I headed up to Backbone for another solo two-night escape. On the first day I decided to return to two obscure and in one case essentially abandoned state preserves that I visited last year. The first was Mossy Glen (no sense not naming it, as in my opinion there’s no fishing to disrupt). Last year I went in early August and the small stream was a tiny trickle. I’ve had it in mind to visit in spring to see if it’s a better show, as there is internet evidence from ca. 2012 that people have actually seen fish here. The DNR describes it as a “low density” brown trout population and it is fingerling stocked annually. Water levels were higher on this visit, and I did see (but not catch) some small trout. But there are exactly three viable pools on state land, no holding water in between, and the largest trout I saw was maybe 8 inches; most were in the 5-6″ range. It’s neat in that it’s kind of a lost spot, and the “mossy glen” (the spring source, it turns out) is worth seeing. But there just isn’t much fishing to be had here.
I tried the Kurenai rigged with tandem hare and copper and Frenchie. I got some interest at exactly one pool, where I flirted with a couple of little trout that hit it as it entered the water on the first two casts, then disappeared. I got a few tugs at depth, but no solid strike, and that was that. There were trout in two other pools, but I spooked them very quickly.
The stream is full of deadfalls and overhang and it gave me fits. A 270 or 240 rod (such as the Rhodo at its smallest size) might have been a better choice.
The state land ended downstream very abruptly – just a few hundred yards of stream. There were end of state land signs but no No Trespassing signs. But there was some aggressive barbed wire going on in the woods to either side. I snuck downstream a little, but it was quite open, the stream wasn’t any bigger, and I didn’t want to cause a fuss.
Heading upstream, it was only a short way to the springs, located in the “mossy glen”. It’s a very pretty spot, and I stopped and had lunch. There were trout in the deep pool at the base of the rocks. I got one follow then I think I spooked them.
I don’t regret going and seeing the spring, and at least now I know. You could catch some tiny browns here if you really, really wanted to. But there is such a short stream section with just a few tiny pools and with a reasonably steep and pathless walk in that it’s hardly worth it. I’m inclined to leave them in peace in future.
I headed out, set on going over to another decommissioned state park and fishing another tiny stream, albeit one with more length and more holding water. But the real adventure of the day began when I got back to my car. I’d parked at the end of the old state road as it enters the woods and ceases being navigable. It’s a depressed spot, and pretty boggy in spring. I didn’t think much about it. For context, I grew up driving four wheel drives (we didn’t call them SUVs in those days) in the genuine wilderness of northwestern Alberta, accessing streams along logging roads and the like. I have an overabundance of experience of freeing trucks stuck in a creative variety of circumstances.
Which turned out to be a useful background.
I started a three point turn, but when I got pointed back up the road (and uphill), all four wheels started spinning. I should just have put it in low and engaged the 4×4 lock, but it didn’t even enter my head that I was in any difficulty. Instead I reversed, intending to steer backwards back over to the main track and higher ground, letting gravity help me get there.
Unfortunately I didn’t see the log.
So I drove back downhill over the end of a massive log, and ended up high centered, with the right rear wheel hanging in space and the weight of the Jeep resting on the log.
Impressively stuck.
I’ve been high centered many times before, though not in recent decades. The only thing to do in the absence of another vehicle is to jack it high enough to get free of the obstacle, then haul the obstacle out from under.
First problem, when I started jacking, the jack just drove itself down into the mud. So I had to head down to the stream to grab a large flat rock. Good thing the streams are mostly on tough, flat bedded, Silurian dolostone.
Second problem, I could just about get the Jeep jacked off the log, but the log was too big to move. I could only shift it slightly by sitting down at the far end and kicking with both my legs. This budged it about an inch at a time. With the Jeep jacked high, I couldn’t move the log. It would have needed two or three football players.
So…. Only clear solution was making the log smaller. I figured if I could cut it right behind the Jeep, the remaining part under the Jeep might be small enough for me to move.
Third problem, I had absolutely nothing with which to cut a large log in two.
It took some thinking, but the only thing with any mass I could think of was my Lodge cast iron frying pan. So I got it out, hefted it, and launched a few tentative whacks. Well, they made dents. No other possibilities came to mind. So I just started whaling away on it. The hardest part was that the handle was small and sharp, but I put on my gloves and wrapped a t shirt around my hand. In the later stages, I hacked at it with a steak knife as well.
Took four increasingly desperate hours. It helped that the outer rind of wood was fairly soft. The core wasn’t. But finally I got past the halfway point and then started whittling it down.
When I thought it might pop, I went to the far end, squatted, and pulled up with everything I had (which isn’t a whole lot). There were some encouraging straining and popping noises, and then it gave way with a sharp crack.
This led to some celebration, though I still didn’t know whether I could pull out what was left. It only took about ten minutes after that to reset the jack, get the Jeep clear, and there was just enough room to pull it out, still scraping against the suspension.
Then there was real celebration. Driving away, you’d think I’d be thinking things like “I must be much more careful. Heavens. That was a serious situation.” Instead it was more along the lines of “OH YEAH BABY!! I STILL GOT IT! I STILL GOT IT!!”
Anyway, I believe this is a life experience not subject to oneupmanship.
Example:
“I’m Johnny Depp. I’m your age, and I have Amber Heard.”
Riposte:
“Yes, but I cut a log in half with a frying pan.”
After I was rolling again, evening was coming on. I still had some daylight, so I went through with the second phase of the plan. There was nobody at the little park. I fished mostly with the Rhodo and a tandem nymph rig.
I spooked some trout in the big starting pool, and caught a few chub. My main goal was to get downstream and see whether some of the nice looking pools that were heavily vegetated last August were clear. Answer: yes. It was getting close to dark, but I settled in at a nice corner pool and caught a few trout on the nymphs.
That felt like a pretty decent ending to a somewhat exhausting day. I beat it over to check in to the cabin. When I unwound and had a shower, my arms and torso were covered with scrapes and scratches. This still happens frequently when I’m doing fieldwork (I’m a palaeontologist, and carry packloads of rock around deserts every summer). But not usually when I’m fishing for trout.