My Weekend In the Southern Sierra

Just returned from a solo, three-day backpacking trip in the Golden Trout Wilderness in the Southern Sierra Nevada Mountains. Took a walk from Lewis Camp Trail head down to the Little Kern, looking for the elusive Little Kern Golden Trout (oncorhynchus aguabonita whitei), a subspecies of our State Fish.

In one of my dumbest moves ever, as I set up camp I realized I had somehow forgotten to pack my sleeping bag. (When I packed at home Friday morning, I remember thinking: "Seems I have a lot more room for my gear than usual.") I had to sleep in my jacket and down pants, yet awoke both mornings at three A.M., shivering. Ended up pacing around the campsite for two hours each morning praying the sun would rise earlier than usual. I tend to forget one or two items each trip, despite my obsession with lists, but never have I neglected to bring one of the "big three." Sheesh, next time I'll probably forget to bring my pack.

Despite my lack of sleep, I managed to get in some fishing Saturday. Access to the Little Kern in this area is, to say the least, difficult. The gorge is narrow and steep, and defined by huge expanses of granite that are impossible to traverse. Reaching the pools and runs that harbor the golden trout requires considerable (and dangerous) effort. As I scrambled down a steep pitch south of my camp, I remember thinking "if I break an ankle here, I'm probably a goner, because nobody knows where I am and nobody would think to look in such an inhospitable place."

Anyway, I managed to make it to the river without incident. I hooked and landed nine of the little yellow buggers (including an eleven-inch, my biggest golden yet from a stream) before the dog's barking and whining convinced me to let her take a swim, ruining the fishing.

Sadie is the least fishing-friendly dog I've ever known. When bass fishing she's constantly "falling" in the water (falling in parenthesis because I'm pretty sure she's doing it on purpose at least half the time). When stream fishing I have to tie her to a tree to keep her from thrashing into the water, chasing my lure like the knucklehead she is. But when tied up she whines and barks incessantly, not exactly the serene and peaceful fishing experience to which I usually aspire.

After another almost sleepless night, I awoke at three-thirty to find no stars in the eastern sky. It took me several moments before I realized the stars were obscured not by clouds, but by smoke. By daylight, the lightening-caused fire (which I later found was near the confluence of Shotgun Creek and the Little Kern, about ten miles from my camp) had spread a pallor of smoke and ash over the lower Little Kern. My subsequent hike back to the trail head, five miles and about two thousand feet of elevation gain, was not fun. By the time I reached my truck, my eyes burned, my throat was sore and my lungs felt as if I'd chain-smoked five packs of Winstons. But I did catch those yellow fish, so count my long weekend a success.