by Dean Growdon
Last week, one of my good friends from Southern California came up to share a day of fishing with me.
Our time was limited — I had a doctor’s appointment that afternoon, and Highway 36 construction is always a gamble, with the delay sometimes stretching to 15 minutes and other times to 40.
Still, we got to Lake Almanor for a decent early start and pushed off onto the water. Our first stop was a spot where I’ve been finding some bigger fish in about 25 feet of water.
We tried deep-water nymphing with a fly I call the “Hexy Leech.” It’s a balanced leech tied with a mix of materials that imitates a Hex nymph, but it also looks a lot like the small pond smelt the fish are feeding on right now. The Hex hatch had already ended, but this pattern was still drawing plenty of attention.
That kind of fishing can be productive, but it doesn’t feel much like fly fishing because you’re simply dropping the flies straight down instead of casting. We worked it for a while and caught several rainbow trout, but no real size. The lake was glassy and beautiful, and I wanted my buddy to see more of the scenery, so we eased the boat over to another area where I’d been picking up some solid smallmouth bass.
I rigged him with a rod set up with a leech hanging about 4 feet down and a beaded rubber-leg fly at the end of the 7-foot leader. A few casts later, he brought a gorgeous Lake Almanor smallmouth to hand.
We landed a few smaller ones, then moved again to a spot where trout like to gather. He kept fishing the bass rig, and I switched to a similar setup, using one of my “Hexy Leech” flies and another pattern I call the “Green Weenie.”
The Green Weenie got its name from the colors of a rubber bass worm I used as a kid while fishing Walker Lake and Lake Almanor. It’s a balanced leech with a chartreuse bead and an olive body, along with some blue accents. We started hooking fish almost immediately and began landing some beautiful rainbow trout. We kept them in the water and released them carefully, with no harm done.
We were having a great time — fishing, talking, laughing, and just soaking in the lake and each other’s company. The action stayed steady, and our bobbers kept dipping under. We missed more than a few fish because of long casts and long leaders, but we were still connecting often enough to keep things exciting.
Then came the moment of the day. I made a long cast into a shaded stretch where I knew fish were holding. My bobber dropped, I saw two bright silver flashes under water, and almost instantly, two fish burst into the air, each with one of my flies in its mouth. They were big fish, and they shot off in opposite directions. I knew my leader wasn’t going to survive, and sure enough, the fish on the bottom fly snapped off.
It was incredible to watch those powerful fish launch six feet out of the water. We both cracked up, hooted and hollered for a few seconds, and then I got back to the business of landing and releasing the fish still attached to my rod.
All in all, it was a fantastic day on the water, and we stayed until the very last minute. We raced to the dock, tied off the boat, jumped in the truck, and took off. We were hungry, so I rolled the dice on the construction and stopped at Peninsula Market for a couple of hearty turkey sandwiches from the deli.
While we waited, I mentioned that I’d been writing these articles and worried about finding fresh material each week. My friend smiled and said, “Just have fun with it.” He brought up the double hookup from the day, along with John Gierach, one of the best-known fly-fishing writers. I’ve read many of Gierach’s books, and I know he found joy in telling stories about his fishing adventures. I appreciated my friend’s encouragement, and I took that “just have fun with it” advice to heart.
We left the market and headed back to Susanville, knowing we were tempting fate and might end up late for my doctor’s appointment. As we neared the construction zone, I watched the oncoming traffic to gauge our timing. When I saw the first cars approaching, I knew we were in trouble — we were still too far from the flagger and were going to miss the next cycle. But as we rounded the corner and finally spotted the flagger, we also saw the back of the line of cars disappearing around a corner.
I knew I’d hit the zone at exactly the wrong moment and would be first in line, but when I pulled up, the flagger held out the slow sign and waved us through. My buddy was saying, “Go, go,” and I went. We caught the piloted traffic, made it through in plenty of time for my appointment, and I dropped my friend at his car so he could head to the Reno airport before I went on to my doctor’s office.
The lesson in all of it is that outdoor adventures aren’t always about the fish — or even about the main purpose of the trip. Sometimes, they’re about the people, the place, the surprises, and the memories that build along the way. My friend and I had one day on the water, but it held enough moments to make it unforgettable.
