. The Bible teaches that if we know Jesus, living water will fill me and flow out of me and that it cannot be stopped. It is moving in and around me. It is full of life. I can try to stand up against it, but that takes pressure. In a good way, if I just flow with it, I get carried along. I may not know what is around the next bend, but I am flowing with the river. It was a cool thought.

Then, my overwhelming frustration at being mocked by fish got the better of me. I needed to get somewhere else. That is when I jumped in the car and drove another 40 minutes to the Upper O. It was another experience entirely, but I will save that for next time.

My first post

Well, I will finally breakout and write something. I feel pressure to make it witty or thought provoking...though I know it won't be.

I've been thinking lately how much I am missing my time in the river. I've surfed a bit lately, but I haven't fished the Fall yet. I'm sure the big browns are there, especially in the Owens. Too busy. Busy-ness seems to jack things up. But, the trees are changing colors and the river keeps moving.

If anyone reads this, you probably don't fish. But, there's nothing quite like tempting a fish to the surface with a bit of deer hair tied to look like a bug. Seeing it rush onto the fly like it was starving. Feeling the bang on the rod. Trying not to freak as you set the hook.

Then the chase is on....

Hopefully, I can get up to the mountains soon.