My parents loved the Sierra Nevada. Family vacations to Yosemite National Park and surrounding areas were as numerous as many families’ vacations to Disneyland. It was one father-and-son trip in the summer of 1969 that ignited my passion for Sierra trout fishing. He picked me up from summer school on the same day our astronauts took the first steps on the moon, and we began a seven-day journey into areas near Yosemite and Bridgeport. One special memory of the first day was pulling off Highway 108 at Donnell Vista, taking in a stunning panorama. We gazed down into a canyon that resembled Yosemite Valley. Granite cliffs rising nearly vertically hemmed in the still, blue waters of Donnell Reservoir. Looking up and right, we saw the Dardanelles. Standing like a high fortress to the north were its fluted, dark brown palisades, part of a two-thousand-foot volcanic mudflow that occurred around ten million years ago.
Above where the Middle Fork of the Stanislaus River cascades through rugged terrain into the reservoir, Highway 108 meets the river near Boulder Flat and Brightman Flat Campgrounds. At this point, steep mountain slopes enclose the valley of the Middle Fork. Just below these campgrounds is Clark Fork Road. While well marked, this side route is often overlooked by those whose destinations are Kennedy Meadows or over Sonora Pass. Turning there is a fine option, though. Clark Fork Road offers a scenic jaunt into the forested canyon of the Clark Fork, a tributary of the Middle Fork of the Stanislaus. Though Dad did not introduce me to this side route back then, I discovered it years later with great joy.
It is easy to assume that the Clark Fork was named after the famed guardian of Yosemite, Galen Clark, though this is not the case. It was named in honor of William Clark, a member of the road commission that in 1862 laid out the route that crosses Sonora Pass.
My first trip into the Clark Fork canyon was a year after graduating from high school. Most of the land there is managed by the US Forest Service and open to public use. I recall the entrance to the river canyon as being flanked by dense dark green forests of red fir with huge Jeffrey pines mixed in. It was early summer in 1978, following a decent winter that helped heal the damage of a recent prolonged drought. The Clark Fork near the fork in the road tumbled and splashed over granite ledges and surged through steep, narrow slots, an impressive sight.
A Post-Fire Visit
I revisited the canyon in the summer of 2021 in late June, all too aware of what I expected to see. In early August of 2018, a careless camper abandoned an unextinguished campfire, which escaped its containment. This was named the Donnell Fire, based on its origin’s proximity to Donnell Reservoir. It raced fiercely up the canyon, destroyed key structures in the historic village of Dardanelle, and burned part way up into the Clark Fork canyon, mostly on the north-facing slopes. Three years after this fire, the marks of its fury were undeniable, and decades of healing would be necessary to return the burned areas to their former glory. In the wake of the fire stood eerie, dense stands of ghost trees that now greet visitors who venture down Clark Fork Road.
Thankfully, the Donnell Fire failed to advance farther up the canyon. In early July of 2021, I reconnected with several of my high school buddies from classes ranging from 1975 to 1977. We set up a few campsites at Clark Fork Campground, outside of the burn zone, in the shadows of those red firs and old-growth Jeffrey pines, some of which are over a hundred and fifty feet tall. The Clark Fork riff les and churns within a short hike from the campground. This scenic stretch of water rushes through the canyon with authority in summers that follow winters with a good snowpack, but in early July of 2021, a dry year, it was as low as it might be in September after a normal winter.
Gathering with high school buddies is essentially being transported back to those halcyon days, fleetingly erasing the triumphs and hard knocks that we had experienced over the subsequent four-plus decades. The mind predictably becomes vulnerable to writing checks that the body can’t always cash. So when my “bladder alarm” went off just before 6:00 a.m., I cursed at first, but wound up grudgingly thankful for the motivation. I willed myself to rig up and hike to the river, leaving the cacophony of my snoring buddies behind. Fighting off mental fog from the prior night of reveling, I searched out the spots where trout might be found. Although the river’s volume was sparse, its holding water was still abundant.
This trip was a chance to experiment with my newfound curiosity about European-style nymphing. A quiet approach with a light 10-foot 6-inch rod and leader rigged with a jig-head Perdigon nymph and a Rubberlegs Stonefly nymph got things started. I should mention my attempt to hire a guide before this trip, specifically to get more experience with Euro nymphing. My mistake was waiting too long, so no appointments were available until the end of a very dry summer. Most of my education came from YouTube.
My first few drifts involved training my eyes to see the sighter in the early morning shadows. It was good to feel a tungsten bead clip and bounce off the cobbled river bottom, freed from a floating strike indicator, split shot, and stack mends. Little time passed before the first snag and the loss of the first fly. Needing to rerig momentarily stunted my enthusiasm, but there was still plenty of morning shadow and time for second efforts. This paid off. I ended up landing a rainbow of around 13 inches. My suspicion is that this was a holdover hatchery trout that had gained size by avoiding PowerBait, salmon eggs, and poorly retrieved spinners. Or it may have been previously landed and released. All of this was an antidote for a mild hangover and subpar sleep. Next was a switch to throwing dry flies before the sun could crack the crown of the ridge and Bald Peak. I hiked a short distance to a stretch where a compact, quiet, smooth surface sat between riff les and a few overhanging willows. This is the kind of water where a 2-weight or 3-weight would be ideal, though my smallest dry-fly-oriented rod was an 8-foot 6-inch 4-weight. A size 16 Little Yellow Sally helped me see my fly in the shade. I worked several areas of slower water amid the riffles with no takes. Then came a cast that landed the fly at least a foot beneath overhanging willows, triggering an aggressive strike from a 12-inch rainbow. There were several other takes a short distance upstream, though now from 7-to-8-inch rainbows. I returned to the campsite to find some friends making coffee and a few others still in their tents, sleeping it off. Then came the bacon and eggs. What a great morning it was! After a great night.
The Fishery
Compared with the other forks of the Stanislaus River, access to the Clark Fork is relatively easy, with around nine miles of blacktop from Highway 108 to the Clark Fork Road’s terminus at Clark Fork Trailhead, Iceberg Meadow. The end of the road is a popular launch point for hiking and backpacking trips toward Sonora Pass or into the Carson-Iceberg Wilderness, for which you’ll need a wilderness pass from the Forest Service. If you hike up from the trailhead, the trail follows the stream into a tightening canyon where brookies and smallish rainbows reside. Above the confluence of the Boulder Creek tributary, the Clark Fork diminishes to more of a babbling brook, not far from its headwaters below Stanislaus Peak.
Downstream from Iceberg Meadow, several creeks f low into the Clark Fork from the north side, most notably Arnot Creek and Disaster Creek. Predictably, the Clark Fork between Highway 108 and Iceberg Meadow is a popular stretch for put-and-take fishing and is well stocked each year with catchable rainbows. In this short stretch, the Clark Fork of the Stanislaus presents many personalities and many possibilities. Access is often uncomplicated and an easy hike. There are many areas graced with good access and good holding water, but anticipate sections where access to the river requires carefully threading a long fly rod through dense stands of conifers. Route finding to avoid shrubby impasses also is part of the deal. Some locations provide lengthy stretches of poor holding water, followed by good holding water where access and back-casting space is neutralized by dense brush. Midday fishing in shaded areas can be worthwhile, with stealthy approaches. While I was fishing there without many expectations, a sudden jolt came while blindly dapping a yellow Humpy over a large granite rock in a gap between two long and dense sets of brush. It was a 12-plus-inch rainbow.
These trout are not notoriously selective, but they spook easily, so success favors a stealthy approach and careful shadow management. Among the hatches, midges are a year-round affair, while Blue-Winged Olives are active in the spring, mainly in April and May. Little Yellow Stones, Golden Stones, BlueWinged Olives, caddisflies, and terrestrials span the summer months, with the caddis continuing into October. Giving yourself the time to hike away from the heavily used areas is in and of itself a reward. This is beautiful country.
The Clark Fork is no tailwater. The fishery can suffer from both sustained drought and from extreme runoff in El Niño years. Downstream, Donnell Reservoir is deep, but challenging to access or fish effectively — the Middle Fork of the Stanislaus between Highway 108 and Donnell Reservoir runs through precarious, steep terrain. Large brown and rainbow trout are denizens of the lake, benefiting from scarce angling pressure and the ability to grow. An added benefit is that some migrate upstream in the fall, some up the Middle Fork and some up the Clark Fork.
If You Go…
Gearing Up
Rods for the Clark Fork of the Stanislaus can be 5-weights or lighter. If you make the trip in the fall after a winter with a decent snowpack, a 5-weight will be helpful in case you wind up with an oversized surprise on the line. Much of the time in the summer, though, even a 5-weight will leave you longing for lighter gear. Though heavily visited and fished, the Clark Fork tends to be less pressured than the stretch of the Middle Fork of the Stanislaus just off Highway 108 between Brightman Flat Campground and Kennedy Meadow.
If you need to pick up leaders, tippet material, flies, other gear, or just want to talk about fishing, there is a relatively new fly shop in downtown Sonora: the Sonora Fly Company, which is open daily at 78 S. Washington Street. Phone: (209) 297-9393; e-mail: fishing@sonorafly.com; website: https://sonorafly.com.
Regulations
From the last Saturday in April through November 15, the regulations for the Clark Fork of the Stanislaus specify a daily 5-trout bag limit, 10 trout in possession. From November 16 through the Friday preceding the last Saturday in April, there is a zero bag limit, and anglers can fish only with barbless artificial lures. In other words, it is a catch-and-release fishery during this period.
Overnighting
There are many places to stay that will put you within striking distance of the Clark Fork of the Stanislaus. Closest are several well-maintained US Forest Service campgrounds. Three are in the canyon of the Clark Fork, starting with Clark Fork Campground. Upriver, there are Peaceful Pines and Sand Flat Campgrounds. Fence Creek Campground is near the Clark Fork and Middle Fork confluence, though it is within the area ravaged by the Donnell Fire. Boulder Flat, Brightman Flat, Dardanelle, Eureka Valley, Baker, and Deadman Campgrounds are a short distance eastward up Highway 108. All are likely to fill up quickly, especially on weekends. It is always best to check the US Forest Service website at https://fs.usda.gov/stanislaus/ for specific terms and conditions of use, as well as other information. If you’re on the road and decide to make a visit, you can get information about the area at the Forest Service’s ranger station at the entrance to Pinecrest.
Kennedy Meadows Resort and Pack Station offers both lodging and a substantial campground, though reservations in advance are advised. If a bed, fluffy pillow, hot shower, and restaurant meals are more your thing, there are abundant options for lodging in the historic Sierra foothill towns of Sonora and Jamestown in the Motherlode Country, as well as in smaller communities like Mi-Wuk Village and Long Barn along Highway 108.
— Walt Simmons
