The Truckee River has often been like an aloof woman to me; a temptress with seductive currents displaying apparent accessibility that proves to be off limits.  I've driven along this water often and it always looks good.  But since it's so close, it somehow doesn't hold as much appeal as a river I have to drive all day to reach.  I know, that's not logical at all.  Compared to what passes for rivers around the Tahoe Basin, it is a relatively big river, and I've found it to be a little daunting at times.  I have a few spots, but miles of beautiful water are barred from the general public with gates and private property postings, and I've spent more than a fair amount of my time driving back and forth looking for decent access points.  Well, some things are starting to click, and it's about time. 

Past forays here have always revealed that there are indeed fish here. From its cold clear headwaters pouring out of Lake Tahoe, the Truckee River is about as perfect a trout river as one could ask for.  Everywhere you look there are runs, seams, eddies and riffles (frogwater!), logs and boulders, and like sirens, they all seem to demand your attention, beckoning you to cast there.  As well, there is ample casting room to take advantage of these endless targets, allowing you to maximize actual fishing time.  Could it be any better?  Now if the day was only a bit longer...

At 9am, the sun was blazing with the promise of near-record heat for October, and the water was crystal clear.  As it was destined to hit the 80 degree mark, I opted for wet wading.  Noticing my lack of Gore-tex Greg opined, 'You're going to freeze your nuts off'.  Since I'm used to wading in much colder water than this (and have already lost a bunch of nuts), it felt rather perfect for the warm day ahead.  Of course, recalling several occasions where I shivered my way back to the truck, I didn't just jump in right away... One of those times found me standing in glacial melt (in Glaciar Park ironically) catching cutts left and right, and just couldn't pull myself out.  It became more difficult the longer I stayed (close to 3 hours) because I couldn't feel my legs.  You know what it's like, the fishing is just so good and you don't care what you have to endure.  On the other hand, yes I guess waders do have their place.

Although I often wait until I see the water to actually select a starter fly, I had previously decided that I'd start off swinging a streamer (one of my own creations). Supporting this prescient notion, my second cast to a bulge surrounding a big boulder paid off with a fat rainbow pushing the 20" mark.  So, I was immediately filled with that swell that makes one realize my day was made already.  Everything else would be gravy from that point on.  And the water temperature felt fine too. 

Pawa (my brindle Jindo - a 4 legged friend), stared at the spot where the fish was released, expecting it would be hanging around.  I think it's called 'object permanence' to believe that objects (living in this case) continue to exist even though they cannot be seen, heard or (in this case) touched.  Guess I'll have to get him a pair of polarized 'doggles' so he can watch that shiny wiggling thing I caught disappear back to its hideout. 

Landing a nice fish like that always builds the confidence, and at the same time makes me relax the feverish pace a notch.  Possibly it is the afterglow of adrenalin?  Truthfully, it does make me take a step back, take in more of the scenery, and focus on getting my buddies onto a good fish too.   

 Even though I should know this water better and don't, the three of us enjoyed consistent action on healthy rainbows, with one small brown making an appearance to spice it up.  Greg was successfully working a different streamer, and Scotty had another shiny pattern on that I never did get a good look at.  It's hard to change gears when you have fat fish trying to rip your arms off.  So, we kept swinging on downstream with our respective killers, and a rather cavalier attitude.

Of course I always want to catch more fish (it's in the blood!), but being able to share that feeling adds greatly to the elements of the day.  Just being able to achieve a presentation convincing enough to fool a large trout is a deeply satisfying form of competition.  Life is already jammed with people aggressively competing for your time; it borders on meditation to be merely competing for that of a fish. 

The Truckee has long abounded with tales of big fish, starting with its heyday (in Fremont's time) when 40lb cutthroat swam in here!  Sooner or later you're bound to see one of those pictures in a Tahoe establishment of a lady in her Sunday dress holding one up for the camera.  Although those days are gone, everyone once in a while someone catches (or at least hooks) a huge brown.  Big browns are more enigmatic and challenging than cutts in my book.  I personally know a few fin addicts that still get a little misty talking about the fish from the Truckee that got away.  Well, at least they got them on the line in the first place.  So there's always hope...

I had tied up some crayfish patterns that looked great in the water but didn't tempt any of the large browns we know are in there.  Speaking of crayfish, we found them everywhere, tons of them in a large variety of colours too -  ranging from lime green, to chestnut brown, to bright crimson red!  Maybe the fish had their fill of lobster already.

By late afternoon, the water had clouded up considerably making us wonder what the heck was going on. This was quite a contrast to the day's beginning when the bottom could be easily seen in the deepest pools. It became so turbid that visibility shrank to a few feet! This is not always a bad thing but the bite also dropped off to zip, so we thought it was bad. Since this is early Fall, there is no snowmelt runoff so only one logical cause can be concluded: the construction on Highway 89 is creating a major silt deposit into the river. Good thing this isn't flowing into Lake Tahoe, or the TRPA would be raising holy hell about it - at least until a fee was paid. I sometimes have to agree with those signs that say 'End Construction' posted ironically around work sites.

On a sentimental note, although my buddies found success with several different flies, all my fish were caught on the same pattern I started my day with: the Tessa Ghost - tied with fur collected from my former muttweiler pet. I vividly recall the first time I used this fly and caught a large brown in my backyard river, and how she danced around me with excitement as the sun sank behind the mountains. She used to love going fishing with me, and it brings a bit of comfort to still bring her along in some way. The fact that she produces nice fish for me elevates that feeling all the more. Fortunately, my current dog, Pawa, loves to go fishing too. We'll be coming back to the Truckee again, that's for sure. Hopefully the construction will be concluded.

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