The sky is cloudless, a deep indigo. The sun has already set. It's surprising how fast the warmth vanishes when the sun goes down. A cool breeze blows from the west. Time for parka and knit cap.

We've been fishing from the shore of the lake for about an hour without a bite. Almost in a trance, Rick casts a lure into the depths of the lake and reels it back slowly: twitching it, stopping it, speeding it up; casting left, then right; trying to run it deep, then shallow. Hal goes on reading Catch 22 aloud. Milo Minderbinder has cornered the world market on guns and is moving in on butter.

A slight tug on Rick's line brings his thoughts back to the lake. Is it a fish nibbling at the lure or just a snag on some undergrowth? To find out, he slows down the lure, twitches it a little, and keeps it moving very slowly. Another tug, and Rick says, "Hey, I think I've got one!"

Half a ton of live, angry fish breaks the surface to our left. The body completely leaves the water, a full six inches above the ripples, then splashes back under the surface. That's when Rick notices his line peeling off the reel. The monster fish is the one on his line.

Rick tightens up on the drag. Not too much, though; that fellow could easily snap his light line. His heart pounds; his hands tremble. This is one big fish.

Reel it in; let it run out on the drag. Reel it in; let it go out again. The fish is getting tired. Rick's getting tired, too. The line gets shorter as man coaxes fish toward the shore. Now we can see it: weary, slightly over on its side. It's in about three feet of water below the rock we stand on. But it's too heavy to yank out, and we have no net.

As if he's walking a dog, Rick slowly leads the fish along the rocky bank to a muddy inlet about 15 feet away. Every three or four feet, the fish twitches. But it's exhausted and hurt. Rick drags it closer to the muddy incline. Now it is in only four inches of water. Then, with a steady pull, he lands the fish. It flops a few times on the beach, but the line holds. Rick reaches down, unhooks it and puts it in our pot: a 16-inch golden trout.

Rick starts to speak, but nothing comes out. His heart is still pounding; he feels a little dizzy. Ten minutes of play has felt like an hour's work. He sits down. Leaning against a rock, eyes closed, it takes 10 minutes more to get back to normal. And then in only an hour, Rick and Hal sit down to the finest, freshest trout amandine dinner they've ever eaten.

Someone once described an airline pilot's job as hours and hours of utter boredom punctuated by a few moments of sheer terror. We could describe mountain fishing as hours and hours of pure relaxation punctuated by a few moments of wild excitement. The most enjoyable part of high mountain fishing is the relaxation: the scenery, the weather, the routine of casting, retrieving and playing the lure or fly.

The picture hanging above Rick's desk at work is not of a string of 14-inch trout. Rather, it's a shot of him casting into a mountain lake at sunset. The peaks above are nearly orange; you can see their reflection in the lake. Standing on a spit of land, his figure is a silhouette against the pale sky. More than anything else, we recommend high-country fishing for the beauty and quiet pleasure it brings. The tasty trout are an additional bonus.

Back to top

Mountain Trout: A Fish's Eye View

Winter

If you've never fished for trout before, a good place to begin learning is to experience the lake as the fish does—in the mind's eye of a high-mountain lake trout. During the winter, the lake surface is covered with snow and ice. The water below is close to freezing, and only a little nourishment flows through. The trout, being cold-blooded, respond appropriately: as the temperature descends, so does their metabolism. Though they continue feeding all winter, they need very little food. If you could get into high country in the dead of winter, you'd work very hard for your fish, first to get through the ice, then to get it to bite.

In early spring, which in the mountains means late May and early June, the fishing is also often lean. Occasionally, we've camped at a high lake just as spring is breaking. Parts of the lake are still frozen. And just five or ten feet from shore, huge trout swim slowly along, evidently there for the taking. But nothing seems to work. Flies, lures and moving bait are universally ignored. Sometimes the fish will feed on a small worm or grub buried in the mud. But basically they're just out sunning, warming themselves in the water's upper layers. There's not much to eat yet and the fish aren't hungry. Neither the spawning cycle (which produces lots of yummy eggs) nor the insect hatching cycle (which produces a living feast) have yet begun. As Br'er Rabbit would observe, "They're layin' low."

Spring: June and Early July

The longer, warmer days of June and early July melt the snow rapidly. Suddenly there is water everywhere. Lakes are overflowing. Meadows turn emerald with lush growth and are dappled with wildflowers. The insect hatch begins. From tiny eggs, insect larvae appear--little white worms called grubs or nymphs which live in the shallows of lakes or streams.

As the lake begins warming, and the body temperature of fish rises, the trout start moving faster. They quickly get hungry. And as the snow melts in the mountain meadows, it washes small grubs down through the lake, so the fish don't have to look far for food. They congregate at the places in the lake where they can find shelter, comfort and nourishment.

Where are these spots? Shelter could mean deep water. However, trout aren't too comfortable in the deepest part of the lake: there's little food, less oxygen and the cold temperatures make them sluggish. In the spring, as the ice melts, the upper 40 feet of the lake will have a good supply of oxygen and water of the right temperature. Shelter in this region might be available under a bank or beneath a rock overhang.

For trout, like for the rest of us, the food question is simple: how to get the most food for the least energy? In the springtime, they do this by finding a quiet place next to a food-bearing flow of water. This allows them to watch the current passively, then dart into it only when a tasty morsel appears. In mountain lakes, these quiet spots are usually found where the shallows drop off rapidly into deep water near where a feeder stream enters the lake. They are often called "holding" areas by fisherfolk.

Another important factor in finding food has to do with the trouts' ability to see. Too little (or too much) light makes it difficult for them to distinguish a moving grub from a twig or pine needle. So fish will usually lurk at the depth of water that offers the right amount of light. They'll feed in shallow water in the early morning, then move deeper during the day, and feed again in the shallows at dusk.

What kind of food do trout look for in the spring? Mainly, grubs. Some grubs float free; some squirm in the mud; many are encased in little "houses" of bark and sand. Open the stomach of a trout and you'll usually find a few partially digested grubs along with lots of dirt, twigs and mud.

Occasionally the fish in these holding areas get a special treat, a batch of trout eggs or roe. Springtime marks spawning season for trout. Many trout swim up into the feeder streams, the females to deposit eggs in warm, shallow water, and the males to fertilize them. Sometimes a batch of eggs is washed from its sandy bed and floats down to the lake. Lake trout are always watching for eggs in the springtime.

How should you fish mountain lakes in the spring? We usually cast fairly deep, near the inlet of a feeder stream, baiting with salmon eggs. Try to find the "drop-off" point and get your eggs just over the ledge. Late in the day, when the water is still warm and the light is losing its glare, those hungry fish will move toward your bait. Chances of a nibble are good.

If you're stream fishing, you can sometimes catch spawners in the shallow creek beds by drawing a lure in front of them--slowly, as if it were an intruder to their nesting area. The fish won't be hungry, but they may grow angry and snap at it in order to protect their turf.

July and August

In early and mid-summer, the days turn long and hot in the mountains. The snow is gone. The creeks have slowed. The biggest change from springtime is the proliferation of insect life. Larvae emerge from their twig and sand houses, crawl into the sun on top of a rock, and metamorphose into small flies and bugs. Grasshoppers emerge from eggs and begin hopping through the grassy meadows.

The rushing, running water of the spring is gone. Insect life centers on and around the mountain lakes. Their surfaces become breeding grounds for insects too tiny to see. These in turn become food for larger flying insects which dance along the surface of the water whenever it is calm, eating the smaller ones. From the fish's eye view, the livin' is easy.

Trout continue to spawn during the early summer, with females swimming up feeder streams to lay their eggs. Many of the eggs laid earlier in spring now hatch. Shallow waters are filled with tiny trout, or minnows, which provide excellent nourishment for larger fish. The minnows soon learn the importance of remaining near shelter at all times.

In summer, the lake divides into three layers of water: an upper warm layer, a lower cold layer and a combined middle layer. In the morning, the trout come into the shallows to feed on nymphs and minnows. The water here is cooler then and the low sun makes it easier to see the nymphs (larval flies which swim several inches below the surface of the water) and minnows, which hang out in nooks and crannies for protection.

During midday, the trout move lower, to cooler water. The brighter it gets, the deeper they go. They spend most of these hours nosing around the lake bottom for grubs, larval flies which live in the mud. Occasionally, the fish come across some tasty fish eggs or a small worm. Then in the afternoon, they go back to the shallower areas to feed, primarily in the shade, where it is easier for them to see the surface.

During late afternoon, when the cold-blooded insects are most active on the water and sunlight strikes the lake at an angle, the trout will rise to work the surface. This is when you'll see them jumping. They wait below the still surface for a fly to land and feed. Then they come up--so fast that they just keep going, often completely out of the water. It's always a thrill to see and it's also a prime time to catch dinner.

Yet trout fishing any hour of the summertime day can be a real pleasure. In the morning, we often fish with lures. Lures spin bright and silvery in the water, imitating minnows darting through the upper layers of the lake. During the middle of the day, the fish often seem to "stop biting." They've gone to the cooler depths to forage for grubs. Sometimes they can be caught with salmon eggs, but catching a tan is a better bet, or a nap in the shade after a swim while the old fishing rod, secured by a few sturdy rocks, takes care of itself. If the salmon eggs get soggy, so what?

Afternoons are the most productive times to fish. Everything seems to work. We fish flies when the trout are jumping. We fish lures along the steep drop-offs, often following the shadow line along the shore, as the fish do underwater. We also fish with grasshoppers near the shore in shady places under overhanging bushes. These are the likely spots where grasshoppers may accidentally fall into the lake, spots where the fish will be waiting for them. This time of day usually gives us our best fish memories and stories, and if things work out, a pan full of the freshest supper you could ever want.

Fall: September and Early October

In the fall, the water level is at the year's lowest. The days get shorter, nights get colder and food gets scarcer. The creeks and streams feeding the lakes have all but dried up. There isn't much insect life flowing through the lake. The temperature layers of the lake water begin to equalize. As the surface water cools, it's easier for the trout to spend time in it.

At this time of year, there are fewer but larger fish in the lakes. They are the survivors, and they want to fatten up for the winter cold spell. They feed on grubs and nymphs, now more plentiful in the shallower stretches, and on insects, which still land on the lake's surface in the late afternoon. Grasshoppers are fewer but fatter and are still choice bait. Everything seems more tempting to the hungry fish.

Fishing in the fall is thus similar to fishing in the summer—with one big exception: with the fish bigger and hungrier, and the action near or on the surface most of the day, it's even easier! There are a couple of other bonuses as well. The weather is better and the wilderness less crowded. Now if you could only arrange vacation time then. . . .

Lake Structure

There are times, especially late on a summer afternoon, when fish seem to spread out all over a lake. You can catch a fish almost anywhere, as they pop to the surface for fresh bugs or hunt in the shallows for silvery minnows. But most of the day—and most of the year—fish do not lead solitary lives. Like their cousins in the ocean, they form schools in places where the food is easy to come by. Each lake has its unique spots, and finding the ones that hold fish can be baffling.

Once Rick was fishing next to a couple of old-timers on a rocky point. Rick was casting his salmon eggs and lures out toward the middle of the lake, where he figured the big trout would be waiting. Nothing. The old-timers were casting their salmon eggs in the other direction, into a small cove, closer to shore. About every five minutes they reeled in a fish. As they were leaving, they turned to Rick and said, "Hey, young fella, you're fishing in the wrong place. There's an underground feeder stream in this little cove here, and most of the trout in the lake are probably down there waiting for eggs this afternoon. Try it." Twenty minutes later, Rick was heading back to camp with dinner and the next morning's breakfast.

Fish invariably congregate at a junction in the habitat. They sit just below a sharp drop-off, or in the shadow of a submerged boulder, or next to a rocky point, or just below a stream inlet. They follow morning and afternoon shade lines across a lake. It is said that 10 percent of the water holds 90 percent of the trout. No wonder fisherfolk try to keep their special spots secret!

Back to top

Rivers and Streams

Stream fishing, like lake fishing, has its unique pleasures and problems. It promises more solitude—a chance to get off by yourself even near the trail. And while it's hard work, it's often productive, and usually satisfying whether you bag a fish or not.

One theory has it that fish can't possibly conceive of any other creature, especially an over-coddled human, who might prefer to be as wet as they are. Thus, when they see a shiny lure dancing through the rain-splashed water, they figure it's the real thing. Our own theory doesn't attribute quite so much intelligence to the trout. We've found that as the storm moves in, the fish stop biting. They sense the air pressure decreasing—what weather forecasters mean by the barometer falling. Fish—and most other living things—seek shelter.

Once the storm is in full splendor, the barometer steadies, then begins to rise. As the air pressure increases, the rain may still be falling, but the fish sense that the worst is over, and out they go to see what fresh food has entered the lake. The rain washes the surface of the lake clean. New bugs appearing on the surface are likely to be alive. Minnows darting below the surface are likely to be real. And anglers' shadows, broken by the rain-mottled surface, are likely to go unnoticed. While all this is conjecture, the fact is that if you don't mind the wet, fishing in the rain can be highly successful and a lot more fun than huddling in the tent.

Back to top

Gears

Mountain trout are usually small. Most range from 8 to 12 inches in length and weigh a little under a pound. A two-to-three pounder in the high country is a monster. And even these require very little in the way of gear to bait, hook and reel into your frying pan.

First, you need a rod and reel. We leave fancy flyfishing, with its graphite rods, hand-tied flies and special line, to the purists. Instead, we use a simple telescoping spinning rod. It telescopes down to a two-foot length, short enough to stick in the backpack, though it's also long and stiff enough to give a good cast. Inexpensive models can even be found in some drugstores. But treat them gently and pack them carefully—expensive or cheap, they're fragile.

Reels come in all shapes and sizes. A look at Consumer Reports might be in order before you put your money down. The more expensive reels have better machinery inside—bearings, gears and levers—that last longer and take more abuse. The cheaper "backpacking" reels are lighter, less substantial and more likely to jam up after you drop them onto the ground or into the sand a couple of times. We usually compromise on the best combination of inexpensive and lightweight reel that our discount sports store has in stock when we're buying.

If you're left-handed, you might want a left-handed reel which permits you to wind in with your right hand while holding the rod and reel in your left. On the other hand (!), you might want to learn to fish with a righty's reel. It isn't hard and saves bringing extra gear if you don't mind sharing.

It's a good idea to practice taking the cover off the reel and lubricating the inside mechanism. It won't take many trips before your reel falls into the water or sand for one reason or another. If you don't lubricate it soon afterwards, certainly before your next outing, it will get sticky and much harder to cast properly. For this purpose, you can either buy a special reel lubricant or use any light gear-and-bearing grease.

You'll need fishing line on the reel. We usually deposit our reels at a local bait and tackle shop a few days before each outing and have them wound with four-pound monofilament line. The shop has a special winding machine which lays the line on evenly and regularly.

If you prefer, you can wind the line onto the spool yourself. Set up the rod and reel as if you were going fishing. Thread the line through the rod's eyelets and tie it to the spool of the reel with the bail open. Drop the spool of fresh line into a clean wastebasket. Grasp the line and rod with your right hand about a foot up from the reel. Snap the bail shut and reel the new line in with your left hand. Keep a slight drag on the line with your right hand, and watch the reel as you wind. If you see stray loops or uneven winding, vary the drag until you get it right. Don't allow any lumps, clumps, twirls or snags to grow on the spool. Be sure the line lays down in even symmetrical rows.

Why do you need fresh line each outing? The monofilament tends to shape itself to the spool on which it's wound. Line which has been on your reel for several months tends to lie in the water in hundreds of little curlicues. As you reel in these curls, they quickly form hundreds of small knots. Then you spend your fishing time untangling knots instead of casting—a disheartening and dull task.

The rest of your backpacking fishing tackle, except for a net, should fit easily into a large Ziploc bag. In that bag, supplies should be divided into smaller bags or plastic boxes. It's important both to save weight when backpacking and to save space in the pack. Don't fill your fishing bag with empty space. Pack lightly but efficiently.

Basically, you'll need the following items:

Fishing for the Tenderhearted

A lot of people like the idea of fishing but not the reality of executing and eating the results. Solution? Use barbless hooks. It puts sport back into angling and gives the fish a chance. Bait a barbed hook, catch a fish, and you've practically got to eat it because the fish swallows the hook and it's too far down to dislodge without needle-nosed pliers. Use barbed lures and the several hooks often make it impossible to release the fish quickly enough to ensure survival. Barbless means a good fight, a fighting chance for the fish to dislodge the hook, and a quick release if you win.

Where to find barbless hooks? Short of going to Japan and China where everybody fishes with them, try the local fly-fishing shops. Better yet, just take a pliers or a file to your regular stash and press the barbs in or file 'em away. Catch-and-release to your heart's content.

Back to top

Bait and Rigging

The best way to find out "if they're biting" and "what to use" is to ask those who are there or who you meet on the trail coming from your lake. If they tell you, "Salmon eggs toward the lake inlet," go to it with salmon eggs. If they tell you, "Lures by the steep north wall," don't use flies by the inlet. Simple enough.

Of course, this presumes the presence of people with information. The farther you go off the beaten track, the fewer ready-made answers you'll find. Alone at a lake, deciding what and where to fish becomes a wonderful challenge. Size up the lake closely for a few moments. Where does the water come in? Where does it leave? Where are the deepest spots? Where are the shady overhangs? Consider the season, the weather and the time of day to figure out where the fish might be.

If you prepare wisely, you're ready in advance for any kind of fishing, deep or shallow, lures or bait. Your lures, fastened to a cork so they won't tangle, can clip easily onto the snap at the end of the line. Your salmon-egg rigging is tied up inside a small plastic bag, available for instant use. If the fish are jumping in the shady section of the lake, you can quickly switch from eggs to a bubble and fly. Or perhaps you feel like putting a grasshopper in the water near the shrubs by the base of a steep cliff, then reading another chapter of your book as you wait for a tug on the line. It's fun and easy to experiment when you've put your riggings together in advance. It's frustrating when that big cahoonga is right there laughing at you, as you try to tie new knots, re-rig a line and catch a grasshopper, all at the same time.

Fishing Knots, Swivels, and Clips

Like Boy Scouts, anglers often wallow lovingly in the intricacy of knotsmanship. "Lark's-head loops" and "Bimini twists" are often cited as prerequisites to catching large fish. Fortunately, this is not the case. Everything in your fishing arsenal can be tied strongly and securely with a simple square knot, and confusion about the fancier systems of connecting line and tackle won't prevent you from catching a single trout. Nevertheless, for the precision angler and other fine-tuners, we include a few simple knots and tying instructions. We often use the clinch knot.

Swivels are used to tie one piece of tackle to another so they don't slip or come apart. For example, when you fish with salmon eggs, you may want two groups of eggs suspended above the bottom of the lake. A couple of three-way swivels allow you to connect two short "drop" leaders to the main line with a minimum of fuss.

A snap at the end of the line is a must; it'll save you a lot of time when you're making up and changing riggings. You can clip a lure onto the end of your line for fishing deep. Then, if the fish start feeding on surface insects, you can easily detach that lure to clip on a bubble-and-fly rigging. Snaps save you from cutting the line and retying whenever you change tackle. Remember, early morning and evening are the times when it will be most difficult for you to see the line to tie or untangle it, yet those are the times of the most fishing action. If you have a supply of snaps and swivels in your tackle bag, you'll be ready for those quick changes when time counts.

Salmon Egg Riggings

Trout lay their eggs in shallow rock beds near the headwaters of rivers and streams. These eggs occasionally get jarred loose and float downstream on the streambed, finally settling on the bottoms of lakes. Mountain trout love 'em.

To fish a stream, you need to gauge the amount of weight necessary to keep the egg low in the water. Without any weights at all, salmon egg riggings float near the surface. Too much weight will get your line snagged on the first branch. You should also know the depth and speed of the water to guess the right amount of weight, in the form of split shot(s). Clamp them onto your line about 12" to 16" above the hook. The traditional way to squeeze the split shot tight on the line is to bite down on it with your molars. Your dentist would probably prefer that you use a small pliers or vise-grips for the job. If the split shot is clamped too loosely, it will slide down the line and settle near the hook, making the bait look unnatural. With a couple of salmon eggs on the hook and a couple of split shots tight on the line, you're ready to sneak up and cast it into the nearest holding pool.

On a lake, salmon eggs are usually rigged deep for fishing at times when no fish surface to feed. These riggings are also good for any other bait which isn't supposed to be alive, a bit of salami or scrap of cheese, for example. You want to get these bits of food to where the fish are--along the bottom looking for food that has been washed into the lake. Trout lay eggs in clusters; if they wash away from the shallow stream in which they were laid, they remain clustered as they're carried down into the lake. We usually stick three or four salmon eggs on a #8 hook to simulate nature. One hint on getting them to stay hooked: lay them in the sun about 15 minutes before you use them. This hardens the outside skin and makes them less likely to float off the hook.

When a lake trout spots a cluster of salmon eggs, it will often mouth them, not swallowing them completely at first. It's testing for weirdness, like a hook lurking in its Sunday brunch. Our first suggested rigging is called the "Long Lake Rigging" (after the lake where two old-timers taught it to us). It suspends two clusters of eggs several inches above the lake bottom. When you feel a slight tug on the line, wait just a moment, then "set" the hook in the trout's mouth by pulling up slightly on the rod. The point is to try to snag the fish's lip as it's drawing the bait in for a second mouthing. If you don't wait, you'll pull up empty, for the fish will have let the bait go before taking another taste. With this rigging, you need to hold the line fairly taut at all times so you're sensitive to what's happening at the other end.

Our other suggestion is called the "Grizzly Lake Rigging." It rests the bait down on the lake bed and depends on a hungry trout to gobble it up completely. Put a small barrel or doughnut weight on your line before you add the swivel, then clip on the leader and the hook. When the fish starts to nibble or mouth the bait, the weight won't give it any resistance. The trout will come back for more in a few moments. If things work right, it won't figure out that the eggs are on a hook until the hook is in its throat or stomach. It's the perfect rigging for reading, sunning, napping and even cooking. You cast, lean the rod against a rock or your leg and wait. The line goes slack. When you feel or see a tug on the slack line, the hook is already set and the fish is ready to be reeled in.

If the lake bottom is full of underwater grasses, you may want to add a little something to your bait to get it to float a few inches above the bottom. That will make it easier for the fish to see as they amble along looking for food. Ask at the bait shop for something that floats: "Power Bait," for example, or "Floating Cheese," or, wonder of wonders, "Garlic Marshmallows." Slather some onto your salmon eggs or just use the floating bait alone on your hook. (If all else fails, you can probably throw the stuff into your spaghetti sauce!)

If you fish with worms, but the fish can't find 'em down in the mud, use a "worm inflator." This is a small plastic bottle with a hollow needle attached. It allows you to squirt some air into the worm to make it, er, more buoyant.

With either rigging, the weight should be only as heavy as necessary to get the hook(s) and salmon eggs where you want them. Heavy weights may cast farther, but as soon as a fish bites, that heavier weight gives the trout an advantage. All it has to do is go rapidly in one direction—up, for example—then switch directions with a snap of its head. If the weight is heavy enough, the line will break. Though the fish still has a hook in its mouth, you'll reel in an empty line. We usually start with eighth- or quarter-ounce sinkers and #8 hooks, whatever the rigging.

Any rigging meant to lie on the lake bottom tends to snag as you reel it in. Leave the rigging motionless for several minutes after you cast, so it can settle free of an obstruction that might otherwise snag it immediately. After that, a twitch every few minutes won't hurt and might attract a fish to the moving eggs. When you're ready to cast from a different rock or in another direction, pick up the line quickly from the lake bottom by reeling it in fast. Keep reeling fast so the hooks and sinker stay above sharp rocks and dead tree trunks on the bottom of the lake.

There's something else you should know about bait fishing, especially in mountain lakes. Time and again, you'll reel in your hook only to find it empty. You never felt a bite. Did the bait simply get soggy and drift away as you were reeling it in over a rock? Maybe. But more likely a fish got it without your ever knowing what happened. We've sometimes thrown salmon eggs into shallow, clear water (it's practically a ritual as we're getting ready to pack up and head home). Quite often, the fish pop the eggs into their mouths, then spit them out, then eat them for good on the second try. If that egg were attached to a hook, the only way to catch the fish would be to pull back on your line just as the fish mouthed the bait. That's called setting the hook. If you yank back too soon, you'll pull the bait right out of the fish's mouth. If you yank too late, the fish will already have mouthed and spit out the bait, leaving you with an empty hook.

The biggest difference between you and that old-timer on the next rock who's already caught the limit is not age. Nor is it brand of bait. It's that she knows how to feel that first nibble and at just the right time set the hook. The tiniest signal can mean that a trout is mouthing your bait. Some people wait for a slight quiver at the tip of the rod, some look for a movement of the line where it enters the water, some pinch a loop of line lightly between their fingertips. Whatever works. The old-timer's tried them all. You should, too.

Bubble-and-Fly Rigging

The evening is warm, the air still, the lake calm, and the surface of the water is broken only by the fish jumping for insects. If you're equipped to simulate the insects, you'll almost certainly get a fish. That's where the bubble-and-fly comes in.

This rigging consists of a fly tied onto one end of several feet of leader, either four-pound or two-pound test line, and a teardrop bubble tied on the other. The bubble's weight lets you cast the fly where the fish are feeding. Once the bubble-and-fly lands, the object is to make the fly seem like all those other surface bugs. Watch how the real flies behave, scooting across the water close to shore. Reel in the line with quick short bursts so the fly seems to dart along like its real-life cousins.

The best thing about bubble-and-fly fishing is that you rarely have to worry about snags. You can spend your time casting and retrieving rather than losing masses of tackle on underwater branches. Once in a while you'll snag a fly on a bush when fishing near shore. Also, be careful of trees and shrubs on your backswing. If you develop good casting habits, you'll while away the hours snagging fish rather than unsnagging line.

Flies come in a wide variety of shapes, sizes and colors. When the fish are jumping in those out-of-the-way backcountry lakes, neither shape nor color seem to matter. Size, however, is important. The fish are small; so are the bugs they eat. Try sizes 10 or 12. We've also noticed that flies produce the best results when they're first cast. They hit the water dry and sit on the surface for the first several casts. Thereafter, they ride slightly below the surface, and the fish are a little less likely to go after them. Sometimes we whip the fly through the air several times between casts in order to dry it off.

Keep moving as you fish bubble-and-fly. After a half-dozen casts in one area or direction, walk on. You can cover a whole lake this way, perfecting your casting technique, seeing the site from startling new perspectives and, if the fish are feeding, bagging dinner into the bargain. We backpack with a number of fanatics who don't care if they ever catch a fish. They just love the feel of casting, and over the years they have become expert at placing the fly a micrometer's distance from an overhanging branch, an inaccessible inlet, or a rocky spit. Now, if we could just get them to move to where the fish are. . . .

Fishing With Lures

The bigger the trout, the more likely it is to feed on small fish. From the backpacker's point of view, a lure is the closest thing to fishing with small fish; it often gets you the biggest trout. A lure is bright, shiny, silvery, and often spoon-shaped. It dances and flashes through the water, reflecting light much like a minnow. Lure fishing requires a technique simulating the movements of a tiny fish—darting quickly, stopping momentarily, and darting again. The art is in the play of the line, not in the distance of the cast, which can be quite short. As in bubble-and-fly fishing, you have to keep moving—your lure and yourself.

If you're fishing a stream, don't let the lure sink very far or you'll end up with a rock on the end of your line. The art of fishing a lure in a stream is to pick one that's not too heavy, then reel it through the water at a speed which will keep it just off the bottom. If you reel too fast or jerk it too hard, it will pop up to the surface. If you hesitate, it will sink to the bottom and tangle in the first branch or log. You'll definitely want a few spare lures while you're getting the hang of it. Think of the snagged lures as offerings to the spirit of the stream.

The lure simulates the motion of a small fish. If a trout wants to catch a minnow, it has to move fast. The speedy minnow will try to hide instantly, if it senses danger. It can dart into areas too shallow for the big guys, or it can escape under logs or into holes beneath banks. Thus, quickness is essential, for both minnow and trout; as soon as a trout sees the minnow flashing in the water, it strikes. The lure is below the surface. You can't see what's happening. If you feel a nibble, you've usually hooked the fish, because it hits the triple-barbed hook with mouth wide open, intent on swallowing the small fish whole. One minute you're reeling in the lure, the next you've got a big trout, solid on the line.

Suppose the large fish aren't feeding on minnows. They may still be attracted by the lure. They often swim up and seem to check it out, following it toward shore. If they're cautious, their senses will alert them that the lure doesn't sound or smell like a minnow, and they'll move away. It's an angler's nightmare to watch the big one follow a lure up to shore without biting. But frustration goes with the franchise, just as excitement does, and if that fish lives to savor a real minnow today, he'll be there for the taking tomorrow.

Another problem with lures is that they're made to fish deeper than flies. They ride somewhere between 6 and 24 inches below the surface as you reel them in. You can't see what's happening so it's harder to direct their path. Most lures have a three-pronged hook, which is more likely to catch a trout's mouth, but also more likely to snag underwater weeds or branches. Furthermore, if you have a problem with your equipment while the lure is in the water, the moment you stop reeling the treble hook drifts downward to catch on whatever lies there. By the time you fix the reel or untangle the line, the lure is hopelessly hooked on the lake bottom. One thing about lure fishing: it's never dull.

Fishing with Grasshoppers

An old saying goes, "You can catch any fish if you've got the right bait." Natural bait stimulates all the fish's senses. It's the "r-e-e-l" thing. Grasshoppers are a special treat to lake trout, and depending on the time of day and year, fish will be attuned to the possibility of a large hopper falling onto the lake's surface. Not only will a trout go after one without hesitation, it will often encounter fierce competition from kindred fish for the tasty tidbit.

The challenge of capturing the grasshoppers themselves, however, more than makes up for the ease of landing the fish that bites the hopper that feeds it. There are books on the subject; well, chapters anyway. One suggests chasing hoppers onto a blanket: if they get stuck in the blanket hairs, they're easy pickin'. That's plausible, but not many backpackers carry wool blankets into the high country anymore. Another expert calls for an insect net, also a great idea if you're not backpacking. We have our own methods, summed up by the rueful phrase, "going to great lengths." The bare-handed stab is the classiest technique, though it helps if you're The Flash. Those bugs move fast! The pot-lid slam is inelegant, often resulting in a dented pot lid and a handful of meadow, while the hopper easily eludes this oafish lunge. Our favorite exercise in futility, however, is the "long-distance pole press," invented one morning by Rick as he wandered forlornly through an Eden of grasshoppers with a fishing rod in hand. The long, narrow pole, he noticed, casts only a thin shadow which hoppers don't seem to notice. Once the pole is directly over its victim, you bring it down suddenly, pinning the hopper on the ground. Sometimes instead of pinning the hopper, this artful action stuns it, so you can pick it up while it's still dazed from the blow. Sometimes, instead of stunning the bug, you kill it, which is great if you're fighting a plague of locusts but not so good if you're trying to look like an expert. And sometimes—often, in Hal's case—you miss the grasshopper altogether. That pole is limber, and requires a modicum of hand-eye coordination. No matter how you try, it ain't easy.

Spring meadows are often literally covered with baby grasshoppers, and the catching's easier. As the year moves on, the hopper population decreases and the adults have more savvy. Like all insects, grasshoppers are cold-blooded. Dependent on the sun's warmth for their energy, they are least active in the morning, and thus theoretically there for the picking, right off leaves and grasses with your fingers. The only trouble in practice is that you can't see them till they flee, always just out of reach, and then you're back to square one: devising cunning strategies.

Some hoppers have wings and fly each time they take off, while others just hop. The key to catching them is to sneak up from behind, thus avoiding their field of vision, which extends roughly from the middle of their right side to the middle of their left. They'll jump just as your hand comes even with their heads, but not before. Try to move your hand slowly into position, perhaps one inch behind the hopper. Be careful not to cast a shadow on it as you move. Then suddenly slap down your open palm. Come down hard, quick and flat! Splat! Usually, you won't kill the hopper, but even if you do the fish won't care. Twelve-year-olds have an uncanny ability to catch grasshoppers this way.

Once you catch enough hoppers, you can keep them alive for as long as two days in a sealed plastic bag. Store them in the shade and be careful not to crush them at the bottom of your pack.

Hopper fishing is done with a rigging similar to a bubble-and-fly. The only difference is that the hook is empty. When you're ready to cast, poke the sharp point of the hook into the underside of the hopper's neck and out again at the belly button. The hopper will stay alive for a short while because its head hasn't been damaged. It may even flutter its wings in the water, attracting the fish.

The best place to fish hoppers is under the overhanging limb of a bush or tree where a hopper would be likely to fall in, or where the fish are already jumping. Sometimes when all else fails—the flies and lures and eggs—a hopper will save the day and provide your evening's dining pleasure. They're worth the scramble.

Fishing with Other Natural Bait

Rick's grandfather Harry wasn't exactly a fitness fanatic. Fifty pounds overweight, his favorite meal was a can of corned beef hash washed down with a shot of Jack Daniels. Harry's idea of a vacation was shooting craps at a Nevada casino till the wee hours. But one or two mornings afterwards, he'd get up at 7 a.m., grab his old bamboo fishing pole and head out to the local trout stream. Harry would fish from a cement bank, not more than a few feet from his car. Invariably, he'd return with a string of six or eight fish, while others in the same area would leave empty-handed.

Harry's secret? He fished with natural bait. He told Rick that his favorite bait was a "prairie wrinkle." (A "periwinkle" is actually a small sea snail which lives on rocks or pilings along the ocean shore. Don't tell Grandpa.) Oblivious to the malapropism, he'd go on to describe a large fly larva usually called a hellgrammite. Just before dinner, Harry would go down to a shallow stream behind the hotel. He'd stir up the bottom and use an old window screen to catch these one- to two-inch long, worm-like creatures. Whether they were hellgrammites, dragonfly larvae or mayfly pupa didn't matter. As long as they were fat, wet and slimy, the fish loved them.

Most mountain insects develop from larvae which grow in shallow pockets in the mud and under stream rocks. There they build a small nest or shell around themselves made up of whatever materials are on hand—bits of gravel, bark or leaves. When they finally mature, they crawl out of their "cocoon" into the warm sun on top of a nearby rock, and within hours they fly away.

On a camping trip, the best time to become a grub hunter is in the middle of the day, with the sun hanging high and the fish lying low. You can comb the shore of a lake, stir up the bed of a trickling stream or probe the underside of the bark on a rotting log. Anything that's soft, fat and wiggly (your partner excepted) will work as trout bait. Try rigging your mosquito netting with a wire loop and hold it in a stream just below a large rock. Pick up the rock and see what you catch. Teach the kids. They'll love it.

You can fish with these larvae either in their cocoons or out of them, depending on the size of the larvae and your hooks. Insect larvae are usually fished on the bottom, like salmon eggs, but you can also fish them from a bubble as you would a hopper.

Prevent this by developing good casting habits. Practice in the local park at home or at the campsite using only a bubble on the line. Grip the rod as shown in the illustration. Point it in the direction you intend to cast. Catch the line on the ball of your forefinger. Then open the bail. With one smooth motion, bring the tip of the rod up, just past vertical, then back down. As the rod passes the "10 o'clock" position in front of you, straighten your forefinger. The line will spin off the reel as it follows the bubble across the lake. Once the bubble or lure is in the water, give the handle on the reel a quick turn to snap the bail back into position. As you continue turning the handle, the line reels regularly and neatly onto the spool, ready to peel off with little resistance on the next cast.

Reeling in the line seems simple, but requires some vigilance at the beginning. Most backpacking reels are small and light; the line is wound in very small loops around a narrow spool. When the line shoots out over the water, it pulls straighter at the bubble end than it does near the reel. The line on the water near you will be twirled and curled, and when you begin to reel in, it might tangle itself into a knot. Even a small knot on the line will foul up smooth casting.

To prevent these tangles, you need to watch the line as you reel in the first 10 or 15 feet. This is distracting: your attention is usually focused where the fish are. Force yourself. Watch for knots and tangles until the line is straight in the water.

Another way to defend against tangles is to grasp the rod and line with your rod hand about a foot in front of the reel as you begin to haul in. As the line slips through your hand, you'll feel any knots and can untangle them on the spot.

What if you reel in a tangle or knot without noticing it? The first indication will be a sudden halt to your lure or bubble as you cast. Knots and tangles catch in the eyelets through which the line passes along the rod. This will stop your cast dead. Then you'll have to decide whether to untangle the mess or just cut it off and continue with the fresh line still on your spool. Most spools contain about three times the amount of line you actually use when casting. If you cut off a length of tangled mess, you'll still have enough for an afternoon's fishing. If you have to cut again, however, you'll be approaching the end of what line is on the reel. Once you hit the bottom of the spool, you'll need to wind on new line, either from the extra four-pound monofilament in your fishing bag, or from another reel (see previous instructions on winding line onto an empty spool).

What happens if you're in a wooded area where branches are too close to permit an overhead cast? Use a side-arm cast. Practice casting from either side to either side. That way, you'll be prepared to fight your way through brush and cast from a muddy bank overgrown with dense bushes. You can still put the lure or bubble wherever you want it.

Underwater Snags

Try as you might, the line will occasionally snag on a rock or branch under water. First make sure you haven't actually caught a large fish! The big ones sometimes move so slowly that you might mistake them for a rock. Watch the line carefully in the water as you hold it tight. If it moves at all, it's a fish! Otherwise, you've got a snag. Don't just snap a snagged line. Try loosening its tension and pulling again from all directions. Walk back and forth along the bank, hop around the rocks. You may get lucky and dislodge it. If the weather is warm and the water is not too cold, you can swim out to free it. Sometimes we cut the line and tie it somewhere on shore, and in the heat of the following day we'll screw up our nerve, jump in and retrieve the lure.

If you decide to sacrifice the lure or rigging, be careful not to break your rod in the process of snapping the line. Point the rod in the direction of the snagged lure. Wrap the line two or three times around your hand between the reel and the first eyelet on the rod. (If your skin cuts easily, wrap the line around your shirtsleeve near your wrist. The line, when taut, is knife-like.) Then start walking backward. The line will normally break near the lure, though sometimes the extra pressure will free the lure from the snag. Either way, when the line suddenly goes limp, reel it in. Never snap a line by raising the tip of the pole. That's a guaranteed way to break the pole instead.

Back to top

Playing and Landing a Trout: What's a Drag?

When a fish takes your hook, it reacts like any animal with something sharp and painful in its mouth—it runs away. It swims as rapidly and strongly as it can away from the danger it has encountered, toward a secure hiding place. At this point, it's up to the angler to "play" the fish, to let it run against a constant resistance, to tire it out.

If your line is taut, the fish can snap it with a few quick maneuvers. How can a fish which weighs only one pound snap a "four-pound test" line? Easy. The "four-pound" figure indicates only the amount of dead, motionless weight the line can lift vertically off the ground. Even a one-pound fish moving rapidly can exert more than four pounds of force on a taut line. If it does, the line will snap.

Spinning reels are equipped with a "drag" to prevent this. This drag adjustment allows the line to unwind when it is pulled hard by a fish; that is, it unwinds rather than snaps. You should check and adjust the drag each time you fish. Don't wait till the fish hits your lure or bait. You may not have time.

The drag is adjusted with the same screw mechanism that holds the spool in position on the reel. Most light, inexpensive backpacking reels are equipped with cheap drag fittings. The vibration of the reel winding and unwinding, the snapping of the bail, even the bouncing of your pack as you hike along the trail can disturb the drag mechanism, and you'll need to fiddle with it from time to time.

First check the adjustment. Grab the line below the closed reel and pull. The line should go taut, and then the spool should begin to revolve, allowing the line to peel off. If you can pull hard enough to snap the line without it unwinding, the drag is too tight. If you feel no resistance, it's too loose. When it's adjusted right, a solid tug will unwind the line slowly against a constant resistance. Remember that a very small movement in the adjustment nut—one-eighth or one-quarter of a turn—will make all the difference in the drag. Make sure to check it each time you begin to fish.

If, when you set out to test the drag, the handle and bail revolve, permitting the line to come easily off the spool, the reel's one-way-only ratcheting mechanism is not engaged. It's controlled by a little lever or switch on the reel. It should always be engaged when you fish, so that the reel makes a soft clicking sound as you wind the line in.

Landing Fish

If a fish gets away while you're trying to land it, it's usually because your heart is going faster than your head. Finally, after all that waiting and all that work, you've got a live, very angry animal on the end of a pathetically thin line, and there are too many things to do all at the same time. The rod is bobbing and weaving, your friends are cheering, whooping and being useless with a million suggestions, none of which you can hear for all the pounding inside your ears. It feels like you're waltzing with a tiger and he knows all the steps.

Okay. You're supposed to remain cool and collected. That's part of the challenge. Anyway, you want to land that thunderbolt. Adjust the drag as you begin to play the fish. Bring it closer to you. Make it work, pulling against the drag, taking the line slowly out again. Then increase the drag just a touch and reel it in again. The fish is now close enough to see. It's a big one! Dinner for four! Better repeat the process. Let it go out again; reel it in again. Is it still fighting mad? Do it again! Don't try to land a biggie until it's tired. Otherwise you're going to end up talking about dinner rather than eating it.

The big ones are the heart stoppers, but the small ones are fun and exhilarating, too. And most of the fish you'll catch in the mountains are going to be small—in the 8-inch to 10-inch bracket: great eating and easy to store. Bring the small fry close to shore, then lift it out of the water and away from the lake all in one fluid motion. If you decide to release the fish—it may be too small or you may only be fishing for sport—get the hook out of the fish's mouth as quickly and gently as possible. Then hold it lightly in your hand and place it under the surface of the water. If it has enough strength to survive, it will dart quickly out of your hand with a sudden, swift motion. If it's nearly dead, it will float motionless in your hand. Don't leave the fish floating there if it doesn't have the strength to swim away. It's as good as dead, and there's no sense polluting the lake with it. Keep it and eat it.

Be careful also about regulations on fish size. In some lakes and streams, there's a legal minimum limit on the size of fish you can keep; smaller fish must be returned to the water. Check in your regulation manual for this information.

The most efficient way to land a larger fish is with a net.

This is absolutely imperative if, like us, you enjoy wading out into the lake up to your hips as you fish. Trying to grab a trout with bare hands is more difficult than catching the proverbial greased pig. Net your catch head first so that it will move into the net while trying to escape. Once it's in, lift the net clean out of the water. Then, with your other hand, grab the fish and webbing from the outside with a firm grip around the middle of the fish. Now remove the hook (while holding your rod out of the water, if necessary; it can be done) and release the fish or store it for later eating.

What if you don't have a net? You'll have to beach the fish. Keep in mind when you do this that fish fight harder as the water gets shallower. Play the fish till it's tired, then lead it up to a sandy stretch of shore. With a single, continuous motion, guide the fish onto the beach. Don't jerk the line or it may break. Just pull steadily and the trout will follow the line. The fish might try to twitch and jump when it feels the sand, but if it's tired and your motion is swift and smooth, it won't realize what is happening until it's too late.

What if you have no net and no shore? When fishing from a rocky bank, you'll have to use the "clean-and-jerk" method. If the fish is very tired and the water is shallow, you can use the same motion that you'd use to beach a fish to pull it up out of the water toward land. Once it's airborne and moving in your direction, it may arch its body rapidly, wriggle frantically, or in some other way unhook itself or snap the line. Hopefully it will have enough inertia at this point to continue on its shoreward flight and land on the rocky bank—flipping, flopping and unhooked, but far enough away from the water to prevent a last-minute leap from the frying pan to the watery deep.

You've landed your fish and, like Rick with his 16-inch golden trout, you need time to "come down." Savor the moment and the future bragging rights. Then put the gear in order (the line may be a mess), pack up the plastic bags, and head for the campsite with your catch and a gleam in your eye that spells baked trout and a loaf of bread hot out of the "oven" for supper.

Back to top

Close Window