You can always rely on your own genetic material to back your play

That ain’t necessarily a compliment either, but with a gale howling outside and the promise of something never seen - it was enough to get my brother off the couch and into his waders.

The last trip had been interrupted by the pager, far enough in to think I was going to find something special, but not far enough to lay eyes on the lake, or see what might call it home.

Indian Valley Reservoir is north and east of Clear Lake, about eight miles of bumpy pavement followed by another eight of dirt. Most of the ground was working cattle ranches and decaying outbuildings, followed by a precipitous single lane climb to the crest, and a dusty descent into the valley below. It’s possible to do the road with a two wheel drive vehicle, but you’ll have plenty of white knuckle moments.

Once in the canyon country the wind was a non issue, a good map and careful odometer readings got us through the unknown dirt intersections, and only one sign mentioned the lake and that was at the end of the pavement many miles distant..

We’re thinking “unspoiled gem” as there’s no tourist trash, no traffic on the road, no Taco Bell wrappers hung in the underbrush; I’m ready for a heady “blueline” experience, while my brother “white knuckles” the armrest and points at the creek we have to drive through.

I saw it, no worries.

Both of us have our blood up, it’s “Lewis & Clark” about to catch sight of the Pacific Ocean, it’s rediscovering King Solomon’s Mine compliments of Google Earth, it’s …. %$&@.. Dry?

We cracked the hermetic seal of the door in disbelief, and just before the gale emptied the truck of humans, paper maps, and tackle, we saw water. Brown water.

It’s a shallow lake and the bones of the Old Gal were exposed, the northern arm was dry, but the balance of the lake had plenty of water. The wind was driving the white caps into the bank and the water was discolored by debris and mud.

The main body of the lake was unfishable due to the wind, but we found the promise of better fishing later in the year. Large rafts of Digger Pine had been submerged when the lake was filled, leaving plenty of Bass structure for a float tuber. We found a less blustery arm and threw flies at downed timber - with the wind throwing them back as unworthy.

I had a chance to unlimber the new Orvis 8 weight, but what I was throwing wouldn’t have been called a loop, it was more like a right angle - with fly somewhere in betwixt rod tip and the water.

We found fire pits on the lake bottom proper, so we assumed we’d found the campground. No facilities of any kind, requiring you to pack in whatever is needed, a boat ramp (of sorts) was nearby, but few signs of humans other than the occasional crazed ATV rider, everyone else had more sense.

The North Fork of Cache Creek was our goal, it’s closed until the general trout season opener, but we were hoping to see monstrous fish doing lazy somersaults while flipping us the extended digit. The creek looked really good, but no fish - and the amount of expended quail ammo suggested they’d insulted the wrong group.

More campsites, suggesting the area may be frequented by bird and deer hunters during the fall. Ballistics was the main event and everything had a bullet hole in it, including the unlikely propane bottle and fire extinguisher.

In short, another great adventure - and another fishless fishing trip, plenty of excuses, but it weren’t for the lack of trying.

Technorati Tags: North Fork Cache creek, Indian Valley reservoir, fishless fishing, four wheel drive