While Danl was beating himself up at the bottom of a narrow fissure in the
earth, my wife and I had a kinder, gentler weekend in mind. This wasn't
meant to be a hardcore fishing trip, but a couple of rods (OK, five of 'em)
did find their way into the back of the car. We left San Diego on Friday
evening and spent that night in the bustling metropolis of China Lake. Oh,
the things we'll do for trout.

Saturday morning saw us crawling up a southern sierra mountainside on a
twisty little road. The anticipation of goldens in their native range built
with each hairpin turn until we popped up on a high plateau that was covered
with scrubby pines. Snowcapped peaks were visible in the distance, and lush
meadows flew by the car's windows. We sped by the crowds that had
congregated at the better known spots, smug in the knowledge that we were
headed for a tiny creek that an e-acquaintance had told me about. We found
our little brook. Only two to six feet wide, the creek wound its way
through a broad, pine rimmed meadow. Half a mile upstream was another
fisherman, and nobody else. Perfect. The flow was very low, even this
early in the season, but I'm told that this is normal for the region. The
fish were plentiful but extremely spooky in the slow moving stream. A
crawling approach to the water was essential for success, and my "casting"
put down many fish...it scattered many more. We spent only a couple of
hours in the meadow, but what a time we had! The little goldens would hit
just about anything as long as it was well presented, so I mainly used flies
that I could see...#18 parachute adams and E/C caddis in the same size. I
managed to bring several of these little beauties to hand, the largest going
about 8 inches. Then it was back to the valley for the drive to Mammoth.

Check-in at the condo was about 4:00 pm, so we had time to drive up Rock
Creek to Mosquito Flats (yep...they're there). My wife decided to snooze in
the car, but I headed up the stream to see what it had to offer. I spent a
very happy hour or so casting a Royal Trude to some very hungry brookies.
Nothing big...heck, barely anything legal, but my trusty KPOS 3wt made them
seem larger than they really were. On my way back to the car I spotted a
huge (for this creek) brook trout holding behind a rock. The fish was
probably fourteen inches long, and I was determined to catch it. I dropped
to all fours and carefully worked my way into a position twenty feet
upstream. The whole process took maybe five minutes. As I was stripping
line off the reel for the cast, an unleashed dog came trotting down to the
water's edge and, amazingly, the fish didn't spook. Suspicious now, I
slowly rose to my feet to discover that my "trout" was nothing more than a
couple of rocks. Artistically arranged to be sure, but rocks nonetheless.
I laughed on my way back to the car, and we made it into Mammoth in time to
catch the end of the Lakers/Twolves game at Grumpy's..the only dark spot in
an otherwise perfect day. Sorry (or perhaps "you're welcome"), but I'll
stop now and finish this tomorrow.

Cheers,
Bill