Beginner's Luck

Fish hard - play hard - live hard. But be safe.

Chapter 1

Eleven-something pm and David Letterman just got done with his monologue.  I
afforded him a few courtesy laughs before I started to channel surf.

"Maybe I should start packing for this weekend," I sighed, "Better yet,
I should get to sleep."

The phone rang.

"Only Susan (my ex-ex-girlfriend) would call me this late," I thought.
So I answered the phone.

"Hello, Mike?" she asked.

"Yup," I said, realizing it wasn't Susan.

"It's Megan,"  she said, "Sorry to call you so late."

"Don't worry," I responded, "Just watching Dave and vegging out."

"Well," Megan said, "Looks like my plans for Labor Day have just been
canceled.  Is your offer for fly fishing on the Carson River still
open?"

"Sure is,"  I said, "We'll leave Fri night around 9pm and hike out Mon.

Back Mon night.  You still wanna come?"

"Yeah," she said, "I really have to get out of town."

We talked for the next hour, making plans and getting to know one
another. After all, we just met via Internet e-mail and both of us
wanted to make sure we could deal with one another for three days.  She
seemed cool to me.  I told her I'd drive from SF and pick her up in
Berkeley.

I picked up Megan 15 minutes late but made up for it by giving her a
gourmet burrito from my restaurant.  I had to drop off my birds at my
parents house for baby-sitting.  Megan and I redistributed our packs
while there.

At about 10:30 pm we finally started the drive to Carson-Iceberg
Wilderness. Uh-oh.  That meant about five hours of conversation.  Maybe
she would just take a nap.

It turned out that we really got along.  The hours flew by.  We got to
the Wolf Creek/East Fork Carson River trail head by 2:30 am.  Didn't
even get a speeding ticket (knock on wood).  Of course, we were too
tired to hike.  I pitched the tent and we slept next to my car.
Beautiful night with Carl Sagan stars out, so we kept the rainfly in 
the
car.  Megan slept soundly.  I had eaten too much chocolate earlier, so 
I
stayed awake for another hour.
	
Just as I reached REM, Megan woke me.

"It's starting to rain!" I thought I heard her mumble.

Moisture hit my face.  Yup.  It was raining.  "What did Murphy say 
about
rainflies?" I asked myself.

I got out and put the rainfly on.  My sleeping bag was cold again when 
I
returned.  The rain stopped and didn't return.  Is this a good or bad
omen?

Around 8 am a few cars drove into the trailhead parking lot and woke me
up. Hmm. Four hours of interrupted sleep and a 6 mile hike ahead of me.
Why do I do this to myself?  And who is this stranger sleeping next to
me?

Blood started to flow to my brain again.  I was now coherent.  Megan 
and
I snacked a little and unloaded "unnecessary" weight from our packs.
One last check on our equipment and one last span of the meadow &
mountain vistas surrounding us. We were hiking by 9am, Sat morn.  A 
nice
65 F, but I could tell it was going to get hotter.  Much hotter.

A half mile into the trail, I thought, "I hope I locked my car."



Chapter 2

I couldn't remember for sure if I had locked my car.  Oh well. I guess 
I
would find out on Monday.

Megan and I continued on the Carson River trail.  It wasn't on my topo
map, probably because it was built after the US Geo printing.  The 
trail
was very easy with slow gradual climbs and descents.  It meandered 
along
the river for the most part.

Since horses frequented the trail, there was a lot of loose dirt and
dust. I could tell that we'd have to blow our noses a lot on this hike.

The sun started to get hotter.  I was like a fish and drank water
constantly. Megan was more like a camel, only without the smell. 

Along the way, I tried to explain a serious fly fisher's philosophy on
fly
fishing:
1) 	Only keep what you plan to eat, or better yet, only take
pictures, not a life
2) 	If you must take a fish, take a brown over a
rainbow/brook/cutthroat/golden trout.  Brown trout are not native to
California and survive better than other trout species.
3) 	Fly fishers, on the evolutionary scale of fishing, regard
themselves at the top.  However, membership into our religion is purely
voluntary.  Amen to tight lines.
4) 	Always de-barb your hook.  It causes less damage to fish and
makes release easier.
5) 	Very little in life compares to dry fly fishing during a hatch.

During the middle of our conversations, a drop of water hit my face.
Followed by another.  Then another.  Megan and I looked at each other 
in
amazement and fear.  I didn't bring any wet weather gear at all.  There
was only one cloud in the sky and we just happened to be under the one
that had excess moisture.

The least nature could have done for us was to give us a rainbow to
oodle over, but we didn't get the pleasure.  Instead, we settled on
watching raindrops dance on a grove of aspens.  The sun light, rain and
wind glistened off each leaf in a wild dance concerto that only our
maker could compose. Megan and I were wet, but smiling.

Just as quickly as the rain had come, it went away.  The sweet smell of
a freshly washed earth soon filled our lungs.  I breathed deeper and
felt my smile widen further.  It reminded me of cycling in the Berkeley
hills before dusk but after the road has been dampened by misty fog.
Magical.

We continued on. And on...and on.  At one point, we refilled our water
bottles from a brook that crossed the trail.  I filtered while Megan
rested. The mosquitoes began to feast on me.  I am too hairless to
notice until it's too late.

I finished filling our bottles just as two women on horseback caught up
with us.  We stepped to the side to let them pass.  Four dogs
accompanied the women.  As the latter horse crossed the brook, it lost
its footing and began to rear.  A dog was running underneath it, so the
horse couldn't put its forelegs down without killing it.  Instead, the
horse continued to rear towards Megan.

In slow motion, I watched the horse land where Megan was standing.
Luckily, she had moved at the last second and didn't get injured.  The
rider apologized and continued on.

"Forget the danger of bears and mountain lions," I thought.  "We need 
to
avoid humans!"

The close call gave us more to talk about.  We continued on, with
slightly more adrenaline flowing through our bodies.

We passed a campground that was on the other side of the river.  In
fact, it was practically IN the river.  Definitely not 100 ft from a
water source. Apparently, someone forgot to teach those people about 
low
impact camping. Later, we saw the campers upstream - fly fishing.  I
guess I forgot to tell Megan about another fly fishing philosophy :

6)	Among fly fishers, low impact, zero limit (catch-and-release)
fly fishers
consider themselves at the utmost top.  Membership should be mandatory.

Finally, after about six miles and three hours of hiking, we came upon 
a
beautiful meadow.  The last time I was here in 1991, I had camped in 
the
same location.  I knew the good fishing holes and that there should be 
a
good beach area where reading was easy.  We picked a spot already
trampled by grazing cows.

A large boulder with relatively flat surfaces sat about 120 feet from
our campground.  We called this rock "Kitchen."  A smaller, exposed
boulder was about 30 feet from the large boulder.  We called this rock
"Sink".  A tall pine tree was located about 200 feet from Kitchen.  We
called the tree "Pantry".

We then walked the 100 yards to the river to refill our water bottles
and soak our feet.  I then showed and taught Megan the secrets to
catching fish in any river - assuming there are fish in the river. ( I
will not disclose those secrets here.  You will have to come on a
backpacking/fly fishing trip with me to learn these.)

We then cooked up a late lunch - fettucine, bread rolls, and trail mix.
Yum.   Apparently, Megan is sort of a backpacking food snob, because I
only had dehydrated food to cook.  So I got defensive and explained 
that
I didn't
have enough time to prep for this trip.  Maybe next time.  We ate
anyway.

"Hmm."  She commented, "That doesn't taste so bad."

It was past four pm by now.  We got into the tent to take a short
siesta. The day's heat kept me from falling asleep right away.  
Chirping
chipmunks occasionally woke me with their arguments over Who's on 
First.

The short siesta turned into a deep sleep.  We woke past 6:45 pm and
well into the prime fishing time.  (oops, I let you in on one of my
fishing secrets!)

We got our gear and headed downstream.  I put on a dry fly on Megan's
rod and showed her how to best present the fly.  I pointed to a spot
where she should cast and set her loose.  As I began to tie a fly to my
rod, I heard Megan scream.  I turned around and saw her pulling out an 
8
inch trout.  I forgot to teach her how to play a fish - she simply
pulled it out of the water and brought it to shore.  Unsportsmanlike to
some, but effective!

We were both pretty excited.  This was a good omen.  We decided to name
the trout "Dinner" and I took it off of Megan's hook.  Then I showed 
her
how to gut and clean the fish as humanely as possible, if it is
possible.

Megan couldn't wait to get back to fishing, and I couldn't wait to get 
a
fly on my hook to begin fishing.

"I'm sorry, Mike,"  Megan smiled to me, "But I'm probably going to
scream every time I catch a fish!"

"No problem," I said.

I walked upstream.  Megan screamed again.  This time, she had actually
tangled her line a little bit and decided to pull it in by hand.  Along
the way, a fish grabbed her fly and she had caught her second fish.
This one was about an inch bigger than the first, and so was Megan's
excitement.

Later, I would read in "The Alchemist" that this phenomenon is what
helps lead each of us to our destinies.  It was called Beginner's Luck.


Chapter 3

"... When one is following one's destiny, the whole world conspires to
help that person attain it ... The Soul of the World gives the person
early successes to inspire one to carry on  ...  this is called
Beginners Luck."  
   -Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist.

Early in the first quarter.  Score:  Megan - 2.  Mike - 0.  The Soul of
the World was against me.  Or maybe she was just following her destiny
and I was not.

"Well,"  I thought, " I shouldn't be fishless for long." 

Megan and I decided to let her second fish go.  It was too big to fit
into our pan anyway.

I finally got a dry fly on my line and started to cast.  Megan pointed
me to where she saw fish rising, so I cast in that direction.  I let my
fly drift, mending my line as needed to avoid drag.

A fish rose and took my fly violently.  I set the hook and began to 
feel
like Brad Pitt in "A River Runs Through It," only I wasn't in Montana,
didn't have rugged, handsome looks, and caught a much smaller fish.
Hey, a fish is
a fish.

I played the fish as Megan watched, smiling at my success.  My line 
then
went slack.  I lost the fish.  I guess I'm no Brad Pitt.

The next four fish I hooked also escaped.  After awhile, Megan told me,
"You should just yank 'em to shore like I do!  It works!"  The student
had now surpassed the teacher.

Late in the fourth quarter.  Score:  Megan - 2.  Mike - 0.  The Soul of
the World was definitely against me.

In my frustration, I decided to pull out all stops and jumped in the
river. Wading the river, in theory, would give me better access to
fishing holes. For the next 20 minutes, I was successful in getting 
very
wet, very cold, and very fishless.  So, my intelligence finally kicked
in and I decided to get out of the water.

The sun was beginning to set and it was hard to see our flies on the
water. I was beginning to feel that Megan would eat tonight, and I 
would
not.  She shouted across the river and told me where she saw fish
jumping.  I cast
upstream towards her directions. 

Wham!  Another fish hit my fly immediately.  

"You better not lose this one!, " Megan exclaimed.

I agreed with her and just yanked the fish to shore.  She was right.
That technique is very effective.

We walked back to camp and began making dinner.  Megan was in charge of
cooking Uncle Ben's 5-minute rice and I went to filter more water.
After 15 minutes of filtering, I returned to the Kitchen.  Megan began
apologizing.

"I messed up," she frowned.  "I read '2 servings' as '2 cups' and put
too much water into the rice.  We've got thirty minute rice now." 

We boiled off as much water as possible then drained the rest.  I 
cooked
up the fish with olive oil, salt, pepper, onions, and garlic.  It
smelled great.

We then de-boned the fish and made a modified Jumbahliah with our rice.

Excellent feasting.  We topped it all off with tea and chocolate.

Megan then showed me how to wash greasy pans with tea bags.  The tea
bags apparently break down the grease and absorb oil.  No need for soap
or heavy scrubbing.  I'll have to remember that for my next trip.

We talked for an hour after dinner.  Megan went to bed at 11pm.  She 
had
had a full day and was tired.

I stayed outside and watched for shooting stars.  Twenty-four hours
earlier, I was on the road to this campsite.  Now I was here.  I
couldn't believe that earlier that morning, I had questioned why I 
would
sleep for 4 hours then hike for six miles.  The answer was now clear to
me.  

I decided to get me sleeping bag and pad out of the tent and sleep on
Kitchen for the night.   I watched the half moon set behind the
mountains.  I smelled distant pine trees as the wind ran past me.  I
listened to the river carry itself downstream.  I fell asleep 
breathing,
feeling, and hearing the Soul of the World.  

It told me, "Tomorrow, your destiny begins."
	

To continue the fly fishing series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the Matterhorn Peak series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the mountaineering series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the rock climbing series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the ice climbing series. . . -Click Here-