My time on this wild trout sanctuary has come to an end as I pack fly rods and gear and prepare to experience other waters. A journal full of wonderful moments electric motoring up and down the middle portion of this 17 mile river of endless dreams will forever remain special to me.

When I lay out the many photos of perfectly colored healthy trout along side the breath taking sunsets and mist covered morning shots, it makes me a little sad to move on. This adventure has been an eye opener in several respects, especially the levee break and its impact on all the creatures and full time residents. The levee break may be a first warning shot across the bow of all agencies who are supposed to be guarding California’s remaining rivers and streams. In my laymen’s observations the levee break could have easily been prevented by addressing the insidious river weed growth several years ago. Those state, federal, local agencies involved have the usual tired old bag of excuses for lack of foresight and action. Tight funding, other priorities, and a host of excuses have been thrown around as the buck has not yet found a desk to stop at! Bottom line seems to be a collective feeling it was kismet, natural causes, tough to foresee, can’t fix every potential disaster and so forth.

This group mind set may work for the humans who are supposed to be looking after this river, it is quite weak in regard to the many fish, birds, insects, guides, fly fishers, farmers, and the overall commercial impact on this tiny community. One other sobering fact will continue to haunt me, local ranchers and farmers continue to abuse their water rights without being taken to task. Water is routinely taken from the river to flood Alfalfa and other crops which are crop dusted with various chemicals and then allowed to drain back into the river. I witnessed this countless times in my four months fly fishing. Perhaps citizens from California’s cities would be better served to start asking hard questions and demanding more responsible care of the states precious waters...

Bottom line for me will be the beauty of this river and the fighting spirit of its wild strain of rainbow and brown trout. In the first weeks attempting to learn the best ways to work tiny flies and where the pods of fish congregated, I was humbled and left holding my beloved bamboo rods while serious bows over five pounds hit and ran breaking 7 weight tippits and doing aerial ballets. Many mornings were spent endlessly searching for and not finding these highly educated fish. The few times I fooled and had the honor of playing fish over three pounds were as exciting as the King Salmon I landed with light bamboo at Lake Marie in Alaska. The vivid sunsets and generous treatment by Fall River locals was grand. The single fly invitational for woman’s breast cancer this June hosted at the Pitt River Lodge is the highlight for me. A special thanks to the ethereal Karen Graham my co-host for the event, my time fly fishing with Karen was sublime. The Bald Eagle nesting in the tree next to the cabin and three domestic geese were my favorite companions. One magic moment will always be with me, on a misty morning when I had the river all to myself after dropping anchor a tiny new born Mallard swam out of the brush and stayed with me all morning.

Fall River Mills is one of the last near perfect remote areas in California and I can easily recall my first night in the little cabin near the river with snow falling and wild geese honking. Sunsets of such vivid color that even digital cameras can’t capture all the colors, and the people of Fall River. People who live in a state of constant bliss, yet welcome strangers with calm kindness.

A resident and migrant bird population of incredible diversity from Bald Eagles to endless flocks of migrating geese. On the other side of the river across from the cabin herds of cattle and lone coyotes patrolling the waters edge. One morning my sleepy eyes were widened as I stepped out the cabin door and almost stepped on a little snake curled on the door step. An ancient barn in ruins next to the cabin that held several species of owl’s who were as stealthy and deadly in their nightly hunting and stalking as one could imagine. Two doe’s that each had twins and would come into the yard and munch on apples each evening. I watched the sets of twins learn how to follow their mother’s when they had to find their way around fences too high to jump. My memories of the bird population and how often I saw species that I had to look up and identify are pure gold. The old white washed church with it’s tall steeple across the meadow that cast otherworldly shadow some evenings. Night always brought a kind of stark silence city people never enjoy, when the birds stopped their endless songs and moonless blackness covered everything!

Mornings watching the river and my three domestic geese friends welcome wild geese and their young who stopped by to bath and say hello. Evenings when Mt. Shasta was the best stage for sunsets, and of course the river itself. A river of endless dreams where I saw frogs ( healthy ) turtles, river otters, and witnessed cruising brown trout that looked like mini submarines. Most mornings at around sun up my little 12 foot boat and it’s quiet electric motor would allow me to glide silently as the river’s residents began to come alive. The way the light and shadows played and created photo’s anyone could easily capture. It was like living a dream within a dream as this fly fisher will never forget. Thank you Fall river for letting me spend wonderful moments riding on your shimmering waters...

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“ ADVENTURES OF FLETCHER QUILL “