Three East Fork Fishing Tips--It's Spiritual, not "Limit Fishing."
The East Fork of the San Gabriel River really is comfort food for my middle-aged native Californian soul. It doesn’t matter what kind of a week I’ve had, or whether or not all my tasks have been completed. By the time I hit the beginning of the fair curve trail I take up the East Fork canyon, my mind is at ease, my blood pressure drops and I let myself become engaged by the smells of the canyon, the gentle forceful noise of the East Fork and the angry screes of mocking bird and scrub jays who really dislike my occasional invasion of their space.
I fish (or don’t fish) sections of the east fork based on field observations. In fact, I have q fairly Huck Finn attitude about fishing the East Fork. There are flies I know will work year-round (caddis and nymph patterns tied on small hooks work well, as do May flies and coachmen tied on hooks as big as number 16’s) but I always carry bait of some sort in my fanny pack.
I’m not a “meat” fisherman, I like getting my line wet because it’s what I’ve done on this stretch of the San Gabriel since before I was a teenager. I’ve had as many “skunked” days as I’ve had days where I have netted plump 12 and 13-inch natives or lost stockers that have finned their way upstream to where I like to fish. It’s not about the fish, it’s about the East Fork, which is one of the most primitive fishing streams you’ll find in Southern California.
Over the years I’ve learned that if you want a “productive” fishing trip on the East Fork the one sound you want to listen for is silence. I always make exploratory casts into my favorite rills and pockets (which begin about two miles from the forest service gate on the left side of the river facing up stream) well back from the stream and if at all possible from within the shadows of streamside vegetation. I accept that my roll casts will often get snagged and that I’ll break a tippet or two and lose some flies. But the experience of having a native rainbow suck a fly down and tail dance across the river gives me the energy I need to hike driskly up to the stone dam and eventually on up to the Bridge to No Where.
Two other East Fork tricks that work well for me include:
Looking for sections of the stream that flare out and support patches of aquatic vegetation. I roll cost up stream of those and let my fly drift down along their edges. That always seems good for one or two strikes, which is enough for me to keep casting for a while.
Anyone fishing the East Fork should not overlook running a wet fly, (or god forbid a salmon egg or piece of worm) up a section of undercut bank. Pay close attention to undercut banks with pea gravel on the streambed. Spring and fall are good times to fish undercut banks and the biggest native rainbow hens I’ve ever taken have come from such natural structures downstream from Swan Rock, and upstream from the confluence of the Iron Fork with the East Fork.
The big pool on the Iron Fork is one of my favorite places to get a line wet on the entire East Fork drainage. From the confluence with the East Fork, walk upstream on the Iron Fork until you come to a large smooth granite boulder that screams out for you to slide down its face and immerse yourself in very cold water. Resist the temptation and instead try short casts into the darkest sections of that pool with a small coachmen, caddis or nymph flies. You might be surprised at what charges out of the shadows. The Iron Fork pool is where I’ve taken my lifetime “best” native rainbow—a 3.5 pounder I cooked for dinner while on a three-day hike up the canyon.
Anything I catch upstream from Swan Rock today gets gently returned in the hopes I might catch it two pounds heavier and a year later.
I don’t just love the East Fork because it’s my natal stream. I also love it because it reminds me of this history of Southern California. You don’t have to venture very far from streamside to find evidence and artifacts from the gold and silver mining boom that hit the San Gabriels in the 19th Century through the great depression. Climb over the canyon walls and you’ll find that what looks like game trails but are actually old Indian trading routes. And alongside those routes you’ll sometimes find stone cairns left by natives unknown coming down the canyon from the desert to trade.
I like to think that those cairns were placed there to give thanks. And I’m not beyond searching around for a decorative rock to add to the pile. Besides, I think absent the tribes who worshipped them, those cairns are for lonesome gods, and I don’t mind them knowing that I’m thankful for the clear cold running East Fork, its occasional trout, the infrequent artifact and a chance to renew my faith in nature, the bright smell of mint in a cool streamside pocket, and the rich earth as I hump back to my car on a hot summer day, two fine fish in my creel, and another bagful of East Fork memories safely locked away—Jim Forbes, from Azusa, CA, on 08/26/2007.
Comments