Sierra Adventure: Secret Creek

The biggest brook trout for the day

As our grand Sierra Adventure begins to near the end, my dad and I are starting to go to some of the best fishing spots in the area. We have been saving the best for last, but now the best is here. Today, we visit Secret Creek, a small creek that feeds out of a fish rich lake. The creek holds massive amounts of good sized brook trout, along with a abundant supply of mosquitos. However, the creek's small size and delicate fish has prompted my family to keep the creek a secret. My dad and I only fish the creek twice every year and the fish become skittish on the second trip. Without further adue, here is my experience at Secret Creek.

Another nice brookie from this year

On our way back from Tuolumne meadows my dad suggested a stop at Secret Creek. After confirmation from the rest of my family, we turned the car down a dirt road towards the Creek. Arriving at a dirt pullout around 10:00 A.M., I donned my mosquito netting, gloves, jacket, hat, and pants. In the past, I have had twenty mosquitos land on my cotton gloves, stick their mouth through the holes in the cotton, and suck my blood. That does not happen anymore with the correct gear. Back in the present, I held my three-weight fly rod in my right hand. Attached to the leader was a #14 crystal flash wooly bugger. As I dropped my fly into Secret Creek a four-inch brook trout immediately charged it. Unfortunately, a bigger six-inch trout got there first and gobbled my fly up. During the hook-set I pulled the fly out of the fish's mouth. Then a 9-inch trout swam up and grabbed the fly. I landed the nine-inch fish. The brook trout have never seen a fly before, so when something drops into the pool all the fish go for whatever has fallen in. Sometimes, it is my fly. I enjoyed a happy fourty-five minutes, catching ten brook trout and missing many more. My dad caught one with a California mosquito dry fly.

When I said "happy" earlier in my blog, there was one point in which I threw my rod across the meadow in frustration. To understand my pain, we have to travel back one year.
------------
It had been a good half-hour and I had caught eight brook trout with my crystal flash wooly bugger. Now, I dropped my fly into a large pool. I was hanging onto a large boulder with one hand and holding my fly rod with the other. If any fish was to hit, I would just pull it up onto the meadow behind me. Then I saw the fish. It was a lunker of a brook trout. Estimated to be around fourteen-inches from head to tail. It saw my fly, and made a savage lunge. I managed to hook the fish, but could not drag it onto the meadow. I stripped the fly line with my teeth, hoping to tire it out. After half-a-minute the fish turned onto it's side. I tried to drag it onto the meadow, but the brook trout made one last jump. The fly tore free of the mouth, and the fish swam back under the bank.
------------- Back in the present
I can see the same fish from last year. It's about an inch bigger, with a scar on the left side of the mouth. The fish has moved down from the big pool last year, making it possible for me to land it. My cast is perfect, with little splash. The fish makes the savage lunge I remember so well. My hook-set is a little off, but the point digs in. Realizing that it has been hooked, the trout breaches clear out of the water, flops across a dry spot, and dives back into the bigger pool. My fly pops loose from the fish's mouth.

Total catch was 10 fish for Kai, 1 for Dad.