Skyler
07-10-2012, 12:24 PM
There comes a point in every man's life when he know he needs to just shut up and go to work. There also comes a time when he has a lapse in his judgement, and an adventure ensues. After three years without a vacation, I was about due for a lapse. So my wife, my brother and I coordinated our time off and began planning a trip up to the high sierras about a month ago, which as most of you know, involves more anticipation than a stint on death row. The game plan was simple; spend two days in the high country fly fishing for wild goldens, then head up to Bishop and catch some 'bows and browns. The exectution, however, was not quite as simple. Friday came and I began packing the truck. Once my brother arrived and began loading his stuff as well, it was apparent that horsepower was not on option on this trip. The entire cargo area was full, as was the roof rack, with four passengers as well. I could not even see out the back window. I doubt fifth gear will be of much use:
http://s9.postimage.org/alig2d9y7/IMG534.jpg
So we headed up the Cajon pass at a crawl, getting flipped off by truckers who were blowing by us with oversized loads. There were rabbits running along side us and laughing. The whole time, I was dreading the truly steep climb...Straight up the Sierras to 8500 feet. But after several hours, and lots of downshifting, we somehow arrived at our camp, despite gravity's best efforts:
Camp:
http://s9.postimage.org/ntmf91wv3/IMG510.jpg
Armand:
http://s9.postimage.org/65zkdqgm7/IMG508.jpg
Me:
http://s9.postimage.org/9tfbjsotb/IMG509.jpg
Our neighbor:
http://s9.postimage.org/inb9y0i3j/IMG511.jpg
My bro and I finished setting up camp and cracked a beer or ten, then headed down to the meadow to fish a small brook. The water was low, but we found a few fish willing to play. My brother caught his first Golden Trout on an Adams dry pattern. I think we caught about 5 each:
http://s9.postimage.org/d1outyhen/IMG512.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/xtlx2oxi7/IMG514.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/h4p2kiqan/IMG515.jpg
After an hour or so we headed back to camp and started a fire to cook dinner with. Using a small hatchet to chop fire wood is akin to hunting cape buffalo with a BB gun:
http://s9.postimage.org/hm6fv5bq7/IMG533.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/a5b0l5qcf/IMG516.jpg
We drank about a twelve pack each and finished a bottle of rum, then proceeded to stumble around camp and throw crap in the fire for awhile. For those who are not familiar with the effects of fire on the inebriated, satellite TV ain't got nothin' on a five pound cluster of pine needles soaked in lighter fluid. After we realized it was midnight, we reluctantly retired for the night, and realized that it was a bit colder than expected (which was expected).
Next day we woke up shivering with a lovely hangover. But that would not keep us from completing our mission objectives. We made some breakfast, partook in a bit of dog hair, and hopped in the truck. After ten minutes, we arrived at our primary destination, a slow meandering creek riddled with beaver dams and deep slow-moving runs:
http://s9.postimage.org/54v6u8r6n/IMG530.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/p21437a1r/IMG531.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/hh2olh4f3/IMG532.jpg
This area was beyond wide open. Within half an hour we had caught and released at least 20 fish each on various dry flies. I actually got bored of dries and tied a beadhead prince a foot below a foam hopper pattern. This invoked a suicidal reaction in the fish, and I couldn't even hit the surface without three fish leaping out of the water to fight over the nymph. I managed to throw a nice manly backcast right as a 6" fish grabbed the nymph, which of course catapulted the fish through the air, where it conveniently came unhooked at the apex of the backcast, accelerating and landing a good 40 yards behind me. I was able to track the fish by the wild thrashing sound coming from the bushes. Poor bastard. I got him back in the water, but I doubt he'll make it. At least he got to experience space travel before passing on. We continued to shoot fish in a barrel for a few hours until we were truly tired of catching. We headed back to camp, taking a 20 mile detour to pick up some supplies (read as "more booze"). Back at camp we recollected the ridiculousness of the day's fishing, bumped some music, and proceeded to get thoroughly hammered again.
http://s9.postimage.org/5ahbmvs0v/IMG517.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/5i9jx4sdb/IMG518.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/8wwbr0d5r/IMG519.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/rpcs8byxr/IMG520.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/q03p09j8f/IMG523.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/ove88mm5b/IMG524.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/b34eqqkrj/IMG526.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/rgoe9w0wv/IMG527.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/3uss1g80v/IMG528.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/u8c9e8otb/IMG529.jpg
The next morning we packed it up and headed down the mountain to begin our trip to Bishop. For some reason, it seemed we actually had MORE stuff than we started with. Thus began an epic game of Tetris (Jenga on the roof rack), trying to fit various items into various crevices. After the geometry seminar, we still had a large amount of trash that we had no room for. So my brother rode the whole way down the mountain with a 50 gallon trash bag on his lap, ha ha ha. I called him Oscar the Grouch. What a good sport.
After another several hour drive in fourth gear, we arrived in Bishop. We attempted to fish Bishop creek by Kmart for a few minutes before the girls started whining. So we headed to our next camp, right on the Owens:
http://s9.postimage.org/rullf4ckf/IMG545.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/iwn3cjfz3/IMG540.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/m5wx59eov/IMG539.jpg
The current was insane, as expected, and the cover did not allow for fly casting, which is why we planned ahead and brought spinning gear. So we went to work with our trusty Panther Martins. My brother and I fished for an hour or so. I caught two browns and a rainbow, all around 12". My brother caught a massive skunk. I think he was having trouble reading the current. You literally had to cast upstream in a seam and burn the spinner in at full speed just to get the blade to spin. A 30 yard cast took a nanosecond to retreive. We cooked up some chili and hot dogs, made a massive fire involving brush, driftwood, plywood, and empty twelve packs, as well as a large dog bone that seemed to burn forever, and of course drank until we were out of beer. We then called it a night.
http://s9.postimage.org/d1pbdbycf/IMG536.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/3kzi6pehr/IMG535.jpg
http://s14.postimage.org/kjb0spgv5/IMG436.jpg
Next morning I woke up early to get the jump on the browns. Luckily I awoke before I died of blood loss. A squadron of 30 genetically engineered mosquitos were sucking on every artery I own. How the heck did these bastards get in? I was stumped until I saw one land on the mesh, stick his proboscis and two front legs through, and pull himself through to the other side! Who the hell taught them how to do that? You'll be hearing from my lawyer.
I managed several more nice browns before the sun came up, then the bite shut down:
http://s9.postimage.org/om7xalbj3/IMG542.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/6nd9ddajj/IMG543.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/g1nsawg4f/IMG544.jpg
I headed back to camp as everybody else was just waking up. I was advised of a caper that had transpired the previous night. Apparently a raccoon had burgled a bag of chocolate chip cookies and some graham crackers. He also attempted to eat from a bowl of wasabi peas, which was indicated by the giant trail of drool and tears leading away from them.
My brother attempted a few casts, but it was for naught. We decided that we needed to do the Bucket Brigade tribute, so we headed up to PVR in the now unladen truck:
http://s9.postimage.org/5iw2agucf/IMG547.jpg
It was time to soak some powerbait. This turned out to work, as it often does, and after an hour we had each caught two rainbows. For lack of a bucket, we had to improvise:
http://s9.postimage.org/3yn212ufz/IMG546.jpg
We then packed up our camp and headed back down 395, worn out, sun burned, bit up, and filthier than any transient I've ever seen. Luckily for me, I still had another six days off...http://fishingnetwork.net/forum4/showthread.php?65641-Tactical-carp-assault-Two-phase-BBL-assasination-plot
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Capt. Skyler "5 rods" McConahy
Brigadier General
BUCKET BRIGADE REPRESENT!!!
http://s13.postimage.org/h741ezw3n/BUCKET.png
www.bucketbrigadier.com (http://www.bucketbrigadier.com/)
Chasing stocking trux and bustin capz. That's how we roll!
http://fishingnetwork.net/forum4/group.php?groupid=32
http://s9.postimage.org/alig2d9y7/IMG534.jpg
So we headed up the Cajon pass at a crawl, getting flipped off by truckers who were blowing by us with oversized loads. There were rabbits running along side us and laughing. The whole time, I was dreading the truly steep climb...Straight up the Sierras to 8500 feet. But after several hours, and lots of downshifting, we somehow arrived at our camp, despite gravity's best efforts:
Camp:
http://s9.postimage.org/ntmf91wv3/IMG510.jpg
Armand:
http://s9.postimage.org/65zkdqgm7/IMG508.jpg
Me:
http://s9.postimage.org/9tfbjsotb/IMG509.jpg
Our neighbor:
http://s9.postimage.org/inb9y0i3j/IMG511.jpg
My bro and I finished setting up camp and cracked a beer or ten, then headed down to the meadow to fish a small brook. The water was low, but we found a few fish willing to play. My brother caught his first Golden Trout on an Adams dry pattern. I think we caught about 5 each:
http://s9.postimage.org/d1outyhen/IMG512.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/xtlx2oxi7/IMG514.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/h4p2kiqan/IMG515.jpg
After an hour or so we headed back to camp and started a fire to cook dinner with. Using a small hatchet to chop fire wood is akin to hunting cape buffalo with a BB gun:
http://s9.postimage.org/hm6fv5bq7/IMG533.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/a5b0l5qcf/IMG516.jpg
We drank about a twelve pack each and finished a bottle of rum, then proceeded to stumble around camp and throw crap in the fire for awhile. For those who are not familiar with the effects of fire on the inebriated, satellite TV ain't got nothin' on a five pound cluster of pine needles soaked in lighter fluid. After we realized it was midnight, we reluctantly retired for the night, and realized that it was a bit colder than expected (which was expected).
Next day we woke up shivering with a lovely hangover. But that would not keep us from completing our mission objectives. We made some breakfast, partook in a bit of dog hair, and hopped in the truck. After ten minutes, we arrived at our primary destination, a slow meandering creek riddled with beaver dams and deep slow-moving runs:
http://s9.postimage.org/54v6u8r6n/IMG530.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/p21437a1r/IMG531.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/hh2olh4f3/IMG532.jpg
This area was beyond wide open. Within half an hour we had caught and released at least 20 fish each on various dry flies. I actually got bored of dries and tied a beadhead prince a foot below a foam hopper pattern. This invoked a suicidal reaction in the fish, and I couldn't even hit the surface without three fish leaping out of the water to fight over the nymph. I managed to throw a nice manly backcast right as a 6" fish grabbed the nymph, which of course catapulted the fish through the air, where it conveniently came unhooked at the apex of the backcast, accelerating and landing a good 40 yards behind me. I was able to track the fish by the wild thrashing sound coming from the bushes. Poor bastard. I got him back in the water, but I doubt he'll make it. At least he got to experience space travel before passing on. We continued to shoot fish in a barrel for a few hours until we were truly tired of catching. We headed back to camp, taking a 20 mile detour to pick up some supplies (read as "more booze"). Back at camp we recollected the ridiculousness of the day's fishing, bumped some music, and proceeded to get thoroughly hammered again.
http://s9.postimage.org/5ahbmvs0v/IMG517.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/5i9jx4sdb/IMG518.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/8wwbr0d5r/IMG519.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/rpcs8byxr/IMG520.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/q03p09j8f/IMG523.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/ove88mm5b/IMG524.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/b34eqqkrj/IMG526.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/rgoe9w0wv/IMG527.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/3uss1g80v/IMG528.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/u8c9e8otb/IMG529.jpg
The next morning we packed it up and headed down the mountain to begin our trip to Bishop. For some reason, it seemed we actually had MORE stuff than we started with. Thus began an epic game of Tetris (Jenga on the roof rack), trying to fit various items into various crevices. After the geometry seminar, we still had a large amount of trash that we had no room for. So my brother rode the whole way down the mountain with a 50 gallon trash bag on his lap, ha ha ha. I called him Oscar the Grouch. What a good sport.
After another several hour drive in fourth gear, we arrived in Bishop. We attempted to fish Bishop creek by Kmart for a few minutes before the girls started whining. So we headed to our next camp, right on the Owens:
http://s9.postimage.org/rullf4ckf/IMG545.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/iwn3cjfz3/IMG540.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/m5wx59eov/IMG539.jpg
The current was insane, as expected, and the cover did not allow for fly casting, which is why we planned ahead and brought spinning gear. So we went to work with our trusty Panther Martins. My brother and I fished for an hour or so. I caught two browns and a rainbow, all around 12". My brother caught a massive skunk. I think he was having trouble reading the current. You literally had to cast upstream in a seam and burn the spinner in at full speed just to get the blade to spin. A 30 yard cast took a nanosecond to retreive. We cooked up some chili and hot dogs, made a massive fire involving brush, driftwood, plywood, and empty twelve packs, as well as a large dog bone that seemed to burn forever, and of course drank until we were out of beer. We then called it a night.
http://s9.postimage.org/d1pbdbycf/IMG536.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/3kzi6pehr/IMG535.jpg
http://s14.postimage.org/kjb0spgv5/IMG436.jpg
Next morning I woke up early to get the jump on the browns. Luckily I awoke before I died of blood loss. A squadron of 30 genetically engineered mosquitos were sucking on every artery I own. How the heck did these bastards get in? I was stumped until I saw one land on the mesh, stick his proboscis and two front legs through, and pull himself through to the other side! Who the hell taught them how to do that? You'll be hearing from my lawyer.
I managed several more nice browns before the sun came up, then the bite shut down:
http://s9.postimage.org/om7xalbj3/IMG542.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/6nd9ddajj/IMG543.jpg
http://s9.postimage.org/g1nsawg4f/IMG544.jpg
I headed back to camp as everybody else was just waking up. I was advised of a caper that had transpired the previous night. Apparently a raccoon had burgled a bag of chocolate chip cookies and some graham crackers. He also attempted to eat from a bowl of wasabi peas, which was indicated by the giant trail of drool and tears leading away from them.
My brother attempted a few casts, but it was for naught. We decided that we needed to do the Bucket Brigade tribute, so we headed up to PVR in the now unladen truck:
http://s9.postimage.org/5iw2agucf/IMG547.jpg
It was time to soak some powerbait. This turned out to work, as it often does, and after an hour we had each caught two rainbows. For lack of a bucket, we had to improvise:
http://s9.postimage.org/3yn212ufz/IMG546.jpg
We then packed up our camp and headed back down 395, worn out, sun burned, bit up, and filthier than any transient I've ever seen. Luckily for me, I still had another six days off...http://fishingnetwork.net/forum4/showthread.php?65641-Tactical-carp-assault-Two-phase-BBL-assasination-plot
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Capt. Skyler "5 rods" McConahy
Brigadier General
BUCKET BRIGADE REPRESENT!!!
http://s13.postimage.org/h741ezw3n/BUCKET.png
www.bucketbrigadier.com (http://www.bucketbrigadier.com/)
Chasing stocking trux and bustin capz. That's how we roll!
http://fishingnetwork.net/forum4/group.php?groupid=32