Trip Report by Brad Trumbo
It was late afternoon when my wife Ali and I finally made camp in the U.S. Forest Service wilderness area. The roar of a river drifted up with a hint of cool humidity from behind camp, providing a restful ambiance to be enjoyed over the following days. But this river was not why I made the journey into the wilderness.
Daylight lingers well past nine o’clock in the Pacific time zone in summer, leaving ample time to get eyes on the high mountain meadow that I had come to experience. My tri-colored Llewellin setter and game bird connoisseur, Yuba, loaded up, and we headed for the pass that stood between camp and the unique meadow ecosystem with the tiniest of blue lines gently flowing toward the river canyon.
The dark evergreen forest abruptly gave way to a lush expanse of grasses and sedges, which left me confused. Aerial imagery showed a stream snaking magnificently through the vegetation, but the only thing visible was grasses waving in the evening breeze.
“Well, let’s take a stroll and see what we see,” I said to Yuba, wholly prepared to find a dry ditch or nothing at all.
Surprisingly, as I neared the far edge of the meadow where grasses gave way to gray skeletal timber remains and rising topography, a crack narrow enough to step across became visible. Yuba noticed about the same time as she careened, seeking bird scent like any worthy bird dog. She encountered the incised bank at a dead run, sinking over her head with a KABLOOOSHHH. A lesson she would not soon forget.
“Not a chance. It’s got to be too warm for trout,” I thought as I studied the dribble of water zigzagging its way down the meadow. Regardless, I was there to fish. Upon gathering Yuba and moving to an undisturbed pool, I searched the fly box for a good starter pattern.
I lean on classic patterns when approaching new trout water. This time, I reached for an old favorite, a #14 March brown parachute. And, while my first impression left extreme skepticism, the instantaneous trounce of a feisty brook trout proved me dead wrong.
The fish was small, around six inches long, but it boasted a fiery orange belly, olive dorsal, and rosy speckles wearing a sky-blue halo – the masterpiece that is a wild, high-mountain brook trout. Its colors popped vibrantly in the glow of the evening sun above a carpet of canary yellow buttercups. It was the first of many brookies and rainbows to come; the largest was about 10 inches long and a trophy for such a tiny creek. A standard western fly rod and dry flies caught fish, but I honed my techniques to perfection over several days with a mix of western and tenkara methods.
Ali and I fished the meadows that first evening with a 6’-6” two-weight fly rod and floating line. Tenkara-style is my standard for small streams, but it was windy this evening, making it extremely difficult to use a long, light, fixed-length line. Trying to lay 13 feet of line and fly on water barely two feet wide and two feet below the grassy banks was nearly impossible. The ability to vary line length with the western-style rod and reel was necessary to achieve appropriate fly placement, but spooking fish was problematic.
The next day presented better wind conditions, so I fished a 13-foot Tenkara USA Sato. Initially, I fished a 13-foot line with the March brown fly pattern because it had worked the day before, and I figured “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
Given my 6’-7” frame, I found it difficult to remain standing when approaching the creek, even with the reach of the tenkara rod. The fish were holding in the deepest spots, often flat water with undercut banks, and the biggest fish held the choice lies, sheltered beneath the grass roots where the current pushed food right into their strike zone. Kneeling was the simplest way to gain a few extra feet, and drifting a fly along the near bank ensured I was targeting fish unable to see me.
This technique proved highly effective, but I couldn’t help but notice thousands of little black crickets and grasshoppers jumping about the grassland floor in some areas. Hence, on the third day, I tied up a small cricket and varied my fly line – a short six-foot floating line segment with another three feet of 5X leader. The action was immediate and sustained, and upon depositing my only cricket on a tree limb, I tied up a large black ant pattern with a white parachute that worked equally well.
The 13-foot tenkara rod and short line allowed me to control the line and fly placement such that I could hold the rod tip over the water and walk with the flow, dead-drifting the fly with the current. The method and terrestrial fly pattern were irresistible, producing the most and biggest fish of the weekend. Yet another example of tenkara fishing methods being uniquely suited to small mountain streams.
Evenings in camp featured trout cooked over the fire, backed with a smoked “Old Fashioned” mixed with homemade huckleberry simple syrup. Yuba snoozed, tuckered from pointing grasshoppers, while I scribbled the day’s events in a journal and fell into conversation with a John Gierach book. The sound of the rushing river and the campfire crackle brought a peaceful end to the day. An experience worthy of living a thousand lifetimes.
Mountain meadows are superbly interesting due to their diversity of flora and fauna. A broad palette of wildflowers and a chorus of birdsong set an unmatched stage of serenity where bald eagles soar overhead, and mule deer and snowshoe hares roam the grasses. It’s an ecosystem in need of no additional allure. Throw in a trout stream, and it’s heaven on earth.
Brad Trumbo lives in southeast Washington State and services the public as a fish and wildlife biologist. In his spare time, Brad volunteers with Pheasants Forever, pens tales of outdoor pursuits, builds (and sometimes uses) custom fly rods, and reminisces of his Appalachian homeplace. www.bradtrumbo.com
This article originally appeared in the 2025 issue of Tenkara Angler magazine.
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That Old Fashioned (in glass!) looks like the perfect way to cap of your perfect day. Thanks for sharing!
What a beautiful spot… Thanks for inviting us in.