Skunked
at Huntington
Huntington Lake
June, 2004
How could something that feels so right, go so wrong? Well, it
happens. You can blame it on the phases of the Moon or the solar
alignment of the planets ... but, often, it just boils down to
misjudgments in the selection of technique/s. Whatever the case, we
got skunked at Huntington Lake. But, at least, we're men enough to
admit it was our fault... this time.
We arrived at
Huntington Lake around noon, on a Saturday. Setup camp and headed
for the Rancheria Creek inlet to the lake. The bite was off, as we
worked our way up stream towards the powerhouse. Our first suspicion
was that the area had been over fished the over the preceding
24-48hrs. Which was probably true, to some degree.
I managed to
hookup twice in the late afternoon, on the lake side of the bridge over
the inlet. Each time, the coveted 12-13" trout managed to shake
him/herself free at the shoreline., while a voice in the back of my head
said "Set the hook, stupid...".
As sunset
approached, rising trout could be seen., as they returned to the inlet
from the lake. After a few hours of nothing, this was a welcomed
sight. Unfortunately, as usual, I left the fly gear at camp.
Undaunted, I ran the 1/2mi round trip to and from camp to fetch my fly
gear. Needless to say, I returned with perhaps only 1hr of sunlight
left. Guess it really didn't matter, as the fish seemed to rise
everywhere but where I landed my fly. And before you knew it, the
sun was gone. Oh well, there's always the morrow.
Sunday
morning we headed back to the inlet, in hopes of catch a couple trout
before they headed in the deeper water of the lake. Did I mention
that the water temp was a bit warm? It was., and that should have
been my first clue to rent a boat and go deep. Instead, we opted to
fish from shore.
Ever notice how
slow time passes when you're not catching fish? Before breaking for
lunch, I had resorted to teasing the hordes of pole toting trout seekers,
by pretending to get bites. Within minutes the hordes would swarm on
my position. I figured, if they're rude enough to crowd a persons'
spot, they deserved to chase my 'will-of-the-Whisp' phantom trout.
After
lunch we fished along the West shoreline of the lake. In preparation
for that afternoons' rising of trout at the inlet, I waded out and
practiced being a fool with a fly rod. Yes, I'm still at the
'beginner' stage of my quest to becoming a world renowned fly
fisherman. Visions of my mug on the cover of Fields & Streams
magazine often fade after the third, and sometimes tangled,
cast-o-thee-fly. After an hour of practicing, my attempts at
fly casting appear respectable to the untrained eye.
Returning to
the inlet for the dusk rise, I was shocked to find extremely few returning
trout. And even fewer risers. Late afternoon on a Sunday, the
hordes have long gone ... and must have taken the fish with them.
Early the next
morning we were happily on the road to Saddlebag Lake in the Eastern
Sierras via the Tioga Pass through Yosemite. As you well know,
hindsight is 20/20. As we motor away from Huntington Lake, we review our
mistakes and discuss how we'll better our techniques for the next
visit. Fishless, as we were, none can deny the beauty and serenity
that Huntington Lake has to offer. If not for that, the entire
episode would have been a wash.
We'll
be back
