A true angler's dilemma, "Where would we trek in our search for our aquatic prey? Our small intrepid group has been dreaming of a summer fishing trip to the Eastern Sierras . Javi, our youngest member, who lives in Sacramento, has been sending us information on the lakes. To our dismay, some of our favorite lakes are dry. Some of them look like sun baked football stadiums minus the bleachers. (Global warming?) After careful planning, Bob, our fishing sage, explored the internet before designing our trip to the Mammoth Lakes area.
Unfortunately two of our member failed to make the trip. Jorge, our loquacious pal (aka) " El Perico", informed us that this spring and summer, he was scheduled to babysit his beloved granddaughter. David, our fishmonger, who is forever ready with a new exquisite fish recipe, changed jobs recently and wasn't able to make it.
We departed from Los Angeles early one morning; ninety minutes later, we found ourselves pulling into our usual dive for breakfast in the middle of the Mohave desert. Afterwards, we re-initiated our drive going north on highway 395, an asphalt ribbon adorned with desert scrub on either side and the beautiful Sierra Nevada mountain ridge to our left. A few hours later, we were at Lundy Lake which was practically empty. Soon we found out why; no fish.
The town of Mammoth was our center of operation. Here we were closer to most of lakes and streams. We would be targeting rainbow trout. Filled with high expectations, skill and praying to the goddess of good fortune, we ventured out to the Mammoth Lakes Loop: Lake Mary, Lake George, Lake Marrie and
Horseshoe Lake.
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We followed this map in our search for rainbow trout, but unfortunately we didn't get many bites during our outing. Map courtesy of: sierragatewaymap.com |
The following day,we were more eager than before to capture our limit of the elusive rainbows. With all deliberate speed, we drove to Crowley Lake and after mishaps, calamities and mayhem, we were chased away by swarms of flies, They appeared like dark moving clouds obstructing our vision and breathing. After this plague like affliction, we vigorously headed to higher ground, Little Virginia Lake.
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Our trek to the sierras was a month earlier than in previous years. Snow was still embracing the edges of the lake. This made for a slow jaunt in finding suitable locations to cast our lines.
Javi, as always, with fish on his stringer. |
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After an enjoyable afternoon of fishing, we displayed our catch. Javier was a most happy angler.
The final count for the day favored him over everyone else, " I beat Bob! for the first time ever, I beat Bob! ... Wow I whipped him like a rag doll, " he shouted.We all had to concede the victory;
this day he dominated the old sage alright! |
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This is why Javier beat Bob...he was actively fishing, on his feet, moving around, changing his bait frequently while Bob, in the background, is just sitting on a rock. Let this be a lesson for all you young fishermen!. Javier's advice is, "Fishing is not a passive sport.
You just can't cast out your line, sit down hopping that fish will jump on your lap." |
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With snow flakes falling and threatening dark clouds overhead, we decided to call it a day.
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After carefully storing our catch in ice, we headed to downtown Mammoth for a well earned repast and beer at a busy pizzeria adjacent to our lodging. The dinner discussion
continued Javier's deciphering his design and strategy to conquer the old sage. "I beat you Bob!!!
I finally beat you ha, ha, ha. " The old sage said, " Yeah, yeah...wait till next time, rookie ".
After toasting to the winner, I felt compelled to remind my Javier that it's harder
to be a good winner than a good loser because one has less practice.
Well, we really missed our two anglers who couldn't make it this time. Here's a toast
hoping they can join us on our next fishing adventure.
Here's to our fishermen young and old; Here's to all the fish that we caught; Here's to the ones that got away from our hold. They deserved it because hard they fought.
_ jmove
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