The drive from the Sierra City area was filled with excitement as our minds were filled with Brook trout. We planned to fish Haypress creek at 6,500 feet via the only road which would get us within 3 miles to the river. The bridge which we had planned to cross at the two mile mark along the trail was gone so we hiked straight down to Haypress. It was not exactly where we had wanted to swing our flies but we dropped into the canyon some 600 feet below. The walk down is always faster than the way up. I asked my two 12 year old fishing companions "you do realize we have walked about 4 miles so before we go crashing straight down, are you sure you can hike out?" They both said they could so down we went. When you are hike in fishing the sound of rushing water always puts a little pep into your step and the sound of our creek pulled the boys like a magnet.
The water in the Sierras is very low this summer so fishing has been tough. We saw a few very small fish but hooked none. We fished with black ants, San Juan worms as well as various hopper patterns.
This was the boys first hike in fly fishing trip where they were on a quest for native trout. The did not seem to be to troubled that they did not catch any fish and we all enjoyed our time in the middle of nowhere.
Bear scat
The walk back to the car started out up beat with a lot of chatter about flies, fly tying, baseball and how to mark the trail on the way in so you can find your way out. By the time we had climbed 200 of the 600 feet the conversation became idol as we all began to breath a bit harder and sweat began flow. I had expressed to the boys about the importance of being loud while on the trail so if there was a bear in the area it would know we were there. So from that point on we took turns talking. At one point a covey of Mountain quail flew out of the brush and startled us and the look on the boys face was priceless.
We made it back to Ol' Whitey (seen in the distance) after our two hour accent which included a few water breaks as well as a few breathing breaks. It was challenging for the three and we had a sense of relief as we placed our rods in the back of the truck.
We took a different route home which took us to Bassetts via Johnson Lake. The road was narrow, dusty and at times did not look like a road at all. The boys did ask me to stop and turn around a few times. It was a great day and experience for us and I will always remember our quest for Haypress Valley.
This was the first road sign we saw after driving for two hours.
The road to Bassetts.
Moss grows on the north side of trees.
Yuba Gap.
Deer in the meadow
East side of the Sierra Buttes at sunset
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