East Fork San Gabriel River Rainbow Trout

Word online is that the West Fork San Gabriel River has the trout, but after recent fires, access is closed. We saw that trout do get caught on the East Fork and began making plans. 

We stayed in San Clemente, about a half hour south of where our son, Matt, lives in Costa Mesa. The San Gabriel Mountains are fairly close to Los Angeles, part of the Angeles National Forest. Trish picked up on our uncertainty about going there, and after doing some searching on her phone, came up with Davy's Locker charter for only $70.00 apiece, along with six other clients. Yellowtail, sheepshead, other species. But we had paid extra to check as baggage a rod case holding fly rods. I wasn't going to sell out on my original intention.

Good thing. The mountains are big, beautiful, and bountiful when it comes to trout. Matt cast first, when we felt astonished to see his indicator float jerk forward, unmistakably a hit. He used his nine-foot five weight, which would prove effective. I used my six-foot two weight. We had beadhead pheasant tails and hare's ears, but I also had a couple of size 16 Surveyors with red tails and silver heads. I felt drawn to trying them instead. New Jersey fly angler Jesse Sullivan gave me a whole slew of Surveyors and Red Darts a few years ago. Flies he tied himself. I felt privileged to try a couple on the West Coast.

Temperatures might have hit 70. The water was chilly but not bone cold. Matt had waders but was short on wading boots, so he stuffed his boot feet neoprene into hiking boots. A fit too tight. He ended up wet-wading and never seemed to mind the chill. 

All of our trout were small. Either wild or native rainbows, most of them were about five inches long, the biggest seven inches, though a nine-incher did follow after one of the small ones I hooked. We caught 10 of them while taking our time. I did a lot of photography, besides. Trish relaxed, reading a novel. Matt noticed a couple of splash rises and tied on a dry fly, catching a couple and missing other hits. He sought me out  to say so, and so I tied on a parachute Adams, size 14, and began getting hit repeatedly. I missed more than 20 and never hooked one of the fish.  

There are opportunities in California for big trout, particularly east of the Sierras, though we weren't up for nine hours or more of driving at the risk of traveling snow-covered roads, perhaps. The little ones continued to astonish us with their eagerness. Pretty fish to see as we quickly released them from barbless hooks to shimmy back out of sight. The water is as clear as any swimming pool, but you don't see any trout until they flash at what they're offered.

 

Wild and Native