From two weeks ago, shot of my fishin' pal Marcelo working a stretch of the Lower Owens river in the Eastern Sierra region of California. Absolutely perfect winter weather, no wind!, but the expected BWO hatch never came off...for three days. We were puzzled. We caught fish, but it coulda been far, far better.
This will be my favorite shot because we've reconnected after a 24 year break in our friendship, circumstances of which had to do with a theatre dispute so personal we were out of touch for over two decades. We are, thank god, friends again. This may have been the best thing in this past, completely sucky year.
For you who don't know the region, behind Marcelo are the White Mountains, where the bristlecone pines live, oldest living things on earth. Beyond that is famous Death Valley (we are in the Owens, a parallel valley, created in the "stretching" of the West going back in geological time; and nearby was the huge Long Valley supervolcanic explosion, second only to YNP. It's fairly quiet, thanks god2). Behind me would be the mighty Sierra range. Oddly enough, we are fishing on LA City property over 200 miles from the city limits, the land and water rights bought up long ago when the City looked north for water (the movie Chinatown is a great movie, but a poor representation of what actually happened.)
This river has a year-around season, and we'll go again sometime soon. With covid, we went carefully: Marce did all cooking in our motel room, he loves it, and we didn't interact with anyone, staying by ourselves and fishing in the great outdoors.
