There’s a river tucked away in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas.
Evergreens saturate the hillside, creating what looks like a giant green wall when looking up from the river. Large boulders strewn about the canyon create channels that push water into deep, emerald-tinted pools. Rocks line the banks on stretches of riffles as the river winds its way through the canyon. This is my favorite river to fish.
With the push to explore more waters in my area, I had fallen in love with this river. The scenery that the miles and miles of water offered, on top of the fishing, quickly made it my go-to if I had the time to make the drive. There was a variety of water to fish too. Wider, flat stretches lower down. Smaller, boulder-clad waters higher up. And a mixture of characteristics in between.
The fishing was fun. Maybe a little challenging at times. But, more often than not, it was rewarding. One evening I was rewarded with one of my favorite catches from the river.
With the day winding down, and the sun nestling behind the ridge, I decided to make one last stop at a spot I had seen on my drive in. I had been fishing for several hours, and had wanted to save this spot for last if time allowed it. I wouldn’t have much time to fish it, but a few casts followed by about 10 or more “last casts” would be all I thought I would need. I parked the car, and made my way down the hillside to put my fly in the water.
A few casts to the eddie on the far bank garnered the attention of a trout. A splash followed by a short wriggle and the fish was free. I cast a few more times to that spot, but understandably, the fish had lost interest. I worked my way up along the cobbles and small boulders, casting into the small pools and eddies that broke up the choppy water.
There was a low hanging branch over a calm pool not too far from the first hook-up. A few practice casts and I was able to get the right angle to place the fly in the center of the pool.
There was no splash, but I felt the line go taught as my fly disappeared, then immediately the thrashing began.
I fought to get the fish out of the pocket it was in, but the flow in the riffles brought a new challenge. The rod warped as the fish entered the flows. I started to move downstream with the fish, stepping over river rock, with hopes that I could prevent the tippet from snapping.
We reached a larger pool and I was able to bring the fish closer, and closer, and finally into the net! This was the biggest fish I had caught so far! My heart was racing as I brought the fish out of the net for a better look. Spotted fins met gold, and a beautiful mix of purple and blue lined the sides of my catch. I unhooked my catch, set it back in the water, and watched it swim away. I sat there for a moment contemplating the experience while the sound of water flowing into the pool filled the air. It was starting to get cold, and dark. It was time to go home.