Advertisement

Come freeze or high water

Share

SOME PEOPLE CAN recall exactly where they were when JFK was shot or when Elvis was found facedown on the bathroom floor of Graceland. I know exactly where I was on the day this year’s Sierra trout season opened on April 30. I was on my knees in my backyard pulling weeds.

Now I would have preferred to have been pulling trout from a deep blue mountain lake or a clear, rushing stream, but instead I was battling dandelions and crab grass. Of course I had read about the icy conditions in the Eastern Sierra forcing some to push their boats through layers of ice on frozen lakes. I had also read about the 555 boats that crowded Crowley Lake at 9 a.m., and I had read about the fellow who landed an 11-pound brown trout from Lower Twin Lake near Bridgeport.

But fish reports and boat counts don’t convey the real story. I needed to hear from a die-hard angler who measures a successful trip not by the size of his catches but from the experience. That’s when I came upon Robert Keaton, who posted his opening day story on the Internet. Keaton is a 41-year-old mortgage banker from West Hills who has been fishing since his grandfather taught him the basics when he was 9. He had planned to go fly-fishing on the upper Kern River with four buddies, but they backed out at the last minute. Keaton hadn’t missed opening day in 12 years, and he was not going to miss it this year. Now that’s die-hard.

Advertisement

He left his home on the Friday night before opening day, packing a custom-built rod with a three-weight line, a few homemade flies, some store-bought flies, waders and camping equipment. He set up at a campground in the Sequoia National Forest near Peppermint Creek, a tributary of the Kern River, one of his favorite spots.

“On opening day, everyone goes to the Eastern Sierra,” he said. “I came to Peppermint Creek to avoid the crowds. I expected the upper streams to be good because of the extra snow, and I expected Kern River to be running very fast, which it was.”

On Saturday morning, Keaton woke up at 5 and was on the river by 5:45. It must have been 30 degrees, but he had his waders, boots and flannels. He started casting, and nothing happened.

“I read about this before, but it had never happened to me: The line through the guides on my rod was frozen. It took me a few tries before I figured out what to do. I dipped the rod in the water, which melted the ice, allowing me to cast.”

Which is, by my opinion, clearly insane -- but OK.

The trout weren’t biting. It was probably too cold, but then as soon as the sun got through the trees and hit the water, his luck changed. Keaton’s first catch was a 15-inch rainbow. He fished until 10 a.m., then went back to camp for some coffee.

Afterward, he hiked down the river and tried a few other spots where he caught four or five wild trout, 6- to 9-inch dinks. He stayed out until 2 p.m., then packed up and headed down to McNally’s Fairview Lodge, a place known for its 40-ounce steaks. The restaurant wasn’t open, but the burger stand was. Then he headed toward Kernville, stopping at the Kern River Fish Hatchery, where he fed some 8- and 9-pounders and wondered what it would be like to catch a trout that big. “Maybe next year,” he said.

Advertisement

He drove down to Lake Isabella, where the crappie were biting. “I tried casting from the bank a few times, but the wind was whipping around too strong. I got a couple of strikes but no fish, so I called it a day.”

Now let’s review: His fishing buddies abandoned him, his line froze, and the wind nearly ripped the pole from his hands. Still, Keaton called his trip a success. Would I be so generous?

It is said there are two types of fishermen: those who fish for sport and those who fish for fish. Keaton falls into the first category. He didn’t land a trophy, but that’s not how he measures success. Some anglers dream of landing a whopper. Some just dream about fishing.

And now that I think about it, I’ll take a day alone on a cold river with a frozen rig over a garden of weeds anytime. Anytime.

Hugo Martin can be reached at hugo.martin@latimes.com.

Advertisement