Meeting the Kernvillains
... there's a place called Mount Whitney,
From where the mighty Kern River comes down.
Now, it's not deep nor wide,
But it's a mean piece of water, my friend.
And I may cross on the highway,
But I'll never swim Kern River again.
M.H.
I carefully placed my boot in the water, feeling the slippery rocks shifting underneath my foot and imagined myself falling in. The flow of the river was fast and hard. Dangerously faster than on the Eastern side of the Sierras and definitely harder to keep from falling into the freezing water. There was no way the flow reports were correct, I thought to myself. I swore under my breath, pissed that I didn't check it early that morning. I guess it didn't matter, I would have fished regardless. A more knowledgeable person may have not, but I wasn't going to let water stop my exploration this early in the game.
We had arrived under cover of darkness, sneaking in the early morning to catch a few hours of sleep along the shoreline of Lake Isabella. We didn't need fancy lodging. The three of us were just glad for the chance to play adventurer and explore without the creature comforts that would have naturally accompanied us if our wives had joined the party. Ignorantly blissful, we settled somewhere between a couple Porta Jon's and the incessant humming of portable generators.
What looked to be abandoned ships snaking its way along the perimeter of a crater, proved to be just an eye sore come the morning light. Nut to butt, hundreds of trailers blocked every accessible view of the shoreline in a sad attempt to claim the worlds beauty for themselves.
Unsure of our plan of attack, we headed north to Kernville following up on some advice given by Aaron Silberberg at SoCal Fly Shop. The plan was simple. Get to town, catch a bunch of the stocker trout at Riverside park (simultaneously showing up the bait slingers), get outfitted at the kern river fly shop, and head north away from civilization to the Golden Trout Wilderness. I hoped to meet Guy, the owner of the Kern River Fly Shop and get some good advice on the area. Evidently he knew the river well. The plan was as good as any, if it weren't for the fact that so many bait anglers were lined shoulder to shoulder catching an obscene number of large stocker trout - mostly with powerbait and salmon eggs.
We setup carefully, each of us wondering how we would push our way into some free space. This wasn't the way it was planned. Hell, this was the antithesis of fly fishing! Still, they were catching quite a lot of fish and it had been a long time since I felt a grab on a 4 wt rod.
With the flows as strong as 1100 CFM, the river was going to be tough to wade and the trees that lined the river, made it challenging to lay out a nice cast with a fly over 10 feet away. Anglers with spinning reels could easily stand on the shoreline and chuck powerbait to the welcoming trout. Flopping my line or roll casting was less than satisfying and I recalled that I had left a small TFO spinning rod in the recesses of my Sportsmobile. I ignored temptation and as my friend Michelle Bowman says, "Resist the Powerbait," I did.
The Kern River Fly Shop was a small modest store, with only a simple, but large sign on the outside that read "FLY SHOP." A plainly dressed man in a brown, Carhartt jacket, paced outside the store front porch. With one hand, he gestured hello, in another he held the remainder of a cigarette that needed to get ashed. Reminiscent of a bygone era, Bill, looked like a small town deputy sheriff overlooking the mayhem that hit the town in the early morning. We got to talking and the man had actually retired from working the streets of Bakersfield as a cop. His new part time gig served him fine. Enough time to get out of the house and think about fishing and most likely would help him stay married for another 30 years. He seemed to be a man of few words, so his advice to skip the crowds and go for the clearer, albeit colder water was heeded and received well.
The road north was beautiful. The southern sierras north of Kernville at a lower elevation was much warmer than its sister on the Eastern side. From the roadway, you could see the sharp contrast of the raging river and the peaceful snow that lined the top of the mountains. The road past Kernville snaked through the valley as if it God designed it to flow next to the actual river. Without any real direction, we made numerous stops on the road looking for fish, but inevitably headed north to Johnsondale bridge.
Like many great fly fishing waters, there is generally some landmark that separates different sections of water, oftentimes dividing uses and regulation. This river was no exception and we read (and reread) the regulation on the trailhead to ensure that we could fish north of the bridge.
The river north of the bridge can be fairly deep and the narrow trail that hugged the canyon sometimes climbs a long distance above the river bottom only to tumble a few hundred feet below. The water raged on and on and although there looked to be plenty of access, we weren't sure which would prove to be the best. The fish were definitely hard to come by and most barely gave our presentations a second look. Nevertheless, determination will prevail and the patient angler gets a few hard grabs with some decent fish.
You can fish the most beautiful country in the world, but if you've traveled far and the tugs on your line are getting fewer and farther in between - you're gonna hit what you KNOW works best. We headed back to town to check out the mayhem at the park. Apparently, the fish hatchery about a mile north had broken down and had dumped their entire load of fish. The crowd had been thinning out with the available light and we found more comfortable ground to swing our line. Lucky for us we did. Fishing was gangbusters. I began to forget everything I said about stocker trout vs wild fish, the fishing was too fun to quit. We caught a lot of good sized fish, and some of the same fish twice. Josh had finally caught one that was caught previously by a bait chucker and since it didn't look as it would weather the return, it made it to the pan that evening.
For the next few days, the fishing was the same. Explore, get worked and head back to town for a quick fix. We eve the n tried water above Lake Isabella looking for spawning trout. Nada. The water didn't look fishy. The crew began to get bored of the town scenery and the Kernvillains who blasted their stereos to unwilling listeners.
We knew it would happen. Even in our most frustrating moments, the time had come to leave. It was time for the mixed feeling that appears after most trips. The desire for a nice bed - but leaving exploration for the mundane. We tried to delay our return fishing the lower kern - but ended up getting more disgusted at how filthy the place was left.
The irregular boulders and slow water flows made the tailwater of Lake Isabella easy to fish. I guess if you didn't care, some fish were easily caught - If only the trout were more cooperative. I guess it really didn't matter if we caught fish. It was fun to feel young again without a care in the world. If only for a few days. If you could overlook the trash and the complete rudeness with the littering, the gang bangers and their cars - you would see some amazing scenery and meet some cool people. Things that only people who deliberately leave the confines of their cars will ever get to see. The mountains were laced in lavender and gold. The mountains tipped with brilliantly white snow. The air was fresh and clean and the cold river flowed through your soul. I cant wait till next week...
From where the mighty Kern River comes down.
Now, it's not deep nor wide,
But it's a mean piece of water, my friend.
And I may cross on the highway,
But I'll never swim Kern River again.
M.H.
I carefully placed my boot in the water, feeling the slippery rocks shifting underneath my foot and imagined myself falling in. The flow of the river was fast and hard. Dangerously faster than on the Eastern side of the Sierras and definitely harder to keep from falling into the freezing water. There was no way the flow reports were correct, I thought to myself. I swore under my breath, pissed that I didn't check it early that morning. I guess it didn't matter, I would have fished regardless. A more knowledgeable person may have not, but I wasn't going to let water stop my exploration this early in the game.
We had arrived under cover of darkness, sneaking in the early morning to catch a few hours of sleep along the shoreline of Lake Isabella. We didn't need fancy lodging. The three of us were just glad for the chance to play adventurer and explore without the creature comforts that would have naturally accompanied us if our wives had joined the party. Ignorantly blissful, we settled somewhere between a couple Porta Jon's and the incessant humming of portable generators.
Lake Isabella (Aux. Dam Campground)
What looked to be abandoned ships snaking its way along the perimeter of a crater, proved to be just an eye sore come the morning light. Nut to butt, hundreds of trailers blocked every accessible view of the shoreline in a sad attempt to claim the worlds beauty for themselves.
Unsure of our plan of attack, we headed north to Kernville following up on some advice given by Aaron Silberberg at SoCal Fly Shop. The plan was simple. Get to town, catch a bunch of the stocker trout at Riverside park (simultaneously showing up the bait slingers), get outfitted at the kern river fly shop, and head north away from civilization to the Golden Trout Wilderness. I hoped to meet Guy, the owner of the Kern River Fly Shop and get some good advice on the area. Evidently he knew the river well. The plan was as good as any, if it weren't for the fact that so many bait anglers were lined shoulder to shoulder catching an obscene number of large stocker trout - mostly with powerbait and salmon eggs.
We setup carefully, each of us wondering how we would push our way into some free space. This wasn't the way it was planned. Hell, this was the antithesis of fly fishing! Still, they were catching quite a lot of fish and it had been a long time since I felt a grab on a 4 wt rod.
With the flows as strong as 1100 CFM, the river was going to be tough to wade and the trees that lined the river, made it challenging to lay out a nice cast with a fly over 10 feet away. Anglers with spinning reels could easily stand on the shoreline and chuck powerbait to the welcoming trout. Flopping my line or roll casting was less than satisfying and I recalled that I had left a small TFO spinning rod in the recesses of my Sportsmobile. I ignored temptation and as my friend Michelle Bowman says, "Resist the Powerbait," I did.
How often do you have prime fishing waters within sight of a trailer park?
Evidently, the pumps failed at the fish hatchery just north of town -- they dumped there whole load of trout into the river where they met the eagerly waiting hands of Josh...
The Kern River Fly Shop was a small modest store, with only a simple, but large sign on the outside that read "FLY SHOP." A plainly dressed man in a brown, Carhartt jacket, paced outside the store front porch. With one hand, he gestured hello, in another he held the remainder of a cigarette that needed to get ashed. Reminiscent of a bygone era, Bill, looked like a small town deputy sheriff overlooking the mayhem that hit the town in the early morning. We got to talking and the man had actually retired from working the streets of Bakersfield as a cop. His new part time gig served him fine. Enough time to get out of the house and think about fishing and most likely would help him stay married for another 30 years. He seemed to be a man of few words, so his advice to skip the crowds and go for the clearer, albeit colder water was heeded and received well.
Dude... That way
The road north was beautiful. The southern sierras north of Kernville at a lower elevation was much warmer than its sister on the Eastern side. From the roadway, you could see the sharp contrast of the raging river and the peaceful snow that lined the top of the mountains. The road past Kernville snaked through the valley as if it God designed it to flow next to the actual river. Without any real direction, we made numerous stops on the road looking for fish, but inevitably headed north to Johnsondale bridge.
Like many great fly fishing waters, there is generally some landmark that separates different sections of water, oftentimes dividing uses and regulation. This river was no exception and we read (and reread) the regulation on the trailhead to ensure that we could fish north of the bridge.
The river north of the bridge can be fairly deep and the narrow trail that hugged the canyon sometimes climbs a long distance above the river bottom only to tumble a few hundred feet below. The water raged on and on and although there looked to be plenty of access, we weren't sure which would prove to be the best. The fish were definitely hard to come by and most barely gave our presentations a second look. Nevertheless, determination will prevail and the patient angler gets a few hard grabs with some decent fish.
That water doesn't look like 500 CFM... Jason and Josh peering down the trail for access to the ragin river.
You can fish the most beautiful country in the world, but if you've traveled far and the tugs on your line are getting fewer and farther in between - you're gonna hit what you KNOW works best. We headed back to town to check out the mayhem at the park. Apparently, the fish hatchery about a mile north had broken down and had dumped their entire load of fish. The crowd had been thinning out with the available light and we found more comfortable ground to swing our line. Lucky for us we did. Fishing was gangbusters. I began to forget everything I said about stocker trout vs wild fish, the fishing was too fun to quit. We caught a lot of good sized fish, and some of the same fish twice. Josh had finally caught one that was caught previously by a bait chucker and since it didn't look as it would weather the return, it made it to the pan that evening.
Ok... caught 1 too many times.
The staples of camping.
For the next few days, the fishing was the same. Explore, get worked and head back to town for a quick fix. We eve the n tried water above Lake Isabella looking for spawning trout. Nada. The water didn't look fishy. The crew began to get bored of the town scenery and the Kernvillains who blasted their stereos to unwilling listeners.
Looking for spawners
Sportsmobile above Lake Isabella
We knew it would happen. Even in our most frustrating moments, the time had come to leave. It was time for the mixed feeling that appears after most trips. The desire for a nice bed - but leaving exploration for the mundane. We tried to delay our return fishing the lower kern - but ended up getting more disgusted at how filthy the place was left.
Litter, Litter Everywhere
The irregular boulders and slow water flows made the tailwater of Lake Isabella easy to fish. I guess if you didn't care, some fish were easily caught - If only the trout were more cooperative. I guess it really didn't matter if we caught fish. It was fun to feel young again without a care in the world. If only for a few days. If you could overlook the trash and the complete rudeness with the littering, the gang bangers and their cars - you would see some amazing scenery and meet some cool people. Things that only people who deliberately leave the confines of their cars will ever get to see. The mountains were laced in lavender and gold. The mountains tipped with brilliantly white snow. The air was fresh and clean and the cold river flowed through your soul. I cant wait till next week...
WTF is this thing?
Might as well tie the line to his toe
Frolic
Nice camping areas in BLM Land
Comments
Guajome Regional Park - Discovering San Diego
Need is a relative thing these days,
It borders on desire
The high tech world is full of bright shiny things
We think that we really require...
Its so easy to dream about traveling to exotic lands while browsing through the latest copy of The Fly Shop catalog or National Geographic Traveler. And although I will admit to keeping those materials on hand to read (pretty much anywhere), you'll find me often enough nestled with a cup of coffee, a DeLorme Atlas & Gazetteer, a Thomas Brothers map book and Google Earth. Sometimes traveling is easy as calling a travel firm that specializes in fishing, surfing or safaris - other times, its do your research.
A great many people I run into seem to think that I'm blowing wads of dough traveling all the time, and although world travel is by no means cheap, you can find your own escape oftentimes in your own backyard. Most of the time, all you'll spend is time and fuel. The benefits are astounding.
Guajome Regional Park
Guajome Regional Park is about 557 acres in northern San Diego County - located on the border of Oceanside and Vista. While not drop dead gorgeous by any means, its a scenic oasis in an urban environment - a perfect place for a picnic or a hike through its extensive network of trails. If you've got kids, theres a nice little playground that overlooks the lake - and its free from splintering tan bark. Guajome was home to the Native Americans but there is little information describing the actual inhabitation of the place prior to 200 years ago. Two Native Americans eventually received the 2200 acre Rancho Guajome as a land grant from a Mexican Governor back in 1845. They then proceeded to sell it off to a LA Merchant who then gave it to his sister in law. More historical information is found in the fairly informative Guajome Regional Park pamphlet found at the gate.
The main lake is quite nice, with a couple islands in the middle. Most of the lake are covered with tulles and reeds, so its difficult to fish from shore. It would make for a great lake to float tube or kayak - but entering the lake is prohibited. The day we checked out the lake, it was chocolate brown with a 3-4" visibility. There are actually two fishing ponds, but the trail to the second pond was a bit muddy for a 3 year old (or rather, I didn't want to clean him up) so we stayed in the main area.
There's a nice campground that is very clean and relatively quiet. There are 35 sites with electrical and water power. Hot showers, toilets, fire rings and a disposal tank are also offered. Although you're right of CA-56, its quiet and feels remote. Reservations are required, but it didn't look like you'd have a problem reserving a site.
Both hikers and horses can explore the miles of trails; however, when i was there, I didn't notice any riders. The place had a very nice family feel to it and there were several parents walking and hiking the trails with their children and pets. Pets are allowed on a 6' leash, which is usual in California.
Overall, this small park is nice and clean and offers a nice and varied relaxing environment to take your family and enjoy for the day or overnight. I wouldn't count on the fishing, but you never know - you just might be lucky.
