This weekend I saw seventeen flavors of “I’m not wanted.” I also saw why – what with all the refuse people dump onto private land, and their fascination with gravity and water. 

Sportsmen and waterfowlers make up the balance of the eco-friendly, low impact, refuse slingers. We’ve seen gravity in action too many times to be amused, so we just leave the worm cartons, empty bottles, and shot up signs – where they lay.

The consequences of trespass is well documented in law, but that doesn’t stop property owners from attempting to scare hell out of you. Action words usually dominate – suggesting that this landowner will remove your testicles – the guy down the road may not.

Penal Code 602 is simple trespass, a $100 fine (which can grow to $1000) if you don’t leave immediately when asked. Section 2016 of the Fish and Game code is for waterfowlers – and those carrying firearms.

Brownliner’s are exempt, as these laws apply only to humans.

Sunday evening found me in the pea green bosom of something with no name – likely it’s there only to move water from corn to rice, but it has enough depth and clarity to host some monstrous carp. 

Occasionally some big fish came out of the depths to hover under the surface. They were over two feet long and brownish so I may be onto something. The scenic part of Interstate 5 is in the background, far enough away that I don’t have to worry about a tailing loop ensnarled in a semi…

I took an eight weight and six flies with me but nothing appealed to the residents – so I may swing through here next weekend with something brighter. A little flash can’t hurt in this water, and if the fish were bass – they’ll appreciate a change-up.

It may warrant a float tube, as there’s a couple miles of this trench to explore … legally.

 Lack of water drove me to Google Earth, but despite my search it didn’t oblige me with a big red arrow emblazoned with “Big Carp Here.” Instead I traced big water to little water, little to rivulet, then rivulet to irrigation ditch.

Satellite imagery showed a bridge and that’s enough to gain access to the creek bed legally, so I lumped my gear into the front seat and dead reckoned my way through garlic, corn, and bell peppers.

I should’ve brought my machete – as the slot containing the creek was a dense tangle of blackberry vines, brush, and traditional flora, buttressed by English Walnut trees and alders. 

It was deep, green, and from the vantage of the ancient bridge I could see a pod of patrolling fish; Pikeminnow roam in packs, a dead giveaway when the fish are too distant to identify.

I geared up and headed upstream, wary of poison oak and the potential for snakes, following the indistinct trace of a game trail through the brambles.

The water was too deep to wade so I was bound by terrestrial means – which was not at all friendly. I managed to get close enough to the water to observe and saw plenty of fish; smallmouth and largemouth bass, Pikeminnow, and hardhead – but saw no carp, although the water suggested they were present as well.

The traditional Trico spinners were out and quite a few fish were on the surface eating them, most were small – and I couldn’t get near them with anything other than a roll cast, so dry flies were not an option. 

I flipped Hare’s Ear’s under the far bank and was intercepted by a 9″ Pikeminnow, confirming their presence. I keep heading upstream slowly and after an hour of threading my way through thorns I managed to get a couple hundred yards above the bridge.

I’ve got free space over the water only, and practiced some side arm casting. It’s a “Pikeminnow raceway” and there’s a school of enormous fish nervously pacing between the pool below and the pool above. Half of the fish would go better than 5 lbs, and the largest I see is closer to 9 lbs.

The fish are about 4 feet below the surface and I figured the Algae Carpkiller can make that depth without fuss. A couple of nice bass rushed over to intercept, but thought better at the last moment.

I was hoping for more desperate and hungry fish – but realized painfully that it wasn’t going to be easy, a conundrum wrapped in a riddle – and like every other stream uniqueness would apply.

A 16″ fish detached itself from the stream of larger fish and inhaled the fly, it screams off down the creek with me straining to hold the rod out past the encroaching blackberries.

I managed to get everything untangled from the thorns and grasping flora  – then went face first into an enormous spiderweb occupied by some meat eating, eight legged, fast mover…

The human body isn’t meant to move like I did – ending in a satisfying spray of spider-guts compliments of the Singlebarbed Spider-killing Curly-brim.

Between my pirouette on the bank and the fish – we managed to scare hell out of the entire watershed. I returned the fish undamaged, then faded into the thicket behind me.

I tried downstream and was greeted by the “Good Fishing Starts Here” sign, No Trespassing compliments of ravenous canine. Lacking any beef jerky, I knew I couldn’t negotiate my way out of any indiscretion, so I returned to the car instead.

The signs suggested a wildlife refuge, but when I looked it up on the Internet it turns out to be the Solano County Water Agency. If you live in Vacaville, Benecia, or Fairfield – you’re drinking this stuff.

It’s a bit of an eye opener for me as farm waste can be brutal stuff, and while the rest of you are making pucker face’s and saying “..eww” – a couple hundred thousand folks are gargling the pooty water.

Always question what the sign says – many are spurious and tacked up by landowners hoping to keep the beer-drinking Friday night crowd off public land adjoining their back forty..

No wildlife refuge here, and you may want to ask yourselves, “What’s in your spigot?”