.As I pulled up in my battered 1982 four-wheel-drive Toyota wagon (next year it'll be a classic) and aimed my headlights down the ramp in the semi-darkness, I saw that the corrugated concrete surface was indeed plowed, scraped almost completely clean. Next I stopped to use the well maintained, heated bathroom facility before launching. While not a big fan of gambling and prostitution, I'm sure launch fees alone don't cover the cost of all these amenities, and I certainly appreciate the way Nevada spends its revenues to cater to the needs of those looking for a different sort of action. While the odds are always stacked against you at the blackjack table, the numbers are a bit more favorable here, as I was reminded when I stopped at the bulletin board to reread the statistics on Tahoe's trout fishery posted by Nevada's fish and wildlife department. The chart showing the number of trout stocked at Sand Harbor and Cave Rock boat ramps always inspires confidence: between the two, over 30,000 rainbow trout from ten to twelve inches long are stocked each year. In addition, up to 200,000 rainbow trout fingerlings and 40,000 kokanee salmon fingerlings are stocked annually in tiny Incline and Third creeks. They grow in these tributaries, then drop down into the lake as well.

Many of the small fish hold over and grow large, while many more become prey for big lake trout and browns. I thought about these two species as I tied on lures before launching the canoe. Normally, I catch very few brown trout in Tahoe at this time of year, but the mackinaw are a different story. They bite consistently in the shallows all winter, in the same rocky areas frequented by the rainbow trout. I headed out, my electric trolling motor turned to its second highest speed, allowing me to pull Rapala plugs at three to four miles per hour while following the contours of shoreline and near-shore underwater rockpiles. When the sun is high and the lake flat, such bottom features can be seen through the clear water down to a depth of nearly fifty feet, but in the slate-colored ripples of early morning, I relied on my depthfinder to keep my canoe and lures over productive structure. Lining up along a shelf that drops abruptly from fifteen feet to over thirty, I quickly caught my first fish, an eighteen inch rainbow, on a jointed, clown pattern Rapala. Reversing my course, I retrolled the same drop from the opposite direction and had an almost identical experience: same rod, same lure, same spot, same hard fight- the only difference was what I scooped into my net, a twenty-one inch mackinaw. One more pass failed to produce, so I continued south. I changed plugs several times on my outside rod, leaving the clown Rapala on the inside to work its magic tight to the rocks, but when both rods had spent a quiet hour presenting plugs, I stopped and changed tactics, switching to dodgers and live minnows.

I normally trap my own bait, but this time I had taken the lazy route, purchasing a dozen live Tahoe minnows from Long's Drugs the night before. These were now swimming in several gallons of water in my "livewell", a 32 quart Coleman picnic cooler. I selected two fat Lahontan redsides, scooping them up with my aquarium net and hooking them behind 24 inch, six pound fluorocarbon leaders attached to small dodgers. I was approaching a rocky point that has produced rainbows for me in the past, so I put my lines out then slowed to a crawl, letting the metal lures dig down toward the boulder-strewn bottom. I held one rod in anticipation, so of course the one sitting in its Roberts adjustable rod holder doubled over and started kicking. After a few frantic moments, I had the correct rod in my hands, with the other one back in its holder and my elbow nudging the trolling motor's tiller, angling me away from shore. The fish was heading the same way, holding deep and punctuating a steady pull with heavy surges. I was sure I was into a decent mackinaw, but it would be several minutes before I saw the telltale bubbles rising from a deflating swim-bladder and then the orange-tipped fins and thick, dark flank mottled with white. A mackinaw to be sure, and around six pounds! I netted it, leaving it partially submerged as I reached down with needle-nose pliers to work the hook free. This proved unnecessary, though, as the mere presence of the pliers near its fierce-looking, toothy jaws set the fish to violent thrashing which broke the leader. The resulting freedom of movement spurred it on to even more violent convulsions, until it flopped out of the net and dove powerfully back down into the lake, with my hook still in its mouth. "Sportsman's release!" I laughed, feeling a bit guilty about sending such a valiant adversary off with my # 6 Gamakatsu as a souvenir. He deserved better, like say, slow smoking over brandy-soaked hickory-chips.

Winds remained nearly calm, as was predicted in the day's weather report, so I continued south, following a fun and productive pattern: find a rockpile, troll it once or twice, catch a trout. Most were rainbows from 15 to 18 inches, but I also caught another mackinaw in the three-pound range. By late morning, I had traveled several miles, drained one of my deep-cycle trolling batteries, and hit a slow period, with no fish to show for several passes over prime underwater structure, so I swung my bow around and headed back, unwrapping the sandwich I had packed for lunch. I started reeling in one of my lines, so I'd have less to keep track of while eating, when the rod bucked hard in my hand and half my spool of ten-pound test line bled off the reel in a blur. I don't remember letting my sandwich slide off my lap onto the filthy floor of my canoe, but there it was , soaking up fish blood as I held my rod in a white-knuckled grip and waited for a lull in the fish's run. As I was preparing to turn my vessel and give chase to avoid an empty spool, there was just such a pause, so I reeled in a few cranks and lifted my rod tip, testing my opponent. Bad move. Several hard yanks, plucking my line like a guitar-string, and it was over, leaving me to reel in a dodger without minnow, hook or leader. I retied with shaky fingers and a nauseous feeling, brought on by an overdose of adrenaline no longer needed, combined with an empty stomach, the sight of a ruined ham and cheese on whole wheat laying between my boots, and the knowledge that I had just lost a monster trout- possibly ten pounds or better.

Still and all, it had been quite a day, I thought as I slow trolled through the afternoon, picking up another mackinaw on my way back to Sand Harbor. Any fishing trip on Tahoe is also an opportunity to appreciate stunning scenery, and the shoreline along which I had traveled was entirely within the confines of a Nevada State Park, with almost no development except a ridiculously overbuilt, under occupied stone mansion, castle practically, which was grandfathered in when the park was created. Must be nice to wallow in money like a hog at a trough. Hell, the boathouse alone is bigger than my duplex. Anyway, by three-thirty, my frugal ass was being transported by the last of three Minn Kota Trolling Thunder batteries, and approaching the rocky drop where I had caught the day's first fish eight hours earlier. As I hummed the theme from "Jaws", the inside rod twitched several times, in a frantic manner that told me I was witnessing a trout short-striking my minnow, not the dodger bouncing off the bottom. I know this trick, and my solution, to aim my rod back toward the fish and turn off my motor for a moment, gave the slack needed for it to inhale the bait. As I switched the motor back on, the trout was on solidly as well. After my earlier fiasco with a big fish, I had switched from six pound to eight pound leader, still responding delicately to avoid a break-off. The heavy, throbbing pull felt like another mackinaw, and I was surprised when a large rainbow trout jetted out of the water, pulling my dodger into the air with it. It leaped again, then came in fairly easily, until it saw the boat and took back out nearly all the line I'd retrieved. This yo-yo battle was repeated, with each run a little shorter than the last, until the fat-bellied, 22 inch fish lay heaving in my net. I felt oddly rejuvenated after such a long day on the water, and as I set up to troll the area one last time, I looked down at my stringer, and realized I had caught my limit, then looked up and noticed the fading light was not just caused by increasing cloud cover, but by the sun setting rapidly, slipping behind Mount Tallac.

Keeping those that swallowed the hook, I ended my day with four rainbow trout and a mackinaw. I also released two other mackinaw and three rainbows, for a total of ten fish caught, and one mystery pig that snapped my leader. This is exceptional action, and any knowledgeable Tahoe angler will tell you that one fish per day, per rod, constitutes a good toplining trip here. With Tahoe trout, though, the one you do get will make all the effort seem worthwhile, and the one you lose will have you back again, willing to stay out longer than the winter sun.

Nearby Cave Rock State Park also offers high-quality launch facilities, and excellent access to similar, near-shore fish-holding structure. The lake has been drawn low this year, and large, deep-draft vessels will encounter difficulties launching. The El Dorado County boat ramp in South Lake Tahoe is essentially useless at this water level, and has not been plowed after recent snowstorms. Before taking any boat on Tahoe, check the weather report, and when on the water, be alert to any changes in wind or wave conditions, which can occur quite rapidly. Tahoe also has numerous special fishing regulations, including a limit of two mackinaw; please review your California or Nevada regulation booklet before wetting a line.

Until next time, remember, never stand in a canoe!
Mark Wiza
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