Compiled by Dave Hurley and edited by local fishing expert Roger George, a former Olympic-class decathlete at Fresno State and striper record-holder at Millerton Lake.
Telephone numbers are in 559 calling area unless noted.
Eastman bass fishing is steady, Andrew Steele said. McSwain trout limits are common, Stephanie Powell reported. Hensley bass are on a night bite, Merritt Gilbert reported. McClure cats are on the prowl, Diane Mello said. New Melones is pumping out big trout, Monte Smith reported. Shaver trout action is strong, Dick Nichols said.
Compiled by Dave Hurley and edited by local fishing expert Roger George, a former Olympic-class decathlete at Fresno State and striper record-holder at Millerton Lake. Telephone numbers are in 559 calling area unless noted.
Sportsmen, its my experience, tend to get into bad situations incrementally, one questionable decision after another. Here's one of my vintage "stupid" adventures pursuing stripers at Millerton about 30 years ago.
The summer had been hot and the lake was especially low, so I headed upriver as far as I could, beached the boat and started walking up the canyon to see if there was anything worth fishing for in the skinny conditions. I was alone, with my pole and some drinking water. Rocky and sandy conditions made hiking tough, but as I rounded the first corner I noticed it was impossible to go any farther without climbing up and around a sheer rock face that ran right down to the water. I would need to climb straight up the mountain about 150 yards to clear the rock face and get around it.
Climbing in the sandy soil was tough, but when I was part way up I saw a trail to my right that had been hidden from sight. I thanked my lucky stars and took off down it for about 30 yards until it ended at a granite face about 30 yards wide. It looked to me like it wasn't too steep to get across if I just spider crawled across it and I'd be home free after that. It was about 50 feet down to the water and the slight slope at my level turned into a pretty sheer drop about 15 feet below me, but slope where I was going to cross didn't look bad at all.
Carefully inching out onto the granite face, with my pole in one hand, I got about 20 feet across when the panic attack hit! I realized I hadn't really noticed how much more vertical the granite face would be the father I went. In addition, the face was getting smoother and my handholds and footholds were disappearing, and I still needed to go another another 20 feet or more. Stuck like a fly on the side of the cliff, I tried to get a firm position and secure the tiny handholds as I pondered the situation. I looked down and calculated that if I slipped, I would have to improvise by turning quickly and trying to jump out as far as I could just to reach the water below.
Still holding my pole, I decided to risk it -- and was able to find enough traction to move one more body length across the face, still pressed up as close to it as I could manage. Emboldened by the small success, I got another firm handhold and then managed to just get my hand on a big rock at the edge of the cliff to pull myself across.
Sweating profusely from sheer terror, I spent a few moments talking to myself about doing stupid terminal things that I should know better than to even try! Being alone didn't help much either. What's amazing is that I'm actually pretty afraid of heights and hadn't really thought about being alone. I had just kept making bad choices, fueled by my excitement, that combined together could have been disastrous.