The Last Pale Light in the West

I took five days to trophy hunt in northern California.  The Truckee river left me with a bittersweet taste after losing what would have been my personal best brown trout.  Kypezilla has been on my mind ever since.  Those 20+ inches of copper colored scales, butter yellow fins and belly, kyped out jaw… yeah that big buck has haunted me ever since.

The clouds gray and ominous driving northbound.  I was out of the loop of the wildfire situation in the greater Tahoe region.  Work has had me in zombie mode and tunnel vision of the Truckee river from when I last remembered it, was all that I could see.  National weather warnings interrupted the dull beats of modern country music, all that would come in frequency driving through rural California.  Stubborn as I am, I still had my sights locked on the river, smoke and all.  Only the grim reaper would be able to pry my flaming charred hands away from kypezilla.

The Donner pass looked like a highway to hell.  A caravan of Oregon firefighters blazed passed, disappearing into the smokey horizon.  I was told that approximately 3,000 firefighters were trying to pacify the fire.  I probably should have turned around and headed to the Trinity river.  As the Truckee river came into sight, I immediately realized this is not the river that I once remembered.  Car sized boulders were denuded from the river, flows were low enough to make sections a stillwater fishery.  I knew there were sections of massive elevation change and rapids still had to exist.  I gave myself two days to figure it out.

I battled it out day after day.  Stripping streamers, dead drifting crays, everything that made sense for the time of year.  Crayfish were molting in the slow runs and I figured the big browns would be feasting on lobster dinner.  I worked a section methodically, swimming my rabbit strip streamer in between the boulders.  Electricity.  The line went tight and my streamer was hammered by a hog.  As usual I failed to seal the deal and everything went limp.

Frustrated and ready to throw in the towel.  I called upon the Obi Wan Kenobi of the Truckee river.  I met BigFly on the LT a few years back.  Ever since, I check in with him every now and then to see how the river is doing.  One of these day's i'll be lucky enough to get out on the water with him.  After a lengthy conversion, he steered me in the right direction and I was on my vise tying up some new patterns.  Think smallish caddis pupae, the type that hatch in October.  Only once have I seen this magnificent hatch while on the Deschutes river in central Oregon.  It is a bug that can nearly match the massive salmon fly in size.  After tying a handful, I headed downriver to give it a run.

I began working one of my favorite runs and immediately began getting grabs on the caddis nymphs.  A few in the 14" range and 16" rainbow.  Still not the monsters I was searching more, my thirst was not yet quenched.  The sun was setting low on the ridge and a few locals were sitting on a big hole about 50 yards from me.  As the light faded to dark, the locals set their beer cans aside and pulled out their fly rods from the truck.  They gave me a cold one and watched them throw mouse patterns at the edge of a submerged log.  It didn't take long before I saw my first trout blow up on a mouse.  I was shaking with unrelenting energy.  I wanted to experience this myself.  I called my fishing buddy Charles to help me devise a game plan.  As always the plan gets sucked into a vortex by paranormal forces beyond my power.  The next day, winds were up at the crack of dawn and smoke was about as heavy as it could be.  The Truckee was left in my rear view mirror and hopes of that big brown was to be saved for another day.  I'll be back.

My last hope of a two handed grip n grin was to drive north.  The Trinity flows were up in the 3000 cfs and just recently lowered to 450.  Ideal flows for this river and steelhead for sure would have made it up this tributary.  I followed the pale light set between a funnel of black clouds.  Rain began pouring and lightening flashes set off like paparazzi on the red carpet.  One disaster into the next.  Long story short, I got a short sweet taste of chrome.  Its going to be a long lonely winter with a cold dim light waiting for me at the end of the tunnel.

20 Miles of the Kern Day 1

Cold and crisp air.  Upper Kern River.

Day 1
Roadside fly fishing.  While it's not my favorite way to fish the Kern, it was the best we could do for early season trout fishing.  The whole group got together on this one.  If only Bill were there, I would have been in the company of all my fly fishing buddies.  Five angler's and 20 miles of the upper Kern River.

The weather had been unstable the week leading up to our proposed fishing weekend.  Snow storm's hit hard along our transverse mountain range and most of the Sierra.  The grapevine was momentarily closed due to iced roads and the trip was constantly in question.  And our main concern was how the storm affected the river.  It would have been devastating to discover milk chocolate flowing through the Kern Valley.  Fortunately, the river looked healthy and flows were low.

First wild trout of the year.  A wild Kern River Rainbow.

We spent what seemed like hours just scouting and looking for a good stretch of water to fish.  We drove up and down town like a gang of gypsies in a crazy caravan.  Let down by the fly shop's advice, we followed the river upstream to look for some better structure.  Tuck led the way in his jeep, and I in my truck. 

Once we found the promised land, we all dispersed like we were on some easter egg hunt.  Erika and I stayed together and headed downstream.  Most of the roadside section of the upper Kern is pocket water.  I love pocket water and my favorite technique to fish pocket water is high stick nymphing.  I feel that it is my deadliest arrow in my quiver when used during the right conditions.  For me, the strike detection is more responsive and the drift has less drag through short rapids and runs.    It wasn't long before I got into my first fish of the trip.  While not a trophy by any means, it was wild and colored beautifully.  Upstream, Erika was adamantly working the water. Of all the beautiful trout I have caught over the years, I have to say she is still my finest catch.

We re-grouped and without much success upstream, we moved on to a different stretch several miles upstream.  This was a wise choice as it led us to the discovery of a honey hole.  It is unbelievable how many quality fish we pulled out of that one hole.  Simply unbelievable.

Getting bigger

By 1:00pm a blue wing olive hatch began. The mayflies ranged from a size 16 down to 20ish.  They were bigger than I thought and while the hatch was prolific, the strong gusts of wind blew the bugs off the water.  Determined to get one on a dry, I rigged my Sage Vantage 7' 3wt with a size 18 parachute bwo.  Tuck and Joseph headed down to the river while Charles and I rigged a second rod with a dry fly.  Erika proceeded with my dry fly rod and I continued nymphing with my Sage One 5wt.

Erika and I hiked through a thicket of willow until we stumbled upon a great looking run.  It was deep with a pile of structure.  I just knew we were in for a treat.  I began nymphing the deep run and immediately I felt a hard take and the feisty trout was on.  It was full finned and beautiful rainbow with a fat belly.  After a few more drifts I connected with a straight up brute that broke off my 6x tippet in a matter of moments.  Next time I better be paying attention.  Erika was having no success on the dry fly and we traded rigs.  I told her to take my run and I headed downstream with the dry.

Caught on 3wt on a dry

 After a few casts along a seam a silver flash materialized.  I wasn't ready for the take, but the trout took it hard and I set the hook and held on.  The trout took me for a ride and bent my 3wt down to the cork.  I tried my best to manage the trout away from the rock ledges that it was trying to escape under.  Surprisingly my 3wt vantage has some fish lifting guts and I was able to pry it away from a complex labyrinth of rocks.  3wt fishing at it's finest! Man I love that rod!


 The sun was setting quick and temp's were dropping just as fast.  Erika was fish-less and I felt pretty bad.  I was determined to get her into some quality fish the next day.  The rest of the evening was spent eating burritos the size of footballs at El Jacalito and beer drinking and pool at the Pine Cone Inn.  It was a strange and random night to say the least. 

The Last Cast

Rainbow on the last cast

Sometimes the stars align and the fishing gods bless an angler with superhuman potential to catch fish.  And sometimes they don't... I spent four days in the Tahoe basin to test my angling skills on the Truckee and the Little Truckee river.  Flow rates were not outrageous, the LT was 250-300 and the Truckee was 300-400 near the town of Truckee.  However, the water was cold and the fish were lethargic.  Despite  significant mid-late afternoon hatches of BWO and caddis, the fish were not looking up.  There was even a small green drake and salmonfly hatch on the Truckee.  The fishing was technical and indicator nymphing with small nymphs (18-22) was one of the few ways of getting the grab.  When lobbing a multi nymph rig got tedious, I switched to streamers with a sink tip line.  I tried everything that I am not good at, and I quickly realized my angling weaknesses...

I met up with my fishing buddy Bill this past Sunday on the Truckee just outside of town.  Bill was already on the water when I arrived and I could see him casting near a bend in the river.  Erika and I entered the river downstream from him and fished the seams.  I was fishing a double nymph rig with a size 8 black stonefly and size 16 pink beauty.  We spent the next few hours nymping this section, working the river in a grid and as methodical as possible. Erika got one take from a dink which failed to connect, and I left the river without a single bump or take.  We all left without a fight on the first day, granted we only had time to fish a quarter day before leaving to south Lake Tahoe. 

The Truckee

Our second day on the Truckee was with a guide.  Our guide was a passionate high stick nymph fly fisherman and only fished for trophies.  I wanted a 20"+ trout on this trip and I was hoping this guide would help me find them.  This was my first guide ever and I suppose he did what a guide was supposed to do... except bringing his own truck!  If I were a guide, I would have already rigged rods for each person and at least provide a vehicle with rod carriers so no time is lost on the water.  He didn't even let me use his brand new Orvis Helios.  Major negative points for this guide... however on the positive side, I did learn some useful nymphing techniques.  We hired him for a full day (8hrs) of instruction, however at least two of those hours were spent driving and rigging.  The first half day was basically casting practice as nobody caught anything except for a Mountain whitefish.  While demonstrating, the guide connected with a whitefish and let Erika fight it.  This was her first "strong" fish that she has ever fought on a fly rod.  Before leaving this section of the river, Bill landed a 14" brown trout which was his first fish of the trip. 

Bill and his 17" rainbow.  This trout had talon scars across its back and side. 

The second section that we fished was more productive and Bill was able to land a hefty 17" rainbow with some guidance from the guide.  We stomach sampled the fish and found many dark baetis nymphs in the 18-22 size range.  This fish was also heavily scared with battle wounds likely from a raptor.  Shortly after, Erika connected with a solid 14" rainbow that pulled harder than any trout she has caught before.  She set the hook, played and landed the fish all on her own.  I am proud.  My spirits were crushing under the pressure to connect with a fish.  I needed something.. anything.  We moved to another section and I became fed up with lobbing nymphs.  It was streamer time and it was my last hope to catch the trophy.  I used a size 8 olive krytal bugger and began casting like a machine.  I was focused, anticipating that 22" king brown to hit my bugger like a locomotive. After nearly two hours of dedicated streamer casting, there was nothing.  Not a bump, not a grab, just nothing.  At least I never gave up.

The Little Truckee

The next few days were spent fishing the LT.  Flow rates were perfect (200-300), air temp was warm, and the water was extremely cold.  Without a thermometer I would guess the water temp was in the low 40's F.  The LT is a incredibly beautiful river.  Everything about it is picturesque fly fishing scenery.   I sighted a large trout feeding on emerging nymphs in a deep slot behind a fallen tree.  This particular trout was incredibly red, like a sockeye salmon.  The size of the fish had me awestruck (in the water it looked to be a 20incher).  Submerged tree limbs made this particular a challenge.  There were 100 ways things could go wrong.  After three casts I fooled the big boy to take my fly.  The trout sank like a submarine and nearly pulled the rod out of my hand.  All I could do was hang on, I let it run and applied pressure to keep it away from the submerged tree.  With every lift it countered with a pull.  I had no net, and a maze of structure to work the fish out from. I wanted to work the fish downstream to fight it away from all the obstacles, however it did not want to cooperate.  With every effort on my part, the fly finally gave up and came unbuttoned.  The line went limp and utter disappointment struck me.   We hiked downstream and worked our way back up, the fish were holding in deep slots and holes behind back eddies.  I sighted at least three giant trout hunkered down deep.  Nothing that I offered them seemed to get their attention, these fish were just picky and lazy.  I came up with a plan that I would try the next day.

I caught this rainbow on my last cast of the day.  Literally the last cast.

I decided to fish with smaller nymph patterns on my last day on the LT.  The flies I started with was a size 16 red copper john as the point fly and a size 18 flashback PT and a size 22 Z-midge.  I rigged three flies all approx. 18" apart from one another.  Two bb split-shot were used to sink these flies into semi deep slots and I added another to get in into the deeper slots.  After hours of fishing and not catching, I switched up my flies yet again.  I must have went through nearly all of my small flies in my box.  With one last attempt, I tried my size 16 pink beauty with a size 18 copper john/prince mutation.  This fly is basically a prince nymph with a thin black wire body instead of peacock hurl.  I was just about ready to throw in the towel, but I just could not live with the fact that I would return home without landing a single fish.  The tree tangled hole where I lost big boy the day before was open to fish.  With a single last cast something magical happened.  My indicator sank and I set the hook.  Great, I thought to myself... I must have snagged the tree.  The line remained tight for a moment and it began fighting back.  The fight was on, and this rainbow was a hefty 17-18" fish.  Not quite as large the rainbow from the day before, but I will take it! This fish was easier to manage out of the tree tangles and luckily I had a net that day.  Erika helped net the fish before it ran back into the maze of branches, and finally I felt fulfilled.  The fishing gods must have played a cruel joke on my for this trip.  What are the odds of catching and landing a fish like this on the very last cast before flying back home?  Maybe I have picked on too many dinks back home and this was my punishment.  Oh well, it was a fun trip and it is always rewarding to be in good company with Bill and my patient and loving girl.  She did remarkably well, and I am proud of her progression in fly fishing.  

It was hard to leave the beautiful blue water of Lake Tahoe.