I noticed the creek had slowly risen as the warm days melted the surrounding snow. I got up close and personal with a marmot that was huge and as we eased into the daily routine of backcountry living…I found myself more relaxed than I’d been in a year. I decided this day I would bathe and eased myself into the creek. I’m almost certain I heard the squeal of my nuts converting to raisinettes and climb up. George Castanza understands…shrinkage in snow melt is profound. But my stupidity didn’t stop there, I decided it would be wise to “wash” Sitka merino shorts in the creek. So I peeled em off and placed a rock in em to anchor them to the creekbed. I would let them soak overnight and dry em in the morning. Note to self…when “washing” your underwear in the Sierras, use the gray stones to anchor your shorts, not the brown ones. The brown color leeches into the fabric giving the look of a man who could not hold his Mountain House. Oh my!
Fish continued to bite and the releases greatly outnumbered the trout consumed. We had purchased some seasoned salt and habanero sauce from Jacks restaurant in Bishop. We fried the trout in butter with the salt and damn it was incredible. We’d pull the heads back and the entire skeletal system would detach from the meat. Is there anything better?
I neglected to pack my flasks which I had filled with fine tequila and placed in the freezer. My early morning departure had me rushing and the fog in my head hadn’t lifted yet. Fortunately Gary brought a couple flasks of rum which we put to good use, carefully rationing it until we returned to the civilized world. Our first stop in Bishop at the end of this trip would be to a liquor store to reload his pack.
Throughout the week we discovered a variety of places to catch fish, some in warm and sunny areas with no ice on the water, others surrounded by snow and others completely frozen over. Fascinating what a seemingly small climb in elevation does to the landscape. Here is one spot we hit that was kinda perfect: Click on image to play stupid video:
My favorite spot was a puny little lake about an hour away that was choked with moss except for the skinny water where trout gathered in droves. Hear, fishing the browns and bows was all sight fishing. I would roll a bait into the moving water, watch it fall into a small waterfall and BAM! Mr. Brown became Mr. Flying Trout and I bounced em onto the bank. Big fun. One brown busted me off like it was a homeguard yellowtail! This is that spot.
