Cutthroat Lake Report: Three Best Things Not Fish

I did get over to Cutthroat Lake the other day. It was windy, and stayed windy. I took a long circuit around the lake trolling several gaudy flies deep, shallow, and deeper. I even threw a muddler up against a formerly productive stretch of shoreline. Caught nothing, saw nothing.

The three best things to come out of the trip were 1. Some much-needed exercise; 2. Seeing and hearing a high string of Sandhill cranes; and 3. Having a handful of swallows swoop around me for a short time, surely one of the last contingents of migrators, and the last sighting of swallows until Spring returns.

Taking Leave

One morning last week I pulled over as I was passing Bass Lake and stood for awhile remembering. I don't fish this lake much anymore, but I've spent many happy hours here in years past with Jeremiah and his friends. It was their favorite swimming and fishing hole, and the memories are good. I count myself lucky to be able to drive past it several times a week, seeing the beauties of every season of the changing year reflected in its surface.

There's another lake I won't see again until Spring, so early this week I drove through the glowing orchards up to Cutthroat Lake. My purpose was to take my leave for another season. I don't fish this lake as often as I should, but when I do go there it's a special treat, especially when its possibilities become reality and I behold one of its glorious Cutthroats in my net.

When I arrived it was just me and the other turkeys.

I was hoping for some late season dry fly action, but that was not to be. So I trolled in between prospecting with a muddler. I saw a fish as it swam under the float tube, and I saw a few rises. I even got a nibble once--just a couple of pecks.

My guess is that fish was saying goodbye to me as I was saying goodbye to the lake--with a "better luck next time" thrown in for good measure. I appreciate it, and I'll be back to take up the challenge again next Spring.

Cutthroat Lake Report: Another Magical Time in Another Magical Place

I was up near Cutthroat Lake the other day, so I stopped by, took the rod out of the truck, and fished from the bank for awhile. The lake was calm, and I saw a cruising fish, but it was already too far past me for a cast. Then, a few minutes later, it came back. I had just cast out a light colored streamer, so I stripped it in quick and got it in front of the fish--and it came over and took it. I was feeling pretty proud of myself when it turned on the jets and ran right off the hook.

Time to get back to Cutthroat Lake and give it a real try.

On the way up, this doe and her fawn crossed the road in front of me, then stopped. I stopped too and looked over where they had come out of the trees and saw this fawn's twin still waiting to cross. I got out of its way and headed on to the lake.

It was another hot August day. I started with the muddler I still had on and worked over to the east shore. There I looped on a sinking tip, tied a red Matuka streamer on the tippet, and started to troll along the drop off.

The line slowly tightened on my finger and put the brakes on the float tube. Really, I thought for a second that I had snagged something. Sometimes that's a metaphor, and sometimes it's a fact. I set the hook hard and finally felt life at the end of the line. This big hen, heavy with eggs, did a lot of head shaking, and took one long deep run, but mostly it was like reeling in a bag of cement. But she sure was pretty.

As she swam away she reminded me, with her big belly, of a marine iguana.

As I was getting reorganized I managed to get the matuka hooked to my wading boot where I couldn't reach it, so I broke it off and tied on a woolly bugger. I proceeded to troll around the lake, and tried two or three different flies.

It was a lovely time out on the water.

I didn't find any more fish, but I found solitude, beauty, and peace.

I got back to the truck as the evening was deepening into dusk. I wasn't ready to go yet. I was hoping for an evening rise. I've been there on other August evenings when the wind dies, the lake becomes like a mirror, and one or two, then three and more big fish begin sipping bugs off the top. Now I saw some caddis fluttering around, and callibaetis began to dance over the water.

I took off the sink tip and tied on a little caddis dry. I drifted around and waited to see what would happen. The callibaetis were thick. Dragonflies, and, later, many, many bats, sliced and diced their way through them. And the sky put on a show.

But the wind didn't die. And the fish didn't come up. But when I finally kicked over to the takeout I wasn't disappointed in the least. And when the big old moon rose up over the mountain it just confirmed what I already knew: it had been another magical time in another magical place.

Cutthroat Lake Preview

We've had a cool spell. Nights have been freezing and days a little raw. Wind has been whipping to make it a little more uncomfortable. But it looks like we're turning the corner, maybe for good. Rumor has it we'll hit the 90's this weekend. OK by me.

Thursday wasn't too bad weather wise. Still a bit cool, with a gusty breeze. I had work to do, but I was up near Cutthroat Lake, so I stopped by to see how things looked. Looked pretty good, with that unearthly blue that out-blued the sky.

I had my rod and vest in the truck so I took about an hour and threw woolly buggers from the bank. The water was milky, so I couldn't see any fish cruising by like I usually do. But they let me know they were there. Two times fish came up nearby to suck in a midge.

Still, I enjoyed my lake break. And I actually got two pulls. I'll take that. It's a start.

Next time it will be hot, and I'll have the tube, and we'll get down to business.

Cutthroat Lake Report: Trout?

You have some time to fish, but you need to go into town for some gas. That puts you five miles farther away from Trout Lake, and five miles closer to Cutthroat Lake. So, being the cheap bastard you are, you decide to save gas and go to Cutthroat Lake.

It's about time to check it out, anyway. You've had some good days in August during damsel time, and some wonderful evenings when the big fish were in the shallows hitting hoppers. You have that new damsel tie that the fish shouldn't be able to resist, and a couple of muddlers that have been surefire at Trout Lake.

When you get to the water's edge there are three or four swirls and boils right at your feet. That gets you all excited--you've seen big fish cruising by right there before--but then you realize they were made by turtles. There are always turtles "rising" here, but never so many paddling around in a gang. Must all be teenagers out of the same hatch.

But you're still hopeful. So you give it your best shot until dark. You work the shoreline, you work the open water, you troll all over the place. You throw your damsel and your muddlers. You troll in the sun and in the shade. You troll in the afternoon and at dusk. You troll flies that have actually caught fish right here in this lake. You troll right through a heavy Callibaetis hatch with a fly that has actually caught fish right here in this lake. Nothing. You only see two splashy rises--far, far away--the whole time.

Are you sure these fish are trout?

So was it worth the gas? Yep...

"Always leave them wanting more," they say. I'll be back.