Of Fish and Bones

Early October of this year featured a five-day trip to Rock Creek, about 25 miles north of Bishop on 395. This celebrated a Riter centennial: Dad first traveled up here on a washboard dirt road in 1925, and he got me hooked on Sierra fishing, camping, and Fords. On the second day, my sis now living in Kentucky called, and the topic of trout came up. She declared she didn’t care for them, too many bones. Being trained in debate, and knowing the tastiness of trout, I used an old line, “Life is like eating fish: pick out and discard the bones, and enjoy the meat.”

She didn’t buy that, but…

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Plan for Plan B

Over the last five years or so, Brad proved himself as “the Wizard of Waze” on our Gray Hogs trips—he’d enter our ultimate destination, calculate in any traffic issues, add in some stops along the way, and we’d blissfully follow his lead, never worrying nor looking at our maps, just riding. We got spoiled, until…

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Beauty As Its Own Reward

I’m a decent stream fisherman for trout. On a Sierra trip a couple of years back, in 13 hours of fishing I pulled in 43, some up to 15”. That’s pretty good for smaller Sierra streams. No brag, just fact. (Kudos to the first that gets that allusion about “no brag”). Then came McGee Creek.

Driving south on old 395, I saw the line of trees marking McGee, and was ready to drive on by. Why? In ten or twelve stops there over the years, I have caught the grand and humbling total of two trout there, both last spring. Yep, entirely shut out before. But the stream’s beauty continues to entrance me—gorgeous holes that…

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