Thinking about taking up fishing in
California? My advice is to begin in Northern
California and then head south to Owen’s Valley in the Eastern Sierras (see
postings from October) this way you can be fishless as a beginner but end like a pro. Although you can
see the fish everywhere up here, they are focused on mating and not eating
(this is November, after all.) Such is
the setting for our almost fish-less week.
We came here because it was the wildest looking area
around Redding, California, and we only had six days before I needed another
demo stop. Most of the government
campgrounds are closed this time of year and, afraid of it dropping below
freezing at night, (ok, only Kit is afraid of it dropping below freezing!) we decided our first stop would be at the Trinity River RV Park in Lewiston, CA. It is a funky
little place. So far my experience of RV
parks has been that they are either too fancy (including swimming pools and
golf cart rentals) or too funky (mostly filled with people living there full
time with a few open spots for those of us on the road) with a few charming
parks in between (the previously reported Mono Vista RV Park in Lee Vining, CA, being one of them.)
But the folks at Trinity were welcoming and upon arrival
we were offered two choices, a full hook-up spot for $35/night or dry camping
along the Trinity River for $25/night.
Gazing across an open meadow to the shores of the river while
contemplating these options, we both knew there was little chance that we would
start our visit anywhere but at the river’s edge. The solitude of the wide open meadow and
campfire rings were joyous indications of fresh air and freedom after nearly
300 miles in the car. (Clearly, this was
an emotional, not financial, decision—a $10 difference between dry camping and a
full hook-up? Normally that would have
been a no-brainer.)
It was lovely down along the shore. The dogs running free
and all of us watching the salmon jump up the river (watch the movie of Rosco
fishing here – the fish were bigger than he was!) We also tried our hand at bringing in one of
the giants, and Alan had one on his line for a brief period of time, but we
never got one to shore. The weather was
sunny and not too cold at night, so we managed to get two nights of dry camping
out of our batteries before pulling Salt up to the top for an additional two
nights in a full hook-up pitch.
We tried a hike in the Trinity Alps – aptly named for
their incredibly high peaks. Sadly,
almost every hike we could find started low (3,500 feet) and then climbed up
through the trees to the alpine meadows (and I mean climb!) to above 7,500
feet. Unlike the trails in the Eastern
Sierras which started high and went a little higher, all the altitude gain here
is to be done by the hiker. We went two
miles almost straight uphill on the Boulder Creek trail before turning around –
it was like 1.5 hours on the StairMaster and we had enough! Back down to some fishing in Coffee Creek. (Of note here, Coffee Creek, the town, is a
must see if you are in this area. It’s
like a little fantasy land with a narrow windy road, leafy trees, little farms
and a running creek. Delightful, but
don’t arrive in a big rig.)
Fish caught: 0.
Perhaps the best thing to come of this day was the discovery
of Ackerman Campground (Shasta-Trinity National Forest) – open all year (but
without water or dump after October) and just gorgeous with large deciduous trees (all
in color right now) and grassy open pitches right along Lewiston Lake. We arrived at pitch #44 the very next
day.
Being the only campers at Ackerman we let the dogs run
free and they had a blast for a while (cue the Music of Doom.) We were leaving for our second attempt at lake fishing
when I called to River and watched her stumble out of the bushes. It looked like someone had shrunk the skin on
her face: Her eyes were shut and her
teeth were showing, like she was stuck in a permanent sneeze. And she was pawing the air like she couldn’t
breathe. (She is a bit of a drama
queen.) I ran to her, calling for Alan
and we found that she had gotten herself into some kind of a sticker bush which
not only has incredibly small and spiky stickers, but also excretes a
sticky substance. She had hundreds of
them in her, around her nose and eyes and up her legs. After about 20 minutes Alan had the stickers
off her face and most of them off her legs so we headed down to fish.
Rosco, who by now was as impatient with our lack of fish
as we were, decided that he had waited long enough for a fish. While I was reeling in my cast, he decided to
jump out and eat my hook, planting it firmly into his upper lip. I ran to him, calling for Alan. (See a pattern here?) Using his fish pliers (not the true name),
Alan worked on the hook while I held Rosco as still as possible. He’s a tough dog and doesn’t complain about
much, but a couple of pulls had him squirming around like crazy. Alan eventually removed the hook and he was
up running around seconds later.
Fish caught: 0. "Others" caught: 1.
We had a great campfire that night, me sipping Port while
Alan held each dog in succession doing the final sticker removal. Perhaps I had sensed an end to our fish
catching on our last grocery trip; I had purchased some chicken and stuck it in
our freezer. We cooked that (marinated in olive oil
and Herbs de Provence) over the campfire with some corn on the cob and my Flax Seed Bread
right out of the oven. The night was about 40 with a clear, starry sky and the
fire kept us toasty until bedtime.
The following day we drove to Rush Creek, having given up
on lake fishing. Alan caught two – one
keeper at 10”, the other he let go. I am
still fish-less but at least we are not totally skunked coming out of this
National Forest!
We had a quiet afternoon until sticker removal time at
which point we discovered three ticks on River.
So instead of watching Episode 2 of Downton Abbey on the last bits of
our battery juice, we pulled ticks from the Rivlette. Just one more way I can tell we are no longer
in Orange County.
-K
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