April 30, 2000
We’re still camped in the Ventana Wilderness. We’re still shaking our heads at the nice steelhead we captured last night. And we’re still hoping to find the elusive German browns that my friend has caught here in years past.
Today, we fish upstream, much further than yesterday, but still no sign of any fish in this lovely little river. We see brown newts, turtles, harmless snakes, mergansers, kingfishers, and a dazzling array of wildflowers in purples, pinks, oranges, and deep reds. Again, no sign of any person fishing ahead of us.
I have, in the past, been rightfully accused of rushing to all the good holes and fishing them first, before my friends get there. Today I’m fishing behind my buddy (actually, he’s out of sight around the bend) as I begin working a long curving hole at the bottom of a cliff. As usual, my first cast is into the shallow tailwater, before I reach the hole proper. Something catches my eye, following my lure, as I bring the spinner to my feet...something big. What’s this — a submarine? A log? A hellbender??
My knees get weak. The big buck steelie turns lazily and returns to his position in the current. Experience tells me that one or two attempts at a strike is all I’ll get from a trout. Again I cast, and as the lure travels across in front of the fish, he lazily pursues it again and again, just missing the strike each time, and turning back to his former position. Then I place it perfectly before his nose, and he takes it.
Compared to yesterday, I have a much bigger fish on, but not nearly the battle. I have learned a lesson from my soaking of the day before, and I move between him and the rapids so he can’t run downstream. After a short tussle, I land a 25” steelhead, with big teeth and very dark coloration, obviously spawned out and probably dying. If he’d had half the energy of yesterday’s fish, I never could have landed him on the tiny rig I was using.
April 29, 2000
Opening day of trout season found me and my fishing buddy backpacking into the headwaters of the Carmel River, in an attempt to escape the maddening crowds. And we succeeded. By midafternoon, we had set up camp in the Ventana Wilderness and were on the river, fishing.
As we headed upstream in search of elusive wild browns and native rainbows, we saw no track or sign of another human going before us. Yet, as quiet and careful as we were, we caught not a fish, nor did we see the usual followers and chasers and missed strikes that are the common signs of a healthy native trout poulation. We were mystified and sad.
Finally, we headed back to camp as the light was fading, resigned to a dinner of boiled ramen noodles. At the last hole, I made a halfhearted cast to the far side, against a high rock wall, and brought my barbless spinner across the main current in the center of the run. Strike!
Fortunately, the drag was set super-light on the ultralight rig I was using...so light, I could gain no line as the fish ran to the tail of the pool and jumped high from the water. I tried to follow as it exited the pool and went over the rapids, between big rounded boulders that would have been difficult to walk on even when NOT fishing. I immediately slipped and fell into the icy stream — wallet, camera, and all.
The fish took me down through the rapids, and dumped me another time, before I finally brought the exhausted fighter to shore. It turned out to be an 18” steelhead with a big hooked lower jaw and bright spawning colors. This catch surprised two guys hoping to catch some small trout for dinner, but fed us well just the same.
Later, after thinking about it, I felt foolish and greedy to have killed this magnificent (and endangered) creature. Next time, the fish goes free. Ramen noodles will do just fine.
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