Casting a Vote for Sierra City’s Fishing

I stood in waterproof waders, hip-deep in the surging Yuba River, wielding a fly rod. Swallowtail butterflies and dragonflies swept over the water, and sunlight glinted off distant mountains, a dusting of snow still evident in June. Everything was perfect. Except I still hadn’t caught a fish.

No matter. It was hard to be upset about elusive trout when so much natural beauty surrounded us. My husband, Terry, and I came to this dot of a place in the Sierra last month to rendezvous with my cousin John and his wife, Val, both big fans of this hamlet of 225 and our willing guides for the weekend.

Sierra City is about 130 miles northeast of Sacramento, past Auburn and Grass Valley on California Highway 49. The route through town isn’t so much a highway as it is an old-fashioned main street, lined with well-preserved buildings from the Gold Rush. The North Yuba River runs through town, and the jagged pinnacles of the Sierra Buttes, 8,600 feet high, rise on the horizon.

The region is often called the Lakes Basin because dozens of natural lakes lie within a 10-mile radius. My cousin, an avid fly fisherman who lives in the Bay Area, was initially drawn here by the wild river and its trout, while Val, a landscape designer, was hooked by the wildflowers and hiking trails. It wasn’t long before we were hooked too.

Our Friday-morning flight to Sacramento was about one hour and the drive to Sierra City about three, though it would have been shorter had we taken a faster, less scenic route. We stopped in Auburn for a lunch of Greek salad and good quiche at a cute place called Awful Annie’s. An hour later, we paused in Nevada City for a stroll through its Gold Rush-era downtown and a quick tasting at the Nevada City Winery, where we picked up a bottle of its Sonata white blend.

Even with the detours, we arrived in Sierra City and the High Country Inn by cocktail hour. The inn sits at 5,400 feet near an old stage stop and general store called Bassett’s Station. We immediately could see why John and Val had suggested the High Country Inn. With only five guest rooms, the place is serene and quiet. The Yuba River runs right through the property, which has its own trout pond and a deck overlooking the Buttes. From our room, the Aspen, Terry and I could hear the river rushing by and see a mama duck on the pond tending to her babies.

No sooner had we stepped onto the deck and uncorked the wine than John and Val arrived--just in time to toast the weekend. We sketched out options for the coming days: hike, fish, visit historic sights such as the 1850s Kentucky Mine or the charming community of Downieville, its ambience little changed since the Gold Rush.

For dinner that night, the four of us chose a different bit of history, the Old Sierra City Hotel in town. Built in 1880, the dining room contains antique furniture and cabinetry from the hotel’s earliest days, but as at most restaurants in the region, the menu is anything but fancy. The nightly special, which two of us ordered and enjoyed, was meatloaf with mushroom gravy.

The next morning began with more good food, a generous breakfast at the inn. Guests awake to a tray of coffee and tea at their door, followed by a spread in the dining room that includes hot dishes such as French toast and quiche, as well as fresh fruit and home-baked muffins and breads.

Our day’s activities then started--and ended--with fishing. John revealed to me some of the mysteries of dry fly-fishing, in which a nearly weightless, carefully crafted “fly” never dips below the water’s surface. (Terry watched with interest but, because of a bad knee, was going to skip a trip into the river; Val opted to lounge around the inn.)

After I had grasped the rudiments of casting, I suited up. For the first time in my life I donned waders, fishing vest, boots and “gravel guards,” gaiters that keep sand and rock out of boots. Attached to my vest, safely tucked in a waterproof tube, was my fishing license, purchased in L.A. (available at sporting goods stores).

I slid and skittered down a steep, stony riverbank and cautiously followed John into the water. I was a little unnerved by the slippery footing and the novelty of being almost waist-deep in a relatively swift current.

But toward the end of the day, after more practice and a move to a different part of the river, I finally was learning to spot pools where trout gathered, and my casts were becoming more accurate. I even got a few bites, though I hadn’t yet reeled one in. Being half-immersed in the wild Yuba became exhilarating in a deeply elemental way.

These sessions in the river Saturday were broken up with an excursion on land: a quick lunch of chili dogs and soup at Bassett’s Station cafe, followed by a short drive down the highway to Big Springs Gardens.

Our innkeeper, Bob Latta, had suggested a visit to the gardens, a private estate rented out for group events and, more recently, a place for Sunday brunch. Individuals can visit too--for free--as long as they call ahead for permission.

After a friendly greeting from owner Don Phillips, we wandered paths that wind three miles through beautifully landscaped grounds, partly modeled after Claude Monet’s gardens at Giverny, France. Indeed, the pond with waterlilies and the arched bridge did resemble his famed paintings. But we came upon additional pleasures: fern grottoes, gurgling creeks, beds of native California flowers and, as a backdrop, the rugged Sierra.

We left the cultivated blooms at Big Springs Gardens and soon were among wildflowers along a trail to Frazier Falls. The easy hike, one mile round trip, took us by a floral profusion ranging from delicate pastels to intense jewel tones. Val shared the plant names, charmers like “mountain pretty face” and bizarre ones like “beard tongue,” a type of penstemon.

We capped the day with a drive to Sardine Lake, a few miles from Sierra City, where we found a little hideaway called Poor George’s Playpen, part of Sardine Lake Resort. A cabin-like bar built over the lake, the Playpen seemed to float on the water. Gin-and-tonics in hand, we soaked in views of Sardine Lake and the Buttes.

The resort’s restaurant looked inviting, but we moved on for dinner at the rustic, usually reliable Packer Lake Lodge about five minutes away. The ribs and Cornish hen were all right, but no one was inclined to rave. Perhaps we just caught the place on an off night.

Sunday morning was my last date with the trout. Fully suited up, John and I hiked down to a stretch of river not far from the inn. The weather was perfect. We tried one promising pool after another, but no strikes.

My cousin suspected that the trout might be interested in something other than the flies we offered. Taking a cue from a bug he uncovered beneath a river rock, he selected a replica of a stonefly nymph from his tackle box and tied it on my line. In the early nymph stage of life, I learned, such aquatic flies live underwater. So John said I had to cast my nymph beneath the surface and convince trout it was a living morsel of food.

My first attempts at nymph fishing were awkward. After I snagged my line on underwater rocks a couple of times, John looked at his watch. With hope fading with the hour, I tried again and hooked only stone. Or was it?

Amazingly enough, at the other end of the line was a gleaming, wiggling rainbow trout. With John’s assistance, I pulled it out of the water. Though it would never set any size record, the fish was beautiful.

I hardly had a chance to admire my catch. John believes in releasing fish, so he took this one off the hook and placed it back into the water. Off went my little trout to enjoy the Yuba River another day.

Back at the inn, Terry and Val didn’t have to ask how the fishing had gone. They could tell by my grin. Lunch in a town called Graeagle and a final hike around Madora Lake still lay ahead, but both were merely bonuses. The pleasure of this place had already provided the respite I was looking for.

*

Budget for Two

Round-trip air fare, L.A. to Sacramento...$273.00

High Country Inn, two nights...209.00

Fishing licenses...22.10

Lunch, Awful Annie’s...23.10

Dinner, Old Sierra City Hotel...38.00

Drinks, Poor George’s Playpen...10.00

Dinner, Packer Lake Lodge...56.00

Other food, drink...36.32

Car rental and gas, three days...123.68

FINAL TAB...$791.20

High Country Inn, HCR 2 Box 7 (Highway 49 and Gold Lake Road), Sierra City, CA 96125; (530) 862-1530 or (800) 862- 1530, fax (530) 862-1000, www.hicountryinn.com.

Big Springs Gardens, P.O. Box 192 (32613 Highway 49), Sierra City, CA 96125; (530) 862-1333.

*

Carolyn Miller is a freelance writer based in Los Angeles.