Warning: This report has a very high word to fish ratio, so if you're lookin' for "just the facts" reports, try
here.
Some of you will recall that a few months back I posted about my son Christiaan building his own rod, and our plans for a summer fishing trip which I had promised him last summer. Well, Christiaan finished his rod and shortly thereafter we took a day trip to 2MB try it out. No fish, but he got some good casting practice in.
Sometime around April/May, I'm starting to feel some back pain, which turns into excruciating sciatica, and some loss of muscle function in my right foot and toes. Surgery early in July fixed everything but the foot issues, but our summer plans were thwarted.
Two weeks into Christiaan's 7th grade school year, I decided I've recuperated enough, caught up on my work, and it's time to take that fishing trip. Christian would have to miss a couple of days of school, but a man's gotta keep his promises.
So after school last Wednesday, we headed out. We arrived at the Boca Springs campground too late to get in any fishing, so we set up camp and enjoyed a nice dinner (hot dogs) by the campfire. Next morning we slept in a bit, and didn't start fishing the Little Truckee till about 9. Christiaan had one take (didn't figure out till later that his hook was broken) but otherwise a big skunkeroo. After an afternoon break, we spent the evening on the Truckee off Glenshire Rd. I had a hookup, but again no fish landed.
We decide to forego fishing Friday morning and instead got an early start for our next campsite at Grover Hot Springs. After setting up camp we spent the afternoon/evening fishing the wild trout section of the E. Fork of the Carson. I got a hookup early on on a Muddler, but he shook the hook. Late in the day I hooked and actually landed the first fish of the trip: a 10" 'bow. Christiaan got nuttin' and he was starting to show some frustration. He had a few goals for this trip: first fish on a fly, more fish, and a brown. Now he was convinced that he was going to go home skunked.
But the trip wasn't over yet. Saturday morning we fished the E. Fork along Hwy 89. 'Round about 11:00 Christiaan finally gets his first fish on a fly! A 9" or 10" 'bow, caught on a GRHE. I presume it was a planter, but I didn't check its fins to confirm this. Christiaan was, of course, stoked. We moved to the section of the river off Wolf Creek road and fished there into the early afternoon without any luck. Christiaan was again feeling disheartened, and we decided to forget fishing that evening. Instead we had a relaxing early dinner at camp (grilled cheese sandwiches and pan-fried potatoes), took a long, hot shower, and got to bed early.
Sunday morning we break camp early, trying not to wake the other campers, and head out in the dark for our final fishing destination on the other side of Ebbet's Pass. I had accessed the Stanislaus North Fork from Ganns Meadow about a decade ago, and I was sure I would recognize the trailhead if I saw it. It's right across the road from the old cabins, right? Near the sign half covered by grass that reads "Ganns Meadow", right? Wrong, as it turns out. So, lacking proper directions, or a good map, or common sense, we decided to follow an old logging road down, hoping it might intersect the trail. It didn't. It just ended. Time for an off-trail adventure.
For about 2/3 of the way, the hike down is steep. Then it gets REALLY steep. I'm stumbling frequently due to my wonky foot and bum knee. We're sliding down granite faces and scrambling through thickets of brush, including the pickpocket manzanita that attempted to lift my camera. Fortunately Christiaan was behind me and saw the camera dangling by its wrist strap in the offending shrub. At several points I had second thoughts, weighing the options of cutting our losses and heading back to the car, or pressing on and risking getting skunked only to be followed by what would surely be the most dispiriting, agonizing climb we would ever have to face.
Being the responsible adult, I opted to press on. We finally made it to the river by about 11:00. Our plan was fish upstream, keeping our eyes open for the trail back up. If we didn't find the trail, we would have to leave by 12:30 (we were supposed to drop in on my parents in Sonora, then get home in time for Christiaan to do some homework). If we found the trail, we would be able to stay a little longer.
I set us both up with two-fly rigs; a stonefly nymph with a BHPT dropper for me, a wooly bugger with a BHPT for Christiaan. Immediately, I caught a scrappy 10" 'bow, followed shortly by another one of the same size. Christiaan took a little longer, but eventually caught his first Stanislaus rainbow, about 8" long. We continued upstream, each getting a couple more rainbows in the 8" to 10" range.
It was now almost 12:30 and we hadn't found the trail. I had lost my two-fly rig to a river-bottom snag, so I decided to buck conventional wisdom and tied on a Stimulator. I told Christiaan that we had time for a few more casts. I soon had a fish on; another 8" rainbow. As I was releasing the fish, I heard a yell from upstream. I look up and see Christiaan, with a deep arc in his rod, not knowing quite what to do. I scrambled up to where he was, to coach him on playing the fish, but he had already figured it out. He led the fish to the bank, where I netted it. It was the brown that he so coveted, a good 13" worth. Fishing for the day was finished; it was time to start the climb out of the canyon.
A whole other story could be written about our ascent, but I've written enough. We made it back to the car by 3:00. We were both feeling great. The pain wouldn't start until later...
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