Trout Lake Report: The Eerie Smiling Trout

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On a Tuesday Bonus Trip: Sweet smelling blossoms cover the hill sides; it's all trolling, all the time; the wind tries to drown me, and will not quit; two willing trout take subsurface flies; and the eerie Smiling Trout takes a waking Muddler on top. He's just embarrassed.

Trout Lake Report: Full

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The south end campground was deserted when I rolled in Monday afternoon. I gladly launched there. The lake is higher than I can remember; I've never launched on the grass before.

The day was warm but mostly cloudy, and a few brief showers of rain spattered across the water.

There were just enough fish coming up just often enough to keep you from thinking they had all raptured on Saturday. But the fishing was slow. I trolled, usually a sure-fire method, trying this new tie, and several others, but I caught nary a fish by trolling on this trip.

The trolling took me along a lot of shoreline, though, and it's full of birds.

Yellow warblers abound, as well as several other warblers. And I was delighted to see this pair of Western Tanagers. The female can be seen to the right of the male. The photo quality is poor, but the bird quality is superior.

I bobber fished for awhile, using this new tie--and several others--but I caught nary a fish by bobber fishing on this trip.

The sun broke through the clouds now and again, and the breeze settled down. It seemed that conditions would be conducive to a hatch and an evening rise of trout.

The midges had been coming off all the time I was there, and I saw one or two hapless Callibaetis drifting along. There were more trout coming up as the mountain's shadow slid over the lake, but they were still sparse. I tied on a Callibaetis dry and cast to rises. It took some hunting, but I finally hit the right spot at the right time.

While I had been fishing a car had pulled into the campground and a man set up camp, pumped up his boat with a shrieking electric pump, and launched. That was OK. He was there to witness my first catch of the day.           

But then, as if on cue, more rigs began pulling in, until there was once again a little town on the south end.

I drifted north, both for a little distance, and--let's be real--to find a place to pee. One thing about a full campground, it affords little privacy for such things, and one doesn't want to scare the women and children. And one thing about a full lake, it reduces to practically nothing the places where you can pull into the shallows and stand up to do your business.

Not so good when you are also full.

Happily, I found what may be the only place left to pee in the whole south end, and the only family I disturbed was a goose family. Much relieved, I resumed fishing.

Meanwhile, a couple had launched their big-ass drift boat and were working the bank like it was the Madison or something. That's OK. At least they were there to see my second catch.

I had changed flies earlier after netting what I thought would be the fish of the day. It turned out to be a little guy who had hit the moving fly with such abandon that he foul hooked himself. That fly was soaked so I had tied on a parachute Callibaetis.

I was out in mid-lake giving the Queen Mary room to pass, and flipped out the fly and got an immediate hit. Still small, but welcome. 

The lake was beautifully calm, but the hoped-for evening rise never really came off.

I trolled my way back to the grassy take out, taking the long way home, listening to bird song and frog chorus, and watching the last of the light fade from the sky. I was full again, but this time with gratitude for this wonderful lake in the wonderful month of May.

The First Day...

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The first day of the rest of this old world's life was a good one. I puttered at the vise for awhile this afternoon, thinking of those Trout Lake trout.

I'm glad I'm still here, that the beautiful world and its beautiful trout are still here, and that there are still many good days of fishing ahead.

Trout Lake Report: To Simply Fish

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After my work was done on Friday afternoon (I mowed the lawn), I was hot and tired. So I geared up the truck and drove up to the lake. It was lovely there, cool and breezy. I found the lake full to the brim, so I could get to the water sooner.

I climbed aboard the float tube, loosened the backrest straps a bit, leaned back, and began very slowly trolling a little green nymph. The swallows were arcing and pirouetting across the sky and millions of frogs were trilling. The scent of woodsmoke wafted across the water.

The line trembled under my finger and a fish was on. It was strong and fast, and refused to give up its freedom without a struggle.

I had come to catch a fish, but now that I had accomplished that I was free to simply fish. I trolled for awhile, then I watched an indicator out of the corner of my eye while watching the light of the setting sun flash in and out of the clouds and slip in and out of the hollows of the mountainside.

I dug deep into my fly boxes and tried flies that I hadn't used in ages, or that I forgot I had, or that had never been in the water.

When a few fish began rising I floated some flies over them and waited to see where they would come up next.

An old man and his dog drifted in and out of my vision, seeming a part of the lake. His oars plashed quietly now and then, the only sound he or the dog made.

They glided in to their campsite, and a little later a fire flickered up and winked out of the trees. I turned toward shore and home.

River's Up

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It's an old story by now almost everywhere.

This is upstream just outside of town.

And this is at the bridge. There is no path down to the water; the water has come clear up to the top of the path.

The island has been three quarters covered. All of the gravel bars I fish around are under ten feet of water.

And of course there is no run under the bridge. That pylon is usually right at the river's edge, and the run swirls around it on its far side.

There has been no flooding around here so far. But maybe all of us could take a lesson from the swallows about where to build our homes.

End of the World Imminent?

Speaking of the end of the world, I understand that will happen tomorrow.

All I can see on the forecast is a chance of rain. It's warm and sunny today.

So here's my question: Should I mow the lawn today, or not?

Meteor?

Did anyone else see a spectacular meteor over the Pacific Northwest last night? This photo isn't of last night's event, but it gives a good idea of what I saw.

It was after midnight, but, not being of a scientific bent, I failed to note the exact time.

What I saw was a fireball to the north, as big as the brightest star, moving slowly almost parallel with the ground, from west to east. The trail shimmered. Then the fireball broke into three pieces, and the trail flared. Two pieces slowly faded out and the third piece traveled along a good deal farther before finally flaring out with a twinkle.

The most amazing meteor I've ever seen. It actually gave me an adrenaline rush.

I almost thought the world was coming to an end.

You'll Always Be the Early Cher To Me

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Today is Cher's birthday. She turns 65.

So why would I care?

Well, when I was a randy sixteen-year-old, and she was a gorgeous nineteen-year-old, I was in love with her. There, I've said it.

It's hard to find words to describe what powerful effect that long hair and those dark eyes had in the mid-Sixties, but they worked their magic on me.

I never could understand what she saw in Sonny.

For awhile after that early Cher disappeared I forsook her. Then Moonstruck came out. I thought she was great in that. I was in love all over again.

But I never could understand what she saw in Nicholas Cage.

Now wait. Before you complain that this has nothing to do with fishing, consider the Cher-nobyl Ant.

Such flamboyance and gaucherie is right in line with the later Cher's fashion sense.

And, for that matter, I'll bet if you dressed a #2 salmon hook the way Cher is dressed in the above photo, you'd catch Steelhead with it.

There's an even more direct link between Cher and fishing. Did you know that there's a River Cher in the Loire Valley of France? Yeah, I know. Who doesn't?

It's a good-looking piece of water.

It's famous as the location of the Chateau Chennonceaux, which completely spans the river. There is a long gallery with many windows overlooking the flow.

My first thought was that the original builder, way back in the 1400's, was a fisherman who wanted to sit at home and fish out of the windows.

Why else would you build a house that spans a river?

I was disappointed to discover that wasn't the case. It was the home of a series of royal wives and mistresses who wanted only to dress up and have lavish parties there.

Sort of like the later Cher, maybe.

But the River Cher is a trib of the River Loire, and this is a photo of someone actually fishing in the Loire.

He says on his blog that he caught "skimmers," bream, and a roach, but what he really wanted was a chub.

Sort of like the later Cher, maybe... No, I won't go there.

Happy Birthday, Cher. You'll always be the early Cher to me.