In the Fire Zone: It Won't Be Long Now

My work Thursday morning took me halfway up the northern route into Trout Lake. So after I was finished I decided to keep going and see how far I could get toward the lake. Turned out I could get all the way in. I drove past a Road Closed sign to do it, but there were no firefighting or National Guard personnel to turn me away. A single copter was working the ridge to the east. I could see streamers of smoke on the ridge to the west, too. As I surmised, lots of hot spots to mop up.

The fire had burned on both sides of the lake, though the fire on the east side had not made it all the way around. Looks like the fire to the west did. The north campground made it through untouched. The south campground had the fire burn right up to its edge before it stopped. I went to the water's edge at the channel. I didn't see rises, but I know they're in there.

I walked down to the water's edge on the south lake, too. On the pond the fire had burned right down to the waterline. It got pretty close all along the west side of the south lake.

I debated whether to fish or not. I decided to wait a little longer. I'm not sure I or the fish could really concentrate on fishing while the lake is still an active--and officially closed--fire zone. And I wanted to keep going, so I headed down the road toward Fish Lake. The fire had come up both sides of the road. Most of the burn area was cold, but not all.

I got to Fish Lake. When I was there last the fire was on the other side of the lake. Since then it had come around and burned over the place where I had parked and taken photos. I stopped there and took some more photos.

I drove up out of the valley, and out of the closed area. My usual southern route home was open. There were plenty of burned over areas along the way. It looked, though, like the fire had been contained on the ridges and hills, and I was happy to see that all the homes I could see from the road at least had been spared.

I pulled off on a side road and drove up to get this panoramic view of the Okanogan valley. All of what you can see from here has been touched by fire. And a wisp of smoke from the still-active North Star/Tunk Block fire is visible way over on the ridge line to the left center of these photos.

It was a sobering trip, but also an encouraging one. Looks like the war is all but over. People are back in their homes for the most part all over the area, and while firefighters still have work to do, it's mostly mop up.

It won't be long now.

Trout Lake Flashback: Good To Be Back

No, I haven't been back to Trout Lake yet. This is a flashback to a time before the fires.

Another bulletin went out today. The road all the way through the Trout Lake valley is still closed. Previous reports were that Trout Lake became the last line of defense in a successful effort to stop the fire. But there must be hot spots on the ridges to the east and west to justify the continued road closure for "fire suppression efforts." And a spate of recent windy days has likely played hell with those efforts.

So I still can't get in to see what the lake looks like, and to look for rises that will assure me that it will take more than a wildfire to destroy a prime fishery.

I've been weighing other fishing options, and tomorrow I'll probably exercise one of them and launch the tube at Cutthroat Lake. But my heart will still be at Trout Lake, and it won't feel like "normal" again until I'm once again bobbing on her surface.

Until then, I'm enjoying memories of some Trout Lake trips I made before the fires exploded. Here's a trip from August 2nd.

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I had gotten back from the Henry's Fork on Wednesday night, and here it was Sunday already, and I still hadn't been back to Trout Lake. So I loaded up the tube and headed to the lake for an evening of stillwater goodness.

The sky was streaked with smoke from the distant fires around Chelan that had broken out two weeks before on the day I left for the Henry's. But the smoke was high in the atmosphere, and the evening was hot and calm. Perfect.

I geared up at the channel and hauled the tube to the water. That's when I finally realized the flaw in my plan. I had loaded the truck with rod, reel, vest, tube, net, waders, and wading boots. But I had left the flippers in the garage.

Well, time to do what we do at the Henry's Fork: wade. I loaded the tube back in the truck, drove a hundred yards up to an access at the north end of the channel, and waded in.

The lake is low, but I was surprised at how deep it still was around the weed beds. I waded in over my belly button where I found I could easily drop a fly into nearby pocket water among the weed mats. There were some fish in there, too.

As the evening progressed, fish began rising hungrily out beyond the weeds. I maneuvered around, and waded out a little deeper to where I could shoot a long line out just past the weeds.

I got some hits and missed them, and fish rose all around the fly, and then finally a fish rose right at the weedy margin just as I was casting, and I dropped the fly in his rise ring, and he was still there and still hungry. He smacked it. I had to drag him through the weeds, but I was able to get him in the net. A pretty nice fish. He made me feel like I was truly back at Trout Lake.

I played tag with the fish for awhile longer as the sunset flamed in the high smoke, then flickered out.

It was good to be back.

Zennnnnnnnnnnnn....

In case you still think you are the center of the universe.....

Here is Earth from 900 million miles away, from the vantage point of the rings of Saturn.

Image via the Cassini spacecraft, which has been orbiting Saturn since 2004.

This image was acquired by Cassini on July 19, 2013. From Earthsky.

SCALE, No. 18

Best of both worlds. I remember fondly those rooster tails and flatfish when I was a kid in Indiana.... Get it HERE.

So Long, August: "August" by George Bilgere

Smoke over Brookie Lake, Late August, 2015

Just when you'd begun to feel

You could rely on the summer,

That each morning would deliver

The same mourning dove singing

From his station on the phone pole,

The same smell of bacon frying 

Somewhere in the neighborhood,

The same sun burning off

The coastal fog by noon,

When you could reward yourself

For a good morning's work

With lunch at the same little seaside cafe

With its shaded deck and iced tea,

The day's routine finally down

Like an old song with minor variations,

There comes that morning when the light

Tilts ever so slightly on its track,

A cool gust out of nowhere

Whirlwinds a litter of dead grass

Across the sidewalk, the swimsuits

Are piled on the sale table,

And the back of your hand,

Which you thought you knew,

Has begun to look like an old leaf.

Or the back of someone else's hand.

"August" by George Bilgere, from The Good Kiss. © Akron, 2002.