ForbesOnTech

Perfect River Conditions and Willing Trout--Best East Fork Trip Ever

The combination of warm early spring sun on top of some recent rain (which translated to snow on the slopes of Mount Baldy and Iron Mountain on the San Gabriel River’s East Fork made for one of the best fishing hikes I’ve ever made on the East Fork.

            Parking at the trailhead just up from the East Fork Ranger Station on Friday, I thought I might ry to make it up to the Bridge to No Where and Fish my way back down the canyon. Alas, walking up the East Fork, my plans were derailed after I noticed that pools up and down the watershed were filled with trout. I made my first cast into a pool about two-miles up from the ranger station. I zipped my barb less #16 wooly into the cold waters of the east fork and got a hit by a 16-inch rainbow that wanted to run, jink and jive among the not yet worn smooth of this classic East Fork trout pool.  My 4x lightweight tippet lasted a whole 10 minutes before it gave out as I tried to horse the fish to within range of my net. I tied on another fly and 4X tippet,  roll-casting the rig at the top end of a small rill where I thought there might be a few ‘bows waiting for tasty bugs to come wafting down on the icy clear current.  I guessed wisely and my fly hadn’t floated more than five feet down stream before a fat rainbow grabbed it, I set the line and stepped into the water, determined I would land the bow that began jumping within one minute of my hooking it.

            I lwt the fish perform his trout acrobatics for a couple of minutes, mindful not to put too much pressure on the line, but hopeful I could maneuver it close enough to my spot on the rocks that I’d be able to net it. There was enough fight in the fish to light up my hopes that it was a native wild East Fork rainbow. Bent over with my net in my right hand and my rid and reel tucked under my left arm, the fish made one last run just as I got it near to my net. Three minutes more and Mr. Rainbow was in my net. I looked at the fish closely and noted it blunt nose and dullish pink side. Oh well, “a feisty big stocker that’s porked out over the winter is more than “OK” I thought.

            I unhooked him, stepped into a deeper part of the river and let him swim away, to tease a fisherman another day. Although I could see more rainbows as dark torpedo shapes flashing their red or green sides in the reflected morning sunlight in the deepest sections of the pool I wanted to test my luck in waters further up the canyon where a lifetime of experience and countless stories over holiday dinners has led me to believe there is a much higher concentration of wild native fish. Beside, another guy my age and his seven-year-old fishing buddy were rigging up and wading out down stream from me.

            “Any luck?” they asked.

“Yup a couple of nice feisty rainbows and the pool looks really loaded,” I said as I took my disgustingly dirty t shirt off and used it as a screen to see what kind of bugs were hiding under boulders.”

The young fisherman earned a lot of points in my book by wandering over to see what insects were trapped in my shirt “Hellgrammites and nymphs” he said correctly. I slipped my short sleeve shirt back on, said “have fun” and hit the trail up the stream.

From down river, I heard words that made me smile “Hey gramps, looks like we should be casting nymphs, woolies and hellgrammite flies.”  The kid had it exactly right. It always warms my heart and makes me smile to see another generation of kids refine their knowledge of this world-class trout stream, only 42 miles from down town Los Angeles. Even if it means that I face more competition for trout, more informed fishermen is a very good thing for this stream and it’s future as a spot where avid fishermen using inexpensive gear trick a few trout up using basic flies.

After another hour of hiking I came to what is my second favorite spot on the East Fork, a large pond formed by an old hand made stone dam near an abandoned powder house made of cemented river stone. I took a minute to climb to a place on the trail where I could see down into the pond.  After seeing six or seven trout rise to snag bugs on a late morning hatch, I walked quietly down to the eastern edge of this majestic pond and cast an old dry Coachman pattern fly on a small barb less hook about 20- feet down stream.  I was intently staring at the fly as I worked it back upstream.  I saw two fish dart from the edges of the pool towards my fly but both fish interrupted their runs and seemed to loose interest as the fly neared my rod tip on the retrieve. Four casts later and I had a hook up. The trout pressured my line and bent my rod tip. I let him take a couple of pulls from my reel, hoping that the resistance of my floating line would tire him enough for me to see the fish before I could get it into position for my net. Only 30 seconds after I fed this fish some line, I was treated to a nice native 14-incher with crimson red sides imitating a Polaris sub-launched rocket twisting over the water in a fantastic jump.  Looking at the fish in mid-ai, I saw that my fly had fallen to the water. The trout turned and for a half second before he landed, I swear that old homegrown rainbow smiled at me. And, that’s hard for a trout to do. They have very stiff lips.

My problem was two-fold with that trout. I don’t think the hook on that fly has been sharpened in ages and I should have paid more attention to the retrieve.  Never mind: I had more flies and I knew there were definitely more fish where that one came from.

  I merely tied on a new barb less hook I knew was laser sharp and made two more casts under a midday sun so bright you could see all the way to the bottom of the pool where experience has taught me that really big natives hang out, waiting to teach me new tricks.

I fished for another 90 minutes, catching and releasing three more 11- to 13-inch trout with well-defined snouts and bright colored sides.

            In a life time of fishing the East Fork, broken only by serving overseas in Viet Nam and a two-year period living in Washington, this could well have been my best trip ever up the San Gabriel River’s East Fork. The river is clear, cold and swift. The trout are rested, hungry and eager to rise to a fly.

            So,if you’re a Southern California fisherman looking for a top-flight fishing experience, load up your gear, make sure you have a valid fishing license and Forest Service Outdoor Pass, and head up the East Fork.

            It’s spiritual fishing at its best and it doesn’t require an airplane reservation, or a $500 shopping trip to an Orvis outlet.

            Besides, any place where a trout throwing a fly as it jumps and smiling at me as it does so is my kind of fishing paradise.—Jim Forbes, an old Azusa boy on 03/08/2008.   

Thoughts on Fishies and Dams Plus Video of the Glenn Canyon Big Water Release

I come from a long straight line of surveyors and other professionals who played witgh, mapped, moved or otherwise mad a living with dirt. Part of that tradition is an appreciation and fascination with structures that have been built to store water.

To this day, I consider dams examples of engineering prowess and the absolute proof of many things trigonometric. When I pass by a dam, my natural reaction is to stop and look at it’s face and glass the pools and downstream flows for the reflected flash of jumping trout or the dark torpedo shapes hovering at the base of rills or small natural falls. Driving past the lakes created by dams, I look for signs of fish on the water and try to locate confluences of fast flowing natural streams with the dam’s corresponding lake.

But as much as I love dams, the radical trout and salmon fishermen at the core of my soul recognizes that horrific impact dams have had on riparian habitats that were once clogged with spring run steelhead, fall run king salmon and year-round abundant stocks of wild trout. At MaForbes’ house in my ancestral home in Azusa is a photo of her family when she was a girl of about three. The photo was taken in the San Gabriel canyon at a spot now covered by the millions of cubic yards of earth and stone that form the San Gabriel dam. On a stringer held up by my grandfather, William Sele and his brother, Jim (who patriotically changed his name from “Otto” to Jim during the first World War) Sele are about seven 25-inch or longer king salmon, a couple of silver salmon, three bodacious steelheads and several fine messes of native rainbow trout -- a couple of which appear to have been old enough to develop proganthic, undershot, hooked jaws. It’s one of the most spectacular fishing shots I’ve ever seen and it was taken on my beloved East Fork, before it’s two dams were built.

While I enjoy looking at dams I do not like their effect on trout and salmon populations. Put a dam on a river and watch the trout disappear with the seasonal river flows.

Hey, I recognize this makes me a curmudgeonly fishermen here in the land of the great Cadillac Desert. I’m willing to live with that as long as I can still trick the occasional rainbow to hit one of my ancient scraggly flies up on the east fork of the San Gabriel River, where you can still catch wild tail-dancing trout.

But back to dams. One of the real demonstrations of man-induced power is watching a dam keeper open up big 8- or 12-foot release valves and venting thousands of tons of water in a couple of minutes. Growing up in Azusa, I’d see the valves open up at the bottom of Morris Dam every couple of years, generally during or after rainstorms. For a brief couple of days, the water release would bring the San Gabriel’s River bed back to life-- for a bit.

This week the operators of the Glenn Canyon dam on the Colorado river opened up their primary release valves in an effort to flush silt from portions of the Colorado River. The video of this is so impressive I thought I would post it tonight. So…without further ado here’s what happens when you crack open a big dam’s release valves:

here

Free the native Mojave Chub and the humpback fish!

Somewhere down stream from that dam the fishes are screaming: “Yippee” as they ride the tidal wave down to the next dam on the Colorado River.--Jim Forbes, on 02/05/2008, rod and real ready for a trip up the East Fork, later this week.

Looking for Old Gold Diggings but Finding Wild Bighorns-- up on the East Fork

OK, I admit it. Late in life, I’m becoming a gold bug. Like most Californians who get infected, I associate finding gold with wading through icy cold streams, getting very muddy and spending a lot of time hunched over looking at gravel. I suppose my case of Gold fever is attenuated by my love of trout fishing. Where I grew up in Southern California there are as many legends about huge trout as they are about weekend panners that sometimes get really lucky and find a few flakes of pure gold trapped at the base of a natural rill in a seldom hiked portion of the East Fork of the San Gabriel River north of Azusa.
But, unlike a lot of gold seekers, I understand that the gold you find in river courses generally comes from a hidden seem of granite or auferious quartz, somewhere high in the mountains near rivers. And that knowledge, coupled with the loud noises of the ungodly remodeling project in my house in rural San Diego County, is what drove me to so something today I haven’t done since I was a teenager—take a long hike up a little traveled canyon that winds it’s way up the slopes of Mount Baldy. Carrying my quarter sectional map, my field glasses and a geologist’s hammer along with a cell phone with a fully charged battery, a packed lunch, two canteens, my space blanket and a light weight jacket I hit the trail mid-morning.
My goal was to hike uphill for three hours looking for signs of 19th century mining activity.It didn’t take me very long to find signs of exploratory mining. Back when it was quite fashionable to use explosives to move DG (decomposed granite) shale or other mineral formations to find quartz or other minera l seams. Using my field glasses, I found several piles of overburden that had been blasted to expose dim white quartz seams.
I spent a very pleasant four hours picking through geologic detritus to see if there was any evidence of color. Not surprising there was no sign of gold. But I had a very nice lunch on top of a small ledge at about 2,500 feet elevation. Spread out in down in “civilization” was much of the East Fork drainage and a view of the Whittier Hills some 45 miles away.
I did see something though that really caught my attention, a small herd of wild mountain sheep making their way back up Sheep Canyon towards safe cover on the sides of Mt.Baldy. The wild big horns in the San Gabriel Mountains are tough wily creatures. In a lifetime of hiking up here I’ve only come close enough to see individual animals a handful of times.
Watching these thickly fleeced wild things, I saw them break stride and pick up speed ascending an ancient game trail. A brief flash of tan fur one half miles behind gthe sheep made me understand why the sheep had taken off. I guess a puff of wind ha carried the scent of the bob cat far enough up the canyon to alert the bighorns.
The sun was moving down to the west when I scrambled down the slope, rejoining the trail through Sheep Canyon just up from where I had seen the bobcat. I stopped and looked at the prints in the wet brown dirt of the canyon floor. They were 4 to 5 inches wide and her loping stride was long enough for me to realize she was probably it was a mature 30 to 40 pound cat.
I didn’t find any gold and I may never hit a seam, but when I need to escape the madness of a remodel, it’s always nice to know that the wild things are still out there, if you take the time to be quiet, sit and watch. Jim Forbes- 1/02/2008.

Five Days on the 2007 Fishing License and I'm up River on the East Fork-- Yet Again

I just finished celebrating my last Christmas in the house I grew up in the small backward town of Azusa, CA.  To celebrate this somewhat iconic occasion, I packed my fly rod put on my well used fishing shoes and headed up the San Gabriel Canyon to tease a couple of trout from my the wild section of the East Fork, the small stream that’s melded me to Azusa since I was a young boy.

            While others are looking at Orvis catalogs and thinking of the Spring opener, I’m slogging up the east fork, warm in my nylon coat, crossing this sparking cold watercourse four or five times to get to my favorite pool at the base of a set of close rills three miles north of the East Fork road head.

            I’ve made the slog up the East Fork so many times. I hike up automatically, taking the time to listen to mule deer clumping their way though the chaparral as I invade their stream front. A distant redtail screes and quail erupt from the edge of the trail, flashing low and left, seeking cover yet again. It’s a scene that imprints instantly in my brain, little different from the images of 15 and 25 years ago.

            It’s officially winter and the East Fork is up about six inches. 25 yards upstream I can see a pair of dark green torpedoes facing the base of the chilly rills, so I hit the river about five feet up from the fish with a zip cast that amazingly puts my #16 wooly fly exactly where I want it. I make a couple of pulls on the line as the fly skirts the end of the rill where I can see the trout repositioning themselves facing up river.

            In the blink of an eye I see a flash of bright red moving topside and briefly glimpse the trout sucking the fly in. I go tip up and tight line with the world’s cheapest ($8) fly rod and feel the flash of the trout as it tries to throw my fly. In five minutes the wild rooster rainbow is streamside.  I unhook him and gently let him swim away upstream.

            This portion of the East Fork is my absolute favorite place to fish. If the sun is out, it’s bright and unless someone is dredging up stream, the water is almost always cold, clear and fast. In 30 minutes I catch two more trout. I look at my watch and think that my feet are getting a tad cold.

            Soon, it’s time to head back to my car. I trudge downstream and glance back up the canyon. The soft sound of the East Fork is something  I store safely in my mind, along with the memory of strong, untamed wild trout that I’ve caught and released. I’m just an Azusa boys, who discovered the joy of nature that --only 39 miles from downtown Los Angeles—is still so untamed that mule deer are free to drink streamside without ever seeing a human and where it’s still possible to see wild mountain sheep, ghosting on game trails that are so ancient, they precede time. Oh, and where the wild rainbow trout gene ppol predate missions, express lanes and pioneers.

            Three trout on the East Fork with only five days remaining on my 2007 California fishing license?  Life doesn’t get much better for a kid, who found his own private retreat all those years ago, to the north and east Highway 39. Jim Forbes 12/26/2007.

Tail-Walking Wild Rainbows--A Reason to Hike and Fish The Upper East Fork

    Because I've covered the bottom half of the San Gabriel River's East Fork wonderland pretty extensively,  I've decided that it's time I did my bit to increase trail traffic up the canyon and write about a couple of my long kept secret spots for rip-lipping fun catching very crafty native rainbows and increasing your luck in panning for gold of engaging in a little nugget shooting.

    So let's hunch a little deeper into our rucks, check to make sure we have a lot of water, at least three days worth of high energy chow, a good basic rod and reel and some basic understanding of terrestrial directions. I wan to write  about the real East Fork wilderness, which begins on the upstream side of the Bridge to Nowhere and goes all the way to Wrightwood, on the northern face of the San Gabriels.

Hiking up to Wrightwood is no small undertaking. It's 25 miles or so of back country humping that's guaranteed to teach you the real meaning of the elevation lines on the topo or quarter section map you should have stashed in your back pack before you begin this ass kicking journey. If you're a dedicated wild trout fisherman you may not find a prettier or more challenging section of any river to fish than the upper reaches of the East Fork.

Warnings!

     If you attempt this hike be cure to take a jacket and enough food to last 23 rugged miles. And the first thing you should do is check in at the East Fork Ranger Station to make sure someone knows you're on the trail, and what your destinations are. Also, the Ranger station-- which staffs the wilderness patrols that hike the upper East Fork regularly, will have current information on trail closures and the trail conditions.

     Do not make the mistake of thinking a cellphone is a good safety device. Unless you're able to make from the water's edge to the tip top of a 5000 foot Peak like Iron Mountain, you're not going to be able to connect to a cell network until you get in range of the towers in Wrightwood or along the Angeles Crest Highway.

     Once you've checked in , it's time to begin the first day's slog-- about 9 miles from the East Fork Ranger Station, over the Bridge to Nowhere, Past the East Fork Narrows and on to the primitive campground at Iron Fork, which makes a good first day's overnight destination and takes about six hours of trail time.

    Do take time to poke around the East Fork and Iron Fork for native rainbows.  You'll find them hiding in deep holes and along the undercut banks in their home riparian habitat. I've had a lot of success fishing this stretch of the East Fork and its tributaries using flies, salmon eggs and a variety of lures (including my two all time favorites: a red and gold Colorado spinner, and a small red and white rooster tail). This far up the river, I only use barbless hooks and unless I have a really big 'bow, I practice catch and release fishing.

     Heading up the East Fork you're next two destinations are relatively unknown primitive campgrounds: the aptly named Fish Fork and the almost never visited Prairie Forks.

     Growing up, I benefited from the in depth piscatorial knowledge of East Fork legend, the late Sedley Peck and his wife Flo. Hiking up the East Fork, I'D often encounter Sedley,  trailing up or down the canyon. In addition to an encyclopedic knowledge of gold mining in the San Gabriels, Sedley was a saint for pointing us to under fished holes way up in the canyon. He was almost always right and the contents of my creel often attested to it.

     Meanwhile, back to the East Fork and the uphill slog towards Wrightwood: Based on my observations, as well as a small handful of other regular wildlands fishermen I know, the trout population between Fish Fork and Prairie Forks may be much denser than you might suspect. I know of several fishermen who have taken 18-19-inch native rainbows between these two destinations in cold clear water. The biggest rainbow I've ever caught in this section was about 16-inches, and I took it about 1.5 miles upstream of Iron Fork.

     It's been a while since I've been up to Prairie Forks, but what I remember is seeing numerous trout jumping after bugs on the afternoon hatch, and hooking a couple of tubby one-pounders that delivered impressive tail walking displays in an effort to throw my hook.

     But amateur gold panners can have as much fun as serious fishermen in the upper reaches of the East Fork. Work a few pans of gravel and sand and you're very likely to find a little "color." It's the persistent memory of finding color above the confluence of Iron Fork and the East Fork, as well as similar waters around Fish Fork that makes me believe this section of the Angeles is definitely worth exploring on a casual basis.  Beside, there's this little glass bottle here on my desk that contains enough gold flakes to keep me interested.

     The home stretch of this hike-- up to the end of th trail in Wrightwood is a tough slog at altitude, do stock up on carbs for your final meal before hitting civilization and meeting your ride home.

     If you're afraid of an uphill hike, but want to fish wild sections of the East Fork, there's nothing wrong with making it a down-hill jaunt by starting at Wrightwood and humping down to the East Fork Ranger Station.

     Some final words of caution; check in at ranger stations before you begin and notify the rangers before you head home. Tread lightly, practice catch and release fishing and take out all your trash.

     One final tip from an old East Fork hiker. if you go up in the Spring when there's still snow on the surrounding slopes, be aware of changes in the weather. If you get caught in a warm rain, get out. Fast.    

    The East Fork can come up two or three chilly feet from snow melt in a very short time. Having said that, on one trip in the sixties my buddies and i raced down from Iron Fork in a warm rain in about 5.25 hours.  By the time we loaded into a car for the ride home to Azusa, the background noise from the river had gone from a persistent gurgle to a loud roar as the East Fork went quickly into ripping flood mode.

     Have fun, catch a couple of trout for me and maybe wash one or two pans of gravel and sand, looking for gold. And if you're up there on 11/08, I'll be the big old dude huffing up the canyon with an old red ruck with a rod and reel strapped to its side.--Jim Forbes East Fork bound later this week.

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 19^th 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.

Trout Win-- My Epic East Fork Battle

While I was up in Azusa helping to stock stalk MaForbes' larder, the fishing bug struck, setting its barbs deep in the cloudy recesses of my mind. Hell, Azusa Canyon is only five minutes north of Mom's so i thought I'd take a couple of hours to get a fly wet in the East Fork of the San Gabriel River, my natal stream.

I had intended to go up on the East Fork, do a quick hike two miles up to the old powder house, and see if any trout were hanging out in the deep pools and cold rills. But, as I slowly drove around a turn at the head end of the lake behind San Gabriel Dam, I glimpsed what looked like a perfect monster rainbow jump out of the water, less than 25 feet from the shore, at the edge of a shadow cast by an old Live Oak.

I think it's important to show the fish in this canyon that you're a seriously cool fisherman and really not all that eager to rip their lips off. Fishtailing into a turn out amid a cloud of dust, I parked my Prius, grabbed my gear and lockd the car, making sure that my Forest use pass was clearly displayed and that my 2007 fishing license was pinned to my good luck Los Angeles Dodgers baseball fishing cap. Within 22 minutes of deciding to hit the canyon, I was roll casting my fly into water on the edge of the shadow of the oak tree. I reallly didn't t hink much would happen, but hope springs eternal for an Azusa boy fishing the east fork.

All the signs were lined up for what I thought would be a great excursion. bugs were hatching, fish were jumping and I don't think the trout could see me from my hide at the side of that old oak tree by the water's edge.  Three casts and no strikes.  the fourth cast, which put my fly two feet into the sun away from the shadow, did the trick.  I saw the fish suck down the fly and yanked to set the barbless hook. I let Mr. trout run some line through my fingers before I began playing him in. I very much love catching a fish that doesn't go willingly to the net and frying pan, and this guy was set on running to deep water through the weeds. I tried to keep the rod tip up, as I was taught decades ago by Gramps. But this fish was jinking and diving though a watery weed patch and I was using thin one-pound tippet.

Of course, Mr. trout had the last laugh and snapped my line. I tied on a new eightfoot tippet leader and a fluffy wooly tied on a #16 hook and got my line back into the water. Three strikes in less than 30 minutes and I realized that it was my day to catch and release dinky 6-inch stockers, not monster rainbows that are Kings of the lake. I called it a day after about 90 nminutes by the side of the lake, hiked over the boulders back to my car, and waved pointlessly at a three-foot rattle snake sunning itself on a flat rock. The buzztail stuck his little forked tongue out at me in recognition of my humility

I fired up the Prius and sucked down a little bit of coffee from my battered stainless steel thermos. The coffee was just right, bright lkke the sunbouncing off waters that hold secret stocks of ageless trout darting in and out of the sunlight but visible just long eoungh to keep me interested in this special place.

Windows open to catch the canyon smells, I pulled up in front of MaForbes', picked up my dog, got a few quick licks and settled down for the drive to my little mountaintop in rural San Diego County.

The Supreme Being probably keeps a punch card for all us foolish fishermen, even graying Azusa Boys who learned the secrets of the East Fork trout fishery from patient, funny men and Moms who were once button-nosed little girls dressed in Middies and living up there, when cars were still uncommon so all the kids had to ride a buck board seven miles down the canyon, everyday, to go to Lee School in Azusa. I get my love of the canyon and nature from them and no matter where I live, when I get up on the East Fork, I know I've come home.

"And no," Ma, "i'm not going to bring you a baby coyoyte for you to tame."

Me crawl in a coyote den to steal a pup from my pointy-snouted opponent?  I think not!--Jim Forbes on 04/05/2007.

Fish and an East Fork Burn--Damnit, I really Hate that

A couple of weeks ago, on one of my weekly trips to Azusa to take MaForbes shopping, I was struck by the urge to fish. So, thinking I might get lucky and be able to coax a couple of red belly striped rainbows to suck up a fly, I headed uo highway 39 and hooked a right over the East Fork Bridge.

As soon as I passed Morris Dam on my right I was assaulted by the odor of charred forest. but that didn't stop me, so I zipped my way up the canyon and parked my Scion between two USFS tanker trucks at the East Fork Road head. By then the smells of burned chaparral and hot wet dirt were almost over powering, but the Forest Service fire crews humping down the canyon like burdened  pack mules just looked at me, and said "Good Luck."

I just nodded my head and made sure my soon-to-expire fishing license was plainly clipped to the bill of my  faded white blue Dodgers go-to-hell good luck fishing hat and trudged up the canyon, trustiung that some of the trout may have been fortunate enough to weather out the fire in clear cold pockets of oxygen-rich water upstream of the old powder house.

By the time I hit that landmark I had already counted about 20 dead trout floating at the edges of the East Fork, Very sadly, most appeared to be native rainbows, my favorite sub species. Native 'bows are easy to spot once you've landed them. unlike they're hatchery-raised kin, the males have proganthic jaws and over the years, i've caught several 16 to 17-inch native bows on the eastfork north of the ranger station.  The other way to spot a native rainbow trout is by it's color. Natives have bright red lateral swatches of color. They are alsoextremely spooky, which is why I was taught to make my first cast from well beyond the edge of the stream.

By the time i tied a #18 gnat on the end of my eight-foot tippett and roll casted it up stream to present the fly to feeding trout, I noticed about 10 more dead fish in pockets on the edge of the stream.

Now that pisses me off.  Greatly!

I managed to get one hit on my third cast and I nearly ripped the lips off a small 12-inch  bow, which I released. I looked closely at the water again. My beloved east fork was dirty and there was a lot of burned material floating in the stream. by then I fugured out that the site of the fire was well up the East Fork Canyon and assumed it had started either at The Narrows, or on The Iron Fork.

I also quickly realized that the stream conditions were so bad, i probably wouldn't catch anymore fish.

I was sitting on a stump by the powder house foundations when a couple of Forest Service crewmen hoofed by. I asked "where did the fire start?"

After asking me I f i had caught anything, they said "The Bridge to Nowhere"

Now that really annoys me. The bridge to Nowhere is artifact to an uncompleted WPA road project. It's several hundred feet over the East Fork, stands alone, and as its name implies, leads to nowhere. Sadly, it's also near one of the few surviving pieces of private poperty in the Angeles National Forest and it's become a focal point for bungee jumpers.

Far be it from me to criticize someone else's use of recreational lands. In fact, the more people who discover the beauty of the East Fork, who learn to listen for the roar of the stream in a confined canyon, or who take the time to learn how to coax fat native rainbows out of the water and into a net or stream shore, the happier I am.

But I draw the line at sharing my canyon with idiots who don't know how to tread lightly in wild lands or who can't understand the phrase "be fire safe."

But anyway, it's almost Christmas, I plan on buying a new fishing license on January 2, and for a now graying Azusa boy there's always the hope of catching a few more wild rainbows or tough planters high up on the East Fork in the coming months.  Besides, one of my snitches narced Santa out and told me I was getting "12 new east fork custom flies" from long time fishing buddy Bill C in Glendora, Ca. But, if he thinks I'm going to go all Christmassy and tell him how to get to that secret pool up the canyon, he's very mistaken.

Oh and to the idiots who abuse the East Fork,I hope Santa brings you a big lump of charred madron or a fast acting case of dysentry.

Tread lightly, leave the canyon as you found it and save a couple of fish for me--Jim Forbes on 12/20/200.