Thunder and Lightning

High Sierra thunderstorm moving in.

Reports of monster browns and mutant brook trout in the high Sierra lakes has lingered in my mind for quite some time.   With the temperature rising into the triple digits in the Inland Valley, I could only imagine that the temperature in the high Sierra would be pleasant.  Without much hesitation, I grabbed my four-weight and a handful of flies for a weekend of high adventure.

Wildflowers along a seep

Ranger's Buttons

Monkshood

Pride of the Mountain with eroding foxtail pine

The trail into the high country was sprinkled with colorful wildflowers that seemed to welcome me like old friends.  Names like Monkshood, Ranger's Buttons, and Pride of the Mountain muttered from my lips as I walked past them.  Gnarly old Foxtail pines had retired on life and dropped their ancient limbs to decorate the otherwise barren and eroded mountainsides.  Life is born where the only organic matter is decomposed into the soil where these old limbs have fallen, and wild flowers come alive with vibrant colors.

As I hiked the trail into the upper lakes, Erika and I fished a few sections of the creek.  Most of the creek was covered by willow and difficult to fish with a fly line.  However, the few exposed sections held more trout than it probably should support.  Brook trout and rainbow's were holding in every nook and cranny possible, and their eagerness to hit any dry fly was more than welcomed.  I am primarily a catch and release fly fisherman however when I am challenged with an overdose supply of otherwise invasive fish, I am more than happy to feast on nature's bounty. We collected about five pan sized brook and rainbow trout for lunch and hiked to our final destination.

Staircase to the upper lakes.

Brook trout seasoned with Alaskan potlatch..

Once we arrived to our camping destination, we quickly set up for lunch.  We cleaned the fish and pan fried it in olive oil with a simple seasoning that is typically used for cedar plank grilled salmon.  The brook trout were young and their meat was soft and buttery.  The skin and fins were thin and became crispy, making for some good eating.

We rigged our fly rods and headed up to the upper lake.  The sky was clear and the air was warm.  Why bring a rain jacket? I thought to myself...  Erika and I fished for a few hours slaying brook trout cast after cast.  I was using a Sierra Bright Dot and Griffith's gnat as my primary dry flies.  Some of the ant patterns were not attracting the trout as expected and their buoyancy was lost rather quickly.  Regardless, we must have caught nearly a hundred of these feisty brook trout.

After a few hours of fishing, the wind began to intensify and dark ominous clouds rolled past the mountain peaks.   A thunder clap cracked from the sky and water droplets gently landed on the surface of the lake and I watched thousands of tiny trout rise in symphony.  The air became chilled and my Simms paclite rainshell was conveniently stuffed in the bottom of my pack about a 1/4 mile away.  I have forgotten how quickly a Sierra storm can develop in the high country.  A flash of light reflected off the dark mirror of water in front of me and a crash of thunder shook the ground below me.  Thunder was cracking from the craggy granite spires above and prius sized stones began tumbling my way.  I stood in shock, not able to move or think.  A shout as loud as the thunder itself  came from across the lake.  My two options were to swim across the lake and potentially die from hypothermia or outrun the tumbling stones.  I decided not to become fish food and began rock hopping around the lake as fast as possible.  The air was thin and I was running out of breathe... I returned safely and decided to put the fly rod down for the day. Erika had reported a possible brown trout in the 30" range hunkered down near the shoreline.  She initially thought it was a log however she saw it move and it disappeared into the shadows of the lake.  While I was interested in pursuing it, my energy was gone and dehydration and a massive headache set in.  It was the first time that I walked away from such a challenge.

With a restless night of sleep and a long drive home, we opted not to fish the morning and we packed  and began our downward descent.  The hike down was relatively fast and we fished the creek along the way.  While we didn't catch our loch monster, it was fun in its own right to catch a seeming endless supply of brookies.  The high Sierra is just simply beautiful despite the thunder and lightning. 

There is a brook trout eating monster somewhere in there...