Hot Creek Ranch in California's Eastern Sierra region is a hot place. Hot as in famous, pricey and famous angler-attractive. Hot as in sometimes difficult. For everybody. Weather-wise it could be 1/windy, 2/too hot, 3/freeze-your-curlies-off, or worst, 4/running chocolate from natural and urban runoff. Number 4 could portend. The town of Mammoth Lakes is Aspenizing. Airport upstream too. Pray for a catch basin.
Now, about my fall trip. A massive storm originated in Japan and swept with the jetstream all the way to California. Looked like an oval blob of color in the sat pictures. It was a huge typhoon, and it dropped a lot of water on the state. Sure, we always need it out here. Better to provide flood video after our wildfires. Seriously, the Bay Area received inches in hours. It traveled west to east, big enough to crest the mighty Sierra. We wondered, would it wipe out our Ranch fishing? It could.
The defining geology of the state are two items you've heard of, the San Andreas fault -- I'm in LA and am creeping 1.5" a year towards said Bay Area -- and the Sierra Nevada mountain range. It's stupendous. Yosemite is there. The Range of Light, Mr. Muir called it, where grow the largest living things on earth, Sequoia trees, and in the nearby White mountain range are the eldest, the bristlecone pine. One tree, Methuselah ,was measured by core samples in 1957 to be 4,789 years old. The Ranch has operated as a dry fly-only paradise for we fly guys for about five decades or so. Long time. But it is located in what most of us call the mountains. And that means changeable conditions.
One leaves Los Angeles, heads NE to cross the Mojave desert. The topography changes radically away from the coast. You pass Vasquez Rocks, where Kirk battled the Gorn. Edwards AFB, where the Shuttle touches down. And into the Owens Valley, where the Chinatown script got its yeasty start. The weather was spooky on my drive. Would the clouds part for me and the boys?
Yes, the clouds parted, and it was citius, altius, troutius.
The traveler must stay fed. Schat's Bakery in Bishop, California, is world famous, fresh, delicious and old time. To die for, the turkey sandwich. I got mixed dark and white meat on sourdough, hot mustard, sprouts. The meat is torn from the carcass. It falls on your lap, and you pick it up as the satellite radio plays all the Sixties hits you loved. Rockin' north, salivating.
Here's more geology for you -- apart from this shot of a strange cloud I'm sure was harboring an alien craft who were monitoring my thoughts but my tin foil hat foils them every time -- I'm heading up the Sherman grade from the valley floor.
What the grade is is the rim of the Long Valley caldera, scene of one of the largest super-volcanic explosions in North American prehistory. This and Yellowstone were the monsters. Bishop tufa landed in Kansas. Fortunately it's a lot quieter than YNP. Good luck, Jackson Hole.
While I'm on the rock thing here's some more -- escarpment of the Sierra behind, lifted, rent and tilted stuff, including the highest point in the Lower 48, Mt. Whitney. Another cool fact about the Golden State: lowest point isn't too far, Badwater, Death Valley.
Dark rocks in the foreground are some of the Alabama Hills, named by some rebs in the 19th Century. Lots of Hollywood there, Tremors, Gunga Din, Gladiator, Star Wars, many Westerns including the great Bad Day at Black Rock. A separate geologic thing from the Sierra.
And this is the destination, the Ranch. Hot Creek is a spring creek, and also receives runoff. This was taken on the day after a day of horror -- the rain, sudden hot temps and runoff from the town made the creek run like chocolate. Streamkeeper Kevin announced nymphing was allowed. Weird, rare thing. We put on the SJ worms, PTs, my Mini Bugger, Princes, you name it. And nada. So bad no one snagged one trout. Guys were packing to go home. We stayed.
The next morning, at Andy Puyan's bench. My hat and my 7 1/2' Battenkill they comfort me. A short walk from the cabins brings you to a marvelous bend after a short riffle, undercut banks, currents funneling into a fishy slot. Puyans loved to sit here. The view is magnificent.
The view. Nice of the earth of blow itself up over the years. Gives us calderas and water chemistry, I appreciate it and hope you do.
Here pal Jim kneels to observe the water in front of Andy's bench. Jim is an expert caster, outstanding volunteer doing Trout in the Classroom for years, all-around champion of our sport.
There was anticipation, great anticipation and hope. We were astounded to see that, overnight, the stream had dropped a full 6". Most importantly, the damn thing was running clear.
We crossed the bridge to explore downstream.
We turned right, following the bank, scanning the water ahead, talking as we walked. Caddis, emerger, CDC patterns, hm, spinner fall, oh no, midges? Hope they wake up today.
Now, if they would just
Rise! And another, and another!
Caddis were lifting off heading upstream, whoa, look at them all! Clouds of caddis, absolute clouds of them. Impossible to capture on camera, sorry. Jim, pods, lookit the pods! I get a rush like I'm on an albacore run and someone has yelled "Boil!" Jim kneels at stream side. It has come time to fish.
There's a pod of at least half a dozen unashamedly porposing fish about 6' from his position. I see heads, dorsals, bodies and tails, they're feeding like maniacs. I approach Jim and he holds up his hand, stop. There're three fine ones just over the bank and grasses I can't see, eating like they are starving, about 1' away. Jim sort of daps them. His Sage 389-3 bends double.
Not the greatest shot, but this was the fishy. Good and strong and there were to be many more. It would prove to be one of the best-ever trips to the Ranch. BTW, Jim is known to alternate between cane and Tupperware, damn him. He fished our late friend's 7 1/2' Divine rod, belonged to the luthier Larry Brown, who worked on many popular musician's instruments out here in So. California. Very nice med-fast, DT5 3-pc. Divine. And, have to say, the Sage 389 is one Tupperware I'd sling.
Jim was in heaven. A Ranch veteran he's seen the thick and the thin. One year we nearly froze in a blizzard. A day before I arrived Jim fished through the storm and freezing rain. He loved it, catching fish after fish. The baetis, man! the baetis! A confused fisherman walked up to him, teeth chattering, and asked the direction back to the cabins. The man knew he was in hypothermia. Jim said, "Do you know your left from your right?" The man answered affirmatively. Jim told him to go left. And he made it back safely.
Next day was the gravy train.
Small but pretty ones. It's a very fertile stream, and the fish feed well on mayflies and caddis and other bugs.
I had no bad weather. In fact, it was about as fine a day as one could hope for. No wind, totally a rare thing. Mid to upper 70s. Sunscreen needed, a lot. I took a good share of fine fish. My patterns -- #20 and #22 downwing CDC caddis, Mustad 94859, and a #24 TMC 206bl loop-winged CDC Olive dun -- were killing. And my re-tied leaders worked wonderfully. I used new leader formulas, cut off my butts from fly lines nights before at my tying desk, studiously re-tied good knots and tipped out with 5' of 6x. I was broken off a couple of times, but no knots failed on me. Turnover onstream and drifts were just what I needed.
8' of Goodwin Granger Special, 3" St. George. Mike Clark provided a fine rub out and re-coat, thanks Mike. Rod has, as you stated, another 70 years on it.
My friend, Mr. Trout.
It was about as great a trip as I could ask for. Usually I just ask for a few fish and some good times. But this was fantastic dry fly fishing to thick
fish, with good company, bamboo fly rods and trout taking my patterns.
Another I had some trouble getting the fly out, he was returned post haste.
Peace out, boys. May your tippets hold firm.
