|
|
 |
|
|
Rockhouse Basin
Kern River Valley
May 25, 2007
I met Gary and Debbie at the Onyx
Chevron before our drive up Chimney Peak Road. Driving up the
Chimney Peak / Canebrake Road brought back many old memories.
I can't recall how many times I had traveled., only that I hadn't in
some time. There's something about traveling along a dirt road
into the "Back Country" that sets my soul at ease.
The ride made more enjoyable by the refreshingly sweet smells of
morning.
Although, we could have done
without the dust. Looking behind me, I quickly realized the
need to slow down. Gary and Debbie were being engulfed by the
dust I was kicking up. It really doesn't matter how slow you
go. It's really a matter of distance. I figure a good
1/2 mile apart at 20-30mph might be the ticket. |
Click Images for bigger version
|
It seemed we had arrived at the trail
head in no time at all. I don't recall how long the journey had
taken., and I really didn't care. I was too busy taking in the
scenery and smells. On reaching the trail head, the damage created
by the last fire was evident. I knew beforehand, that, it would look
something like the surface of the moon. Still, I was somewhat
shocked at the sight of it. Sadly, I didn't see any of the trees
coming back to life. Nor did I see any new growth, seedlings.
In the absence of mans' intervention planting seedlings, it could take a
very long time for the remaining trees to repopulate the area.
 |
Being the only two vehicles at the
trail head was either a good sign or a bad omen. On the one
hand, we'd have it all to ourselves. On the other, there would
nothing to have. Regardless, we remained high-spirited and
enthusiastic. Well, except for Debbie. She was a little
apprehensive about the whole idea of carry her pack for the better
part of 5 miles. We did our best to reassure her.
As it turned out, it didn't take
long for her to get accustomed to the notion. At times, she
had more spring in her step than we did. Still somewhat
apprehensive, but a trooper none the less. |
|
The picture at the right doesn't
fully convey the impact the fire had on the area. It's
doubtful that words could do any better.
The emerald forest is gone.
What remains is a vast sea of standing burnt and very dead
trees. The re-growth of vegetation, one expects after a fire,
is all but absent. Sparse would be the word I'm after.
From the looks of things, you get the feeling the fire was
yesterday., and you were the first one into the area. |
 |
|
As we slowly descended into the
basin, our destination became more visible. You try not to
focus on it too much, as it always seems so very far away. In
most cases, you seldom get the opportunity to see your destination
so clearly ... in the distance. Normally, your view is
obstructed by peaks, valleys and forest.
The distance perceived would have
been somewhat traumatic, had it not been a downward view. Down
is always a good illusion when starting a back packing trek.
Just don't look back. There's no need to spoil the illusion
just yet. |
|
Throughout the hike in, we were
very cautious about crossing paths with snakes. And, it didn't
take to long to cross one. In this case, happily, our first
was a Garter snake.
Strangely enough, this would be
the only sighting during the hike in. I expected to see more
of them out and about. I guess the key word is 'see'., and we
were just not seeing. |
 |
 |
Soon the terrain became more
level, as we made our way closer to the basin floor. Here and
there, groupings of pines still stood.
I had envisioned ourselves wading
through a mile (or so) of tall grass. And was relieved to find
that it wasn't going to be the case. It's much easier to spot
snakes when the terrain is sprinkled with sage brush., as opposed to
tall grass.
At this point, we were feeling
pretty good. The hike had been nice and our destination stood
out like an oasis in the middle of a desert. Ok, maybe that's
because it was. |
|
Arriving at the 'old' Domeland
Wilderness Boundary, if in fact it had been moved (as we were
told). Here, the basin spread out before us. The tree
line in the distance would be where we would camp. Basically,
we just need to travel through another stand of dead forest and
scoot across the basin floor.
We were happy to see more trees
along the river than we expected. Surely we'd find a good spot
in the trees for our campsite. |
 |
- - -
 |
Finding a suitable campsite,
setting up and getting the rods together seemed to take
forever. Not that it matter, none of us seemed to be in any
hurry. And that's the way it should be. Nothing like
having the feeling you have all the time in the world. Or
better yet, that time stands still.
If getting on the water took
forever, the time it took to start catching was the exact
opposite. As usual, Gary was getting his share of apparently
non-stop hits. Maybe it's just my perspective, but he always
seems to be setting the hook.
LDRs (Long Distance Releases)
seemed to be the plan of the day for me. And then, we you did
get them to hand, they'd wiggle free in short order. Feisty
little devils. But than, wilds always are.
|
|
It was mixed bag of Rainbows and
Browns. For the most part, small. Size didn't seem to
matter, there were plenty of them.
Gary must have been hitting three
to my one. He had discovered a tiny fly was the ticket.
Only, along with the tiny fly came a tiny hook and a lot of
misses. But the action was great.
We decided down-river was the
order of the day. We must have chased trout for a couple of
miles. Not realizing it fully until we had to make our way
back to camp. |
 |
 |
Did I mention we were in an
Oasis? It's hard to imagine until you actually get into
it. What a cool place. From a distance, you wouldn't
expect to find such beauty.
The flow was so low, that at times
you imagined the current to be flowing up-river.
Wearing my magic glasses, I could
see the impact the low flow was having on my assumed stealth
ness. No matter were I approached, or how carefully, trout
darted off in all directions. So I decided to do some long 30'
drifts downstream. That seemed to work rather well.
The fly that was working for me
was a Blue Dun. Gary was doing well with a small Copper John,
lifting it from the bottom. |
|
Before long, it was time to get
back to camp and keep Debbie company. The next day Gary would
be sure that he and she had some quality time. On the day of
arrival, however, we might have gotten too distracted chasing
trout. Well, actually, the time spent trout chasing on the day
of arrival was a fraction of the day. So, were off the hook.
Nevertheless, Gary decided to head
back before me. For myself, I was bound and determine to find
a magical body of holding water. Well, I didn't find one
downstream. But, I did come across some seemingly fresh bear
tracks. A mother and her young cub, from what I can
tell. That, combined with the outcropping of massive rock I
stumbled into, was all the motivation I needed to turn me back
towards camp. |
 |
Back at camp we settled into the evening
routine of relaxing and preparing dinner. It's amazing how food, you
normally wouldn't consider, could taste so good. But it always does.
Before long the sun was setting, and shortly thereafter, so
were we.
- - -
The next morning we went through the
ritual of preparing breakfast and stumbling around like zombies.
Soon, Gary and I were off to chase trout upstream. Whilst Debbie did
a little exploring before settling in to her book.
 |
I'd like to say the next days'
fishing was more of the same, but it was much more. Upstream
seemed more interesting than yesterdays' downstream chase. Or
maybe it was just me. The upstream section was filled with
twists and turns, a couple small falls and a lot more scenery.
Gary seemed to be doing a better
job of not scaring away the fish. Or maybe the few scared off
were soon replaced by the multitudes I'd chase in his
direction. He found a spot that just kept giving and I found
one that just kept me trying...
|
|
...but the scenery was
great. I really enjoy just being in places like this.
That's not to say that I wasn't catching fish and/or getting
strikes. The scenery was an added bonus. At points, I'd
just send the fly on a long drift and take in the scenery.
Again, the fly that was working
for me was a Blue Dun. They'd take an Adams too. But the
Blue Duns I had were smaller and took more hits. As
nymphs go, the small Copper Johns seemed to be the key.
At one point I decided to tie a
Blue Dun with a Copper John dropper. I always have problems
when I put on more than one fly. And sure enough, I had a
birds' nest in under five casts. Between catching bushes,
trees, me., and the all too frequent wind knots... it was a wonder I
was catching anything. |
 |
 |
But, for all the fish I scared
away... I seemed to catch my share of fish like these. At some
point, you just stop counting and have fun. The number would
be around 20 before noon. With as many LDRs and strikes. |
|
Eventually, you find yourself
playing with the fish. Trying to pose them for action
shots. In this one, you can see how well some of them blended
in with the background. |
|
 |
And then it happened. From
the same run I had hauled out two or three small guys, I get a
strong strike and out goes my line. The picture doesn't do the
fish justice. It measured in the 13" zone. Seemed
to take forever to get him to settle down for a picture.
Finally, I just took the shot I could and let him off the hook. |
|
And then, back to some more
fooling around with water shots. What lacked in size, they
made up for in color. |
|
 |
Don't wonder off just yet.
Here comes one at around 10" approaching 11". Well
now, this is a nice surprise.
You'll have to forgive the grime
on the fish. They just wont stand still, and keep flopping in
the shallows. I guess I should have tired the fish out some
more. But I was sure I had. |
|
Now at high noon, things slowed
down. And judging from the warmth of my skin, it was time to
take a break and head back to camp. Gary had already headed
back a short while ago. |
|
 |
One the walk back, I came across
this unwelcome traveler. I was about 3-4 steps from him, when
I spotted it and stopped dead in my tracks. Stretched
motionless across the pathway with his nose up, he most likely
sensed me before I did him.
At the first sighting of a snake
your senses snap to attention. And when it registers as a
suspected rattler, your heart begins to pound. I was relieved
beyond measure that he was stretched out. Which was why he was
laying still and keeping silent.
I couldn't make out the rattle,
but I was sure it was there. To make sure, and to remind
myself of the sound of it. I climbed uphill from him and
tossed a few rocks at him. The first two missed and he didn't
budge. The third hit him and he darted into the bush, shaking
his rattle as he went. Once in the bush, he coiled and rattled
for 5-10 seconds than fell silent. I guess he measure about 3 feet. |
|
Again, I was glad I was wearing my
magic glasses. Without which, I'm sure I would have walked
onto that rattler. Mainly I wanted these glasses for the
reader lenses. Always nice to actually see the knots you're
tying.
The brown lens does a suburb job
of making colors and objects stand out from the background. To
say nothing of their ability to cut the glare on the water surface.,
and enable me to clearly see how easily I scare the fish away.
Now, I can't say there weren't any fish, when in fact I can see them
flee.
You can bet I won't leave home
without these magic glasses. I'm sold ! Best $60 bucks I
ever spent. More so, considering they may have prevented an
unfortunate mishap with that rattler.. |
|
On my return to camp, I found Gary and
Debbie snoozing in their tent. Yep, a nap sounds good. In
fact, I decided I had had enough fishing fun for the day. So I too
would take a nap, wake for dinner and just relax for the remainder of our
stay.
- - -
 |
The next morning we arose early to
get breakfast and begin packing up. Naturally, wanting to hit
the trail before the sun got too high.
Looking up at the mountain/s we
needed to hike up, it seemed a million miles and several thousand
feet in elevation gain away.
As expected, our enthusiasm at the
start of the hike back was nil. Like sheep to the slaughter,
when they know what lays ahead, we plodded along. |
|
Looking towards the north along
the basin, as we made our way, you couldn't help but be impressed
with the view. Call it what you may, I sensed that even better
waters lay in the distant end of the basin. Or maybe, it was
just the Trout-Chaser in me ... beckoning me to go beyond. |
|
On the way out, we chugged along.
Mainly a long gradual uphill hike, dotted with little leg burners along
the way.
Debbie is one smart cookie. It
didn't take her long to figure out that our little stops to reorient
ourselves with the map, were just an excuse to take another break.
The notion of stating we needed to do this to keep from getting lost was
implausible ... the trail was a dirt road. Nor did she fall for the
"Just around the next bend..." claim, after a few dashed
hopes. So we explained our illogical methodology. Saying that
'this' or 'that' is just around the next bend, motivates us to get around
the next bend. Knowing, or half knowing, it isn't so ... is
irrelevant We foolishly just allow ourselves to believe it's
so. And then when it's not... well, of course, "It's just
around the next bend...". If memory serves me correctly,
she just shook her head and took the lead. And lead she did.
Leaving Gary and I no choice but to fall in and keep up.
And finally, back at the trail
head. And the customary group shot to remind me of the need to lose
a few pounds. Standing beside Debbie, I can't blame it on the camera
this time.
A dusty drive back to Onyx, a darting
drive to Mojave, a stop at Primos for lunch and it was time for
farewells. All in all, the dusty drive was the only minor flaw in
this trip. Had a GREAT Time in even better company.
Don't miss Gary's report and pictures:
Gary's
Report
We'll be back
...
|
|
