Addicted: Early Spring in the Eastern Sierra

Maybe a little too early... I was promised weather where shorts would be comfortable, the river would be empty, and the fishing would be epic. Only one of these things came true and despite mild-moderate hypothermia (for reals) I had an incredible time in what I almost forgot is one of the most picturesque ranges in the world with a great friend I see far too little of.

After a bone-chilling week of work seeing one too many sunrises, I put the pedal to the metal and found myself in Truckee swapping gear into Nic's wagon. We logged another 3 hours on the road to get to Mammoth for some hotsprings and flyfishing, catching up enroute. Halfway through the second leg and snow squalls started coming down. "What the F Nic, you said it would be 80." They let up, but the howling wind didn't. We drank enough beer inside the shelter of the car at some vaguely know pull-out near the Hot Creek interpretive center to be able to sleep through the night nearly spooning in my new 1.75 person tent. Morning dawned and 3 inches of fresh snow greeted us. We had wind and snow squalls all day, but the views of the freshly dusted peaks all around and a fairly consistent bite of beautiful bows and browns made up for the discomfort. For those of you that don't know, Hot Creek is a very unique river in California in that it's a spring creek fed by both hot and cold springs. Trout thrive in the resource rich environment in the upstream cold spring section, and bathers enjoys the relaxing warmth downstream.

At the end of day one, we headed to the nearby safe-temperature hot springs hoping to thaw out a bit. We were so cold trying to make dinner that we had to dance stupidly in circles around the dying grill just to keep from shivering uncontrollable. We made it to the springs and were so incubated (and intoxicated) that we couldn't leave. Also, the threat of the now below freezing night time temperatures kept all but our noses above water. After narrowly avoiding drowning we crawled back into the cozy tent and dreamed of more and bigger fish.

The next day the squalls were just about gone but the temperature was holding steady at too cold. We had the fishing dialed, though, and managed to pull a fish out of every slot we could see, calling it out like a shot in pool. Back to the springs in the evening for another thaw out, etc, sleep, repeat.

I'll admit it took some adjustment from expecting a 5 pound average fish in New Zealand to the 12 inch average of Hot Creek, but I had a damn good time and thats why I do this crazy stuff in the first place. Just for a reminder, I included a New Zealand brown photo that didn't make it to the blog early ; )