As temps climb into triple digits I’m reminded that I’m only three guides down a fly rod connecting me to a long stringer of trout fishermen on both sides of my family. So, inspired by nothing more obvious than a need to cool beside fish filled snow melt, I drove up to my natal stream, the East Fork of the
I may be an East Fork bigot. I learned how to fish on its banks and stand firmly embraced by its cold waters. But more importantly, even if I’ve only caught and released a brace of small rainbow “shakers,” it’s never let me down.
And so it came to be, that sweltering in 100 degree heat by the East Fork’s side I carefully stashed my rod, reel and wallet in a cache on the side of a mountain and waded into a small pool, and took a brisk float down stream.
Bobbing down the East Fork is something I’ve done since childhood. Even when air temps hit 100 in its oak-scented canyon floor; the water is cold enough to support resident trout populations and to remind you that its source is snow melt, high up on
I can reconnect with this
The area I most often fish on the East Fork is about four miles upstream of the trail head at the ranger station. However after failing to get any trout to rise to either of my most trusted flies;--a #16 midge and a tinier #20 nymph—I headed back down to my Kia Hamster van in the lot, thinking I’d try one more spot before I returned home.
One of my favorite “not so secret” spots on the
The fish played me and headed down stream. Wadding down the edge of the current I watched my line briefly vanish in front of small jagged rocks. I eased my rod tip up, to force the fish back into the current. I saw the fish for an instant, right before it dislodged my fly.
My creel was empty so I hiked back up the path to my car.
Fishing the East Fork, It’s a spiritual thing. It’s not a trip to the fish mongers. Sometimes you get fish. Sometimes the fish laugh at you.,—Jim Forbes on 07/18/2010/