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Date: May 15-17, 2022 Body of Water: Merced River drainage, Yosemite National Park, California Moon Phase: Full Moon on First Day; waning gibbous moon Tides: NA Boat: None; shore fishing without waders With: Alone Target: Trout - rainbows or browns Time: Early every morning, and then various Conditions: Absolutely beautiful weather and scenery. Water was high, clear and cold which made fishing very difficult. Wow! Yosemite is stunning and worthy of anybody's time. I don't even care that I didn't catch a fish; I was constantly reminded that other things are more important! It took me too long to get there. That said, fishing was tough! I had also handicapped myself with my preparations and gear. I did have a prolonged interaction with what would have been my stream trout of a lifetime, and that was enough success for me! This trip was a mere suffix to the meaningful family events of the week. The entire trip was a bonus and the ordinary metrics of success don't really matter. What does matter, is that we did it! My focus and energy were elsewhere; my preparations were less intense than usual. I expected tough fishing conditions (check!), and to seek small trout in small environments with small, natural flies. Once again, I was reminded of the value of planning as opposed to specific plans. We arrived Sunday evening, and as quickly as possible, I was rigging up alongside the Merced River, in the Happy Isles section above the campgrounds. The value of my plans was already questionable; the tributary streams I had in mind were not accessible by car, but rather only by hiking in! And, this water was high, very clear, and faster than I preferred. I hadn't targeted stream trout with a fly in almost 14 years (see numenon.blogspot.com/2012/10/out-west.html , and especially the last few paragraphs), but strangely, I still had some confidence that I might catch a small native trout or two. At first I tried a two-nymph rig, but my rate of attrition on flies was way too high! Abundant wood in the river was especially sticky, and I lost a few flies to back-casts in the tight quarters, too. The current was raging, and I thought I might be able to both conserve flies and maintain depth control to a greater degree with a drop-shot rig. Perhaps so, but I still spent the night fishless. I did, however, see a couple of small (tiny) trout tucked behind a boulder, and a very few large, dark mayflies were evident. I executed a few good casts, too. Mostly, this had been scouting and I decided to try elsewhere in the morning. I confidently crossed the meadow, only to find the bank of the Merced "closed" to preserve bank vegetation and control erosion. Thus began 17 miles of searching for the day. There would be more walking than actual fishing. Finding the proper combination of access, castability and depth (especially without waders and while fly fishing) kept me on the hoof. Most spots got 10 casts or less before I moved on. The river here was more quiet, and my rig consisted of a simple soft-hackle fly above a bead-headed caddis nymph, both suspended under an indicator. In the still morning, I saw neither bug nor fish activity. I had headed downstream, and as I approached Yosemite Village, my time for the morning was running out. I crossed the river to pick up the road/sidewalk on my way back to camp. I tried another couple of spots on my return, with more of the same results. I was pondering my approach for the rest of the trip. Luckily, however, I struck a conversation with a gentleman walking about, and he excitedly pulled out his camera to show me some pictures he'd taken of various other fisherman and their recent catches in this area. Most had been captured by wading spin fisherman, but all had been captured in slower sections. I could certainly picture this; what really surprised me was the fish he showed were mostly brown trout, and larger than I had anticipated, up to 3.5 pounds or so. I'd further handicapped myself by not having included sinking tips and streamers in my travel kit. Still, this was good information, and this provided a new horizon for me to explore in my remaining time. After breakfast, we hiked along Tenaya Creek to the head of Mirror Lake. I spotted a rising trout at the tail of the lake. Life! As I rigged a dropper/dry presentation, an ill-informed youngster chucked some rocks at the rise forms. That trout was now down, but I still got in some nice casts and drifts. Parts of Tenaya Creek beckoned, but for the most part, I kept moving, looking ahead for some slower water. We found that later in the afternoon, when we drove to the section of the Merced below Yosemite Village. I accessed the river at Swinging Bridge. The water here was smooth, clear, and in some areas, very deep. Still, I was able to spy a pair of nice rainbows on a gravel flat upstream. These were well out of reach to me, so I watched them with some satisfaction. But when I turned my gaze downstream, I found three dandy trout in a perfect position. The river's main current crashed into the (protected and off-limits) bank, creating an eddy. These fish were in the soft water just downstream of the "U" in the eddy. One of them rose steadily and predictably to unseen food; probably to emerging midges. I spent the next hour or more trying to figure these fish out. I was able to get to within 30 feet or so of their position, but surrounded by bank vegetation. Every time I tried to reach them with a cast, I would catch this on the back-cast. I resorted to establishing a short cast and then stripping line to extend my drift as my flies (Parachute Adams dry with a generic soft-hackle trailer) floated downstream. I concentrated my efforts on the single rising fish, which also was positioned closest to me. This fish fed confidently and right on schedule. Every three minutes or so, its posture would change, it would drift a bit to the side, and after a beat or two, pluck something off the surface. I began to time my casts and drifts to this fish's rhythm. I flubbed or aborted most casts base on length, drift or drag, but still fully executed multiple casts and drifts without putting this fish down. But it didn't seem interested in these flies, and so I repeated with trailing caddis and midge emerges. With still no interest, I decided to rest this fish and look for another in my remaining time. I worked all the way down to Sentinel Beach. I worked some nice water and spotted another nice rainbow trout. This one was tucked under an exposed tree root, and also ignored my presentations (from positions above and below its lie.) I started hiking again, this time going upstream of the bridge and on the other side of the river. I saw no fish, and finding suitable casting conditions to appropriate water was uncommon. I was almost back to Yosemite Village when I decided to head back. Returning to my feeding fish and with time for the day running out, I had just gotten myself into position when I was joined by two young boys. Their presence made casting impossible, but the oldest was interested in fishing and so we chatted for a bit while I pointed the fish out to him and got him accustomed to its habits. When he finally "saw" the fish, he was fairly astounded, and he stayed behind, watching the feeder, as I left to join A and M. I took A on a reconnaissance tour of the nearby fish, and truly appreciated her reaction to my problem fish; "That's a big-a$$ trout!" So, despite my best efforts, I'd been skunked for the day. But it was really the best possible skunk. That night I dreamt of these trout; I hoped to return for another shot. First thing in the morning, I tried the slower water above Yosemite Village again, but this time with a simple weighted black marabou streamer with a generic wet, soft hackle above. I re-fished the previous day's water with some confidence, and even found a few other spots worth drifting through. Still, this was difficult and my ability to reach the best-looking water was limited. But it was still a good session, as my single streamer boosted my confidence for a good fish. But mostly I was looking ahead. I felt that the root-hugging rainbow might be vulnerable to the streamer from an upstream position. Plus, who could not look forward to another crack at my large, active feeder? Arriving in the late morning with M, she was the first to notice the higher water conditions. I confirmed the location of the various "bridge" trout before heading downstream to that rainbow of interest. Unfortunately, this fish had apparently changed positions with the higher flow, and I could neither see nor catch the attention of any fish in my section of most interest. Returning to the bridge, I found that my three eddy trout were slightly re-positioned, too. Two were hugging the bank and totally inaccessible. The third (largest and still feeding) had just slightly shifted position and was now out of reach; my casting position had been slightly compromised by the higher water and I just could not get enough line in the water to execute a proper drift. I left the park defeated by the fish, but somehow still exhilarated. What do I have to say about this? Have I mentioned how large that big-a$$ trout was? At least 22 inches and possibly more. While it wouldn't have been my biggest stream trout, it certainly was the most technically difficult one, perfectly positioned in the most beautiful setting. It would have been a fish of my lifetime, but I guess that honor will go to some future fish. Walking around a national park with fly-rod in hand is apparently my natural setting. I was approached and smiled at by more strangers in my short stay than I will be in the next several months in my regular life. While all expressed interest, I only saw two other people actually fishing during my stay. One was doing so oblivious to law or fish, the other was fly-fishing from an inflatable raft. I wonder if they saw, stalked and captured "my" fish? This time, especially on the heels of some special shared events with my family, also gave me an encouraging glimpse of what retirement might be like. I hope to make the most of it. Walking around a national park, fly-rod in hand, is a pretty good gig, even if the fishing is tough! Finally, just as I was wrapping this up, I came across this article - www.hatchmag.com/articles/12-keys-becoming-great-fly-angler/7715490. I am by no means a "great" fly angler, but I really can't argue with the 12 elements listed here to become one, should on so choose. Many of these elements apply, regardless of the pursuit, and so it's worth reading and thinking about, regardless of your fly-fishing ambitions. Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways
1 Comment
Lyle Burlingame
11/16/2022 10:12:57 pm
Hey there , I love your blog! I am a guide in Yosemite. this was my first year fishing here. I moved here from San Francisco. You were on to something up there, a lot of browns in that section. I recently had a 30 minute battle with my "fish of the lifetime (thus far)" a 26"+ brown that was too big for my net, likely weighing between 10-15lbs , the 3rd attempt to net it resulted in breaking off my 15 pound leader, needless to say I was fishing steamers. We do have a good amount of the battle recorded on video, the fish had an eye the size of a quarter and resembled a massive log with fins in the water. It walked all over me on an 8wt and took all my line and much of my backing out. There are big trout there if you know how to target them, give me an email when you're ready to come back, I can put you on a trophy hole or two.
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