Fishaholics: trek to Eastern Sierras

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. 

 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.

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.

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!

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."

With snow flakes falling and threatening dark clouds overhead, we decided to call it a day.

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
    

Arizona: fishing or no fishing

Normally during the winter, Bob can be found doing home improvement projects, oiling his fishing reels, polishing his fishing poles. Other times, he putters around in bait and tackle shops, or swap meets foraging for classic fishing gear. He only purchases an item once-in-awhile, but his enjoyment is the  in-depth discussion with the old timers which helps him pass the time until  opening day in the Eastern Sierras.
Unable to wait for the "stinking opening day", he called, beckoning me to fish Arizona, "I can't wait until opening day...", he whimpered on the phone. I reminded Bob that half of our fishing group was busy, one was in Sacramento becoming a slum landlord and the other one was taking turns from multiple venues such as San Jacinto, happily taking care of his daughter who just given birth to his beautiful granddaughter, and Sonoma where he is helping his son repair a fixer-upper. "They won't mind. We can fish with them some other day". I stood firm against his forceful arguments and sound logic. But when he said, "Ill drive my new car and take care of the lodging". Well... what could I do! I just could not let my bosom amigo, a septuagenarian, drive alone all the way to Arizona. I felt compelled, for his safety, to accompany him. Furthermore knowing him, he might get into trouble with the notorious sheriff Arpaio.
Promptly, we found ourselves on the way to Chino Valley, Arizona. Bob was in good spirits but anxious to get going. "Let's rock and roll",  he shouted. "We have many hours ahead of us, let's go!" " What's the hurry... relax", I advised  him.  His zeal even caused the freeway to apologize for the distance and  duration between home and our destination.

With a full tank of gas, cruise control and driving skill, Bob was soon past Hwy 10. Now, we cruised down Rd. 89 towards Prescott, Arizona, along the Ponderosa forest. Unexpectedly he said, "We are almost there" "How do you know?" I asked. Exhilarated he answered, "Oh...I just remembered I have been here before". Hmmmm ...

Prescott, Arizona unfolded before our eyes... Rd. 89 giving way to Montezuma Ave. A few blocks further we parked in the heart of the historic section on Court House plaza. Our host Danny aka Angelo greeted us. He and Bob have been friends since childhood, growing up in el barrio Hayes of  El Monte, Ca.

Above, Bob and Danny reminiscing on days of yesteryear. The time they were in kindergarten was
 fresh in their minds... the "travesuras" fondly remembered.

Having adapted nicely to the leisurely western atmosphere of Prescott, the following day we decided to get out to the lakes. The first one on our list was Lynx, an ample body of water with a boat ramp.

Bob is pictured to the right, taking inventory of depth, currents, shore line, inlets and the catches of other anglers. After learning that it was stocked over three weeks ago, he advises us to pass on this one. Our next stop was Williams Lake, a much larger body of water complete with state of the art ramps, BBQ grills and plenty of shade structures.

At this lake, Bob chatted extensively with a number of anglers who had been here for hours but had no fish. By this time, were were getting hungry and realized that we had not purchase an Arizona fishing licence. Bob said, "Lets get back to town and get something to eat". " I know just the place", said Danny,  "You'll love it"!  We journeyed back to Waffles-N-More, one of Danny's favorite eating joints. We agreed, the menu was extensive, reasonable and appetizing. I found the biscuits and gravy out of this world! Danny preferred a bone-in slab of  ham, and home made fries.  Bob settled for oatmeal. After good natured table talk reminiscent of years gone by, we headed out to Danny's ranch.
Upon leaving the main boulevard, we embarked on a smooth graded carriageway. Bob, a closet lover of  open fields, agricultural terrain and farm animals was overcome by pure enjoyment. He was like a kid in a candy store. He toured the onion, garlic and bean fields, all the while asking questions only a farmer would be interested in: fertilizer, water well, irrigation method etc. Danny took us to survey his fruit trees and different chile plants. " I have a surprise for you", Bob said to our host, and he took out a assortment of seeds. "I brought you these seeds. They are some of my prized specimens". Danny assured him that they would be planted, cared for and that he would send him ample samples of the harvest. They gave each other a warm abrazo.

Time seemed to be flying by, specially after a few libations among friends. It was time to feed the animals, Bob jumped on the back of the pick up truck and headed out to the barn to load hay and vegetables for the animals.

 Animals seem to take to Bob warmly, this donkey was the first to approach  
and got the biggest carrot.

Look at those big brown eyes focusing, loving, on Bob.  

Instinctively, he knew just how much hay to feed the goats. He also
 wanted to  learn how to make goat cheese.

At 75 and feeling like superman, Bob wanted to jump on a horse and ride around.
Danny and I convinced him that it was not a good idea. He insisted, until I warned that
 I would call his daughter, if necessary. That quickly brought him back to his senses...
  he had another glass of Merlot instead.

Our last day was spent exploring the town and visiting historical sites. Albeit feeling a little intimidated by a whole bunch of, primarily young men, toting their guns in public. Arizona's open gun policy.
Bob was approached and asked to contribute to sheriff Arpaio's re-election campaign. "Is that the guy who makes prisoners wear pink pajamas?..." He asked  smiling, "let me think about it.". After expressing our gratitude and attention afforded us by Danny, a fraternal abrazo was in order. Now we headed back home.

Javier: Dozing off, somnolence or just meditating.

Over the years we bought him maps, provided clear directions, sent him reminders and phone calls until we realized that information only confuses him. Regardless, we accept him the way he is-- he has no notion of time or space. He gets lost even with the navigation system guiding him. Javier is late to every appointment or event, but he will arrive. Tense and absent minded, he thinks he is on time. Soon he becomes bored, disquiet, starts fidgeting and will cease taking part in conversations... he has fallen asleep. After so many years of friendship, we are well aware, that's just the way he rolls.

Taking into account that I have known Javier since our college days and worked together for most of our professional lives,  I was well aware of his hyperactivity, short attention and inquisitive mind. Which along with his supportive and caring attitude made him a good candidate to be my compadre. I also sponsored him into the Old Men's Anglers Society.

As it turned out Javier has become an excellent partner for Jorge aka, el perico (the parrot) yes, the one who never stops talking! As soon as they both get into the back seat of the suburban, they initiate a volley of ideas and topics back and forth. El perico doing most of the talking until, predictably, Javier falls asleep. Nevertheless Jorge just keeps on talking to himself... That is the brilliance in pairing them up. One is bla, bla, bla... and the other one is Z z z z z... Due to the frequency of his naps he was christened, el dormido. (the sleeper) .

 With Bob, sleeping at the airport in Loreto, Baja California,  waiting for the flight home
 after fishing dorados. Not even jet noise could keep him awake.

On the way to the Sierra Nevada, Javier as always catching his ZZZ ...

On a chilly spring morning in the Eastern Sierras above the town of Bishop, our newest apprentice was eager and enthusiastic. It was his first time attempting the fine art of fresh water fishing. From the onset, we were very impressed with his fishing equipment. His designers fishing poles and reels, a tackle box splendidly stocked, with the latest assortment of baits and popular scents His fishing lines all very neatly arranged by size, color and weight. We complimented  him for his choice of fishing poles and brand name equipment. It wasn't until our second trip when he confessed that his son was the one who stocks his tackle and purchases his gear. Bob said, "I knew it! no wonder he wasn't familiar with the tackle; he had no idea on how to use it". Nowadays Javier is very comfortable fishing or sleeping on the side of a lake.

Here he is, wide awake  at one of his favorite streams, fighting a rainbow trout.

Persistence is one virtue that Javier possesses. No matter how much he sleeps, he does want to catch his limit of fish. He starts slowly each morning wiping the sleep from his eyes, setting up his fishing pole and casting out into the water. It may take him awhile but he'll go strong for a while after a few fish he becomes unfocused and begins to loose interest. Soon he'll set up his chair and... it's siesta time.

When he is out cold, no one can wake him up. When asked, "were you asleep again"?
 His standard answer always is,  "I was just meditating". Right!

 Javi is an important member of the team, he is Javier's son and the one
 responsible for taking care of his daddy out in the Sierras. He ensures that his
dad has all the equipment in working order. Helps him find good fishing spots
 and teaches him to bait the hooks and most importantly bring the fish in.

Up in the Sierras, there are no signals that tell us to quit for the day. Rather it's the rhythm of the winds on the trees, the quietness on the water and our bodies that inform us it's time to head down the mountain. As we carefully make our way down the winding roads, el perico is yammering at full speed and volume "yakiry, yak ..." the one that got away, who caught the most and... "bla, bla, bla". The rest of the members have their earphones on, listening to their music.  Javier is in deep sleep. A few minutes later, I sensed a quietness in the suburban, when I looked back this is what I found.

Meditating or sleeping? Not even el perico's  unreserved loquacity could keep Javier awake. 

El Perico, on the other hand, takes time out, from his prolonged communication skills, 
to join Javier in a snooze.

At the end of the day, Javier and Javi  proudly show of their stringers, now they are of to the
cleaning station.

On the way down the mountain, it became clear to me that somnolence is contagious, el perico and el dormido are both dreaming of the one that got away. Yours truly continued, carefully, driving down the winding road. We pulled into a wonderful Italian restaurant. Ill have a glass of Merlot...tomorrow we'll attempt the walker river, while my friends continue with their siestas.

Jorge's pursuit for a hobby

By some measures Jorge is a proud Mexican, never forgetting his roots. Like his rustic rancho in Delicias-delights, in the northern state of Chihuahua Mexico. To this day you can still find him, at anytime,  in a pilgrimage to the eternal land of his ancestors. Now it is a modern city with the largest water dam in the state, best know for its agriculture and pecan fields. The apologia for his seasonal treks are his family members and the tempered beauty of  land he embraces and that summons him with vibrant memories of his youth and a longing to delve deeper into his culture. His closest friends appreciate that he wears el nopal en la frente with pride.

Because of the circumstances faced by many well-to-do Mexicanos during the Mexican revolution his ancestors were forced to be exiles in the U.S., settling in California. Here the Garcia's would make their mark. With a strong desire to succeed, many members of the Garcia clan have become highly successful and productive citizens of the United States.

My compadre Jorge waiting for his wife after Sunday church services.

I first met Jorge when we were young school administrators in Los Angeles.  We have become friends and compadres ever since. Over the years we have seen our children grow. Now that we have been retired for a number of years I noticed that he seemed bored. He tried golf: didn't like it. He tried tennis: it was too fast for him. He tried racket ball: I kept beating him. He started gambling becoming a regular at most of the Indian casinos in California and indulged in monthly trips to Vegas. He said he did "all right" but was soon back at work earning more money to gamble. One day we invited him to lunch and the first words out of his mouth were:
" Retirement depresses me ". He stated that his days have become predictable and routine. Finding himself getting out of bed later and later each morning. He had developed a habit of watching telenovelas, soap operas with such tear jerking titles as;  La hija del mariachi and Que bonito amor.  " I just love them, my favorite is..." he stops for a moment... and shouts, "You see why I need to join your fishing team. I need to be out with the guys !".

                                   
Since that realization he has been working hard with Bob, our expert angler, becoming more competent in the sport. On his first outing with the group to to the Eastern Sierra Nevada, he was in high spirits. Rushing out the car upon arrival at Intake II lake, he marvels at the tall pines. "Man I love it here" he shouted gazing at the green fluttering aspens surrounding the lake. Prancing towards the lake, he splashes the water, "It's cold! ", he shouts again. Bob finally settles him down and helps him with his fishing gear. " I love the scent of nature in the morning ", he blurts out, anxiously sitting down for a relaxing day of fishing.
Jorge allows himself to relax with full knowledge and awareness of the task. Only performance will help him release the total pressure. After repeated casts into the lake and losing a few fish, he continues to persevere. Being a baseball fan, he understands that stopping at third base adds nothing to the score of the game. "I've got to catch one," he murmurs as he religiously crosses himself asking assistance from the Almighty.

The best way to succeed in fishing is to act on the advice given by other anglers, like Bob and Nick, whom Jorge credits with helping him succeed. Here he is taking time to feed the ducks behind him. At the lower right hand of the picture you can see a couple of small rainbow trout on his line. "I love being in the outdoors" he cheers. "Even my high blood pressure has subsided! " I reminded him that he is also learning the virtue of patience.

By the third day of our trip, he was in heaven, the first one to bring in a couple of trouts and was more introspective about his surroundings; absorbing the terrain, spotting wildlife, viewing and  identifying birds. He instantly fell in love with the vastness of the forest, its clean blue skies... He was amazed at the intensity of white haired  waterfalls ". Invite me again next year", he shouted with excitement.
On the way back to the cabin, he confided that this was the best fishing vacation he ever had. "I remember when I was a little boy, my uncles would take me fishing in the water dam in Delicias, but I don't remember having as much fun as this".

With a week full of adventure with good friends, we head back home. Driving south on highway 395, we stopped for gas in the town of Bishop, better know as the mule capital of the world. The town is an excellent spot for resting and resupplying anglers, skiers and mountain climbers. After filling-up and adding ice to our cooler, Javier asked, "where's Jorge?" "I know exactly where he is" said Bob. To our dismay, we found him glued to a slot machine inside the Indian casino next to the gas station. I couldn't help wondering if gambling is a hobby or vice.