Rustling through the dense undergrowth like a foraging bear, I head a voice call out, "Is this spot really worth the effort?" It was Mike once again, checking up on our progress. I reported back that today it certainly wasn't, but that I had caught some really nice 'bows at this run in the past. He stated that he was going to show us a new place that he had recently found which would be worth the effort. With this in mind, Jimmy and I didn't waste any more time at this hole and hiked out back towards the car. Mike said that the spot we had just been fishing was once a favorite of his, but after the last big flood of '96 it had dropped off of his top 10 list. He showed how that El Nino year flood had changed the course of the river and deposited a huge amount of large boulders right at the elbow bend. He also showed a spot that ran through this boulder field where he is trying to entice the powers at PG&E to position a man made spawning channel.
Our next stop was a pull-out above the Rogers Flat area. Mike stated that he and a friend had landed 15 fish within an hour along a 100-yard stretch of the river in this spot several days prior. From the road above, it looked like promising water. It was a combination of shallow riffles, large plunge pools, and slow moving dry fly water, which had a foam line running within 15 inches from an undercut bank flanked by thickets of small, densely bunched willow trees. Well, to make a long and rather boring story short, we spent way too much time fishing unproductive water at this spot. We all hooked into smallish fish, but there wasn't anything caught that was worth the effort to brag about. It was well into the later portions of the afternoon by now and I wanted to move on and hit other water that I hoped would prove to be more productive.
One of those "other" spots was a stretch of river that's located directly below the dam. It was a typical tail water run. However, it was hard to get to and even harder to see while passing by on the highway. I had hiked down into this canyon from the roadway up above only once before. That had been during early May of the previous year when the high water from the spring runoff had prevented me from giving this place a truly decent try. Now that the late season flows were much lower, I knew Jimmy and I would have a better chance of getting into some prime looking water. We hiked down an over grown 4x4 jeep trail that lead us to the river. Jimmy cast a streamer into the slower moving lower portion of the large pool, while I set the pace to get us upstream to where a long, sloping gradient of cascading white water dumped into the head of this deep pool. Earlier in the season, I had inquired to Mike as if this was a worthwhile spot to fish. He had told me several stories of big fish caught here and that had peaked my interest to try it. Upon reaching the best-looking water of this run, I retied on a couple of nymphs that included a size 16 Prince and a size 10/12 golden stone. I waded cautiously out to a rocky outcropping that was situated in waist deep water.
One of the advantages of using an 11-foot rod is that it enables me to get my flies to water with less effort than an 8-½ or 9 foot rod. I can often high-stick nymph the other side of a fast flowing current, while keeping my line off the water by simply reaching out and across. With a shorter rod, the slack line would get swept downstream making it impractical to present the flies in a natural looking state. From this vantage point I was able to get my line through some great looking seams on both sides of this faster moving water.
My first three casts resulted in hookups with all of the fish coming undone. The second fish I hooked into bent my long 6 weight like a young willow sapling and I knew this had been a brute. Finally, on my fourth drift through the slot, I hooked into a fish that I managed to hold on to. With a nasty fight raging on the end of my line, my left foot became lodged in between two rocks that I had been bracing myself against in the current. I was unable to move for several minutes and all I could do was look over at Jimmy who was standing on the bank and laughing. Eventually I extricated my boot from the under water trap and I was able to reel in and net a fat and healthy 16" rainbow that had beautifully colored markings. While fighting this guy, I yelled over to Jimmy, "This is what I'm talking about!" (Meaning that I could tell we were finally going to get into some serious fish - worthy of our long haul up to this place).
Jimmy & I inspected this nice trout before we let it slip back into the cold water. It was a typical NF rainbow that I had been telling him about all day. I felt something special was about to break loose and shake us out of a rather uneventful day of flogging the water. I encouraged Jimmy to replace me on the outcropping and hit that run hard. He told me later, while on the drive home, that he had felt there would be no more fish ready to bite once he took over from me. Little did he know that this run was stacked up with some real horses waiting for the opportunity to give us a ride. He immediately hooked into a nice fish and the fight was on.
Over the next two hours, with the daylight fading to a steely gray tint, we hooked into so many fish we lost count. Jim managed to land a really nice 19" rainbow, which enabled me to make time for a photo op. I took several shots of Jimmy posing with the beast. He thanked me for finally tracking this hard fighting fish down and netting it. Trust me, it wasn't that easy stumbling and bumbling over slippery rocks in waist deep water, chasing a fish that doesn't want anything to do with a net, and then bolts abruptly when that mesh netting comes into its wide angled sightline. Probably the best fish of the day for Jim was a huge (and I mean friggin' huge) rainbow that battled him for a long while, only to come unhooked right at our feet. This hog was as wide as a football and the coloring on its torso was so vividly pink that it glowed like a neon "OPEN" sign. My best trout was one that I hooked and while watching where my lime green line disappeared under the water it broke the surface and arched its body in a twisting jump that was a good 25 feet away. Yes, it was my hooked fish and both Jimmy & I looked at one another with an expression of disbelief, as he tore off more line. We laughed some more and every time we hooked into another fish the other would yell, "nice fish!" That statement being shouted out by us was true, as the smallest fish landed was 12 inches and he was by far the smallest. Well, that was with the exception of one other. All around us, fish were making rings on the surface, while slurping tiny midges.
Anyone that knows Jimmy D. will attest to the fact that when he sees rises like these, he starts going into a nervous little tick that he exhibits while tying on a parachute Adams. After having no takers for 15 minutes or so, he was finally able to entice one of these beasts. It turned out to be an eight inch squaw fish. As fast as he could say "Shazaam!" Jimmy retied a Hot Luv nymph back on and was soon into some really hard fighting rainbows. I wasn't fortunate enough to land any pike minnows, but I did land a nice trout that took one of my nymphs after a slack line drift of about 60 feet downstream. Hooking these fish was rather easy. It was landing them that really made a person work like an over weight rookie football player in his first week of training camp.
Eventually Mike had wandered on down into the canyon and was standing on the rocky bank behind us. I've come to find out that if he spotted your car parked along the highway, he would eventually track you down no matter how far along the river you had bushwhacked. He asked about our fishing luck and we had to admit to him that we hadn't kept count. The action had been way too fast and furious. With a blanket of darkness descending rapidly upon the three of us, we broke down our rods and hiked on out of the canyon. Luckily, Mike knew a short cut and led us up a trail to the road in short order. He told us he had been the one who had created that trail and had been using it over the past 25 years. We thanked him, and both of us told Mike that we would be seeing him next season. We all shook hands and watched him drive away into the night.
Jimmy and I stripped off our waders, packed away our gear and just kept grinning at one another. The ride home that night was sweet, with both of us feeling tired and yet, very content.