It was a mild overcast day on December 7, 2016, and I was guiding a longtime guest above the Parks Bar Bridge on the lower Yuba River in a section that featured a long riffle that leveled out into some very productive flat water. The switch had been flipped on, and there were four different species of mayflies hatching all at once. Pale Morning Duns, Pinkies (Epeorus), Baetis, and Pseudocloeons littered the water’s surface. It was a masking hatch of monumental proportions. A few dozen trout were waiting for the mayflies to come to them along the numerous feeding lanes that the currents provided. The fishing was outstanding, to say the least, and I was amazed at the abundance of the aquatic insects. I thought to myself just how resilient these insects really are, and I smiled. During the past winter, there had been some minor flooding events that had lightly scoured the river, and to a degree, that had affected the bugs. The Yuba is an alluvial river that drastically changes with high-water events. Its round cobblestones are easily dislodged by the hydraulics of moving water, and they journey downstream, rolling along and stopping where the flows dictate.
But that was the last good day of fishing that I and many others would see for the next several months. A few days later, the first of many significant storms developed and brought the river levels up sharply — to 25,314 cubic feet per second. Then, a week later, another deluge hit at 28,976 cfs. Then another. A series of new storms slammed the region for months on end, with heavy rains and snow in the mountains measured by the tens of feet. What transpired during the winter of 2017 was close to the same conditions that happened in 1997 — not just a series of heavy rains, but a deep snowpack that received rain on top of it, wreaking havoc and creating flooding conditions all over the state. Many have pointed out that it was nothing new, which is true, but considering the infrastructure that was damaged by the weather and the poor judgment by state agencies with water storage in the reservoirs, the winter of 2017 certainly brought new challenges to those of us who love California’s rivers and streams.
The Yuba River today is not the same river I was fishing in December 2016. Call it the “Newba” River, a name first coined by Northern California fly fishing guide Jordan Romney.
80,000 Cubic Feet per Second
There actually were seven major events on the Yuba River during the winter of 2017, with flows that ranged from 20,076 to 83,179 cfs. There were two periods of high flows at over 80,000 cfs. Englebright Reservoir’s capacity is 70,000 acre feet, and once it is full, the water flows over the dam (as intended) with nothing to stop it. When a lot of water flows all at once, major movement of the bottom substrate occurs. Thousands upon thousands of yards of both large and small cobblestones, along with other finer debris, not to mention boulders and trees, were at the mercy of the river’s hydraulics. On the sides of the river, where there once were 20-foot-high piles of material from mining operations, these now were gone, while a quarter of a mile downstream, there was a new bank of cobblestones just as high. It was anybody’s guess how the river would look come late spring. During the biggest high-water event, there was a slight break in the weather, and I raced down to shoot some video from atop the Parks Bar Bridge just a few hours after the flows peaked. The river was full to the rim from the north bank to the south, and a thick, musty smell filled the air. Full-sized trees and large willows floated down at a quick pace underneath me. The power of water is not only amazing, but terrifying at times.
Since I live a mere 20 minutes from the river, I could witness firsthand the destruction of the events taking place and report to fellow fly anglers and the general public through social media. I hovered around the computer screen, checking the flows from Englebright Reservoir and Deer Creek, the most influential feeder creek downstream of Englebright Dam. Deer Creek is a major sediment producer during heavy rainfalls, due to its long course from its headwaters through areas that were heavily mined during the 1800s. When the flows on Deer Creek were at their highest in early February, I visited the Mooney Flat Road Bridge and gauging station. Flowing at approximately 10,000 cfs, the creek was a torrent of chocolate milk. It thundered, and the bridge hummed and vibrated. It was wild.
During periods of heavy precipitation I would check the gauges on the hour, even waking up during the middle of the night and watching the ever-climbing cubic feet per inches of water skyrocket. It was impressive. Out in the field, I felt like a war correspondent who was deeply entrenched near enemy lines, taking notes and capturing pictures to report the current conditions as best I could. To be honest, I was infatuated with the ongoing weather, the heavy flows, and the changes of the river’s topography week by week. The swollen Yuba River was a living and breathing creature that answered to no one, with no remorse for its actions.
The Aftermath
As the high flows receded, I made my biweekly drive down to the river, taking notes on the new features of the river that were apparent to the eye. From the banks, one could get only a glimpse of the new changes, and there was much more to be discovered. On March 19, there was a small window of opportunity as the flows dropped to their lowest levels since the previous fall. Fellow guide Brian Clemens asked if I wanted to float the river with him from the Parks Bar Bridge down to the Sycamore Ranch takeout. I jumped at the opportunity, and within hours, we were floating what was clearly an entirely new river.
Ours was the first boat down the Yuba in 2017 that we were aware of, and like skiers on a blank canvas of powder at a ski resort, we were getting first tracks. It was not only the slightly new course of the river that intrigued me, but the changes in the bottom topography. There were new braided sections, new islands, and new side channels. Unfortunately, the water clarity was still an issue, with only a foot of visibility. It would be some time before the bottom of the river was revealed. While we were drifting that day, the flows were at a little over 4,260 cfs. Brian and I landed a few small fish, amazed we actually happened to catch something.
Though the river’s course stayed relatively the same, it was the underlying details that were fascinating. Red, Gooding’s, and arroyo willows that had survived the high flows were permanently bent downstream, while those that were stripped from the soil rested in huge debris piles that stretched for 20 feet or more. The willows are important parts of the river’s ecosystem, providing cover for native fish and birds and a hiding place for adult aquatic insects while also controlling silt and fine matter. In May of this year, I volunteered to research the Hammon Bar Willow Restoration Project managed by the South Yuba River Citizens League. Many of the tagged willows were gone or were mostly covered up by new gravel and cobbles. However, the group of volunteers and our staff leader were surprised by how many willows were left standing, a testament to the hardiness of these native plants, which often withstand the harshest environments, from dry, hot weather to extreme flooding. It was the mass movement of cobblestones that really put everything into perspective. It’s hard to fathom the energy it took to move such large quantities of material weighing hundreds of tons. Above the waterline, the most obvious effects were the high cobble banks that were now gone. The SRI Supreme gravel pit facility had barriers of very tall tailing piles that divided their property from the Yuba River. Those piles were reduced by 60 percent, a change noticeable to those who spend a lot of time fishing the Long Bar area. Underneath the water’s surface, many of the holding areas for salmonids were blown out, creating straight chutes through many runs. There were also areas where large holes and boulders had appeared, creating a totally new environment for fish. Elsewhere, the tailouts of previously important pools and runs had filled in with cobbles and gravel, extending them into shallower flats. The heads of these runs now start farther upstream, with new transition zones of shallow to deep water.
Hammonton Road, the bumpy dirt and sparsely paved road that follows the south side of the river from Parks Bar Bridge, was once again damaged, or more aptly put, taken out. Hammonton Road directly downstream of the washout, where an unnamed creek enters, was ripped in half. To pass through now, one must drive through a series of newly developed spur roads created for street and off-road vehicles. The launching area under the south side of the Parks Bar bridge is still usable for drift boats, though immediately after the flows came down, vehicle traffic had yet to establish a worn path. Conditions there are a little tamer now and will improve with continued use.
During my extensive investigation of the current conditions while the storms raged on, I took a gamble and entered Hammon Grove, which was closed at the time due to flooding. I parked off Highway 20 down a secluded road and entered the park unnoticed, camera in hand. I then proceeded to bushwhack down to where Dry Creek splits the Sycamore Ranch drift boat takeout and the Hammon Grove property. The river was at full velocity during my visit, and a large portion of the river flowed directly into the takeout and the picnic area of Sycamore Ranch. I was in awe. I thought that surely the boat ramp would be gone after the flows receded, but that was not the case. Whoever the contractor was that put the ramp in did it right, because it is still standing and operational today.
Clay Banks, a popular fly-fishing spot at a bend in the river upstream of Hammon Grove Park, had totally changed. Before the floods, Clay Banks was a very deep hole with a cut face on the north side, while the south side featured an extended shallow gravel bar where a fly angler could wade out and cast to pods of selective rainbows rising against the bank. Now this area has completely filled in, while 30 yards upstream, there is a new hole and a cut bank that mimics the original Clay Banks. Unfortunately, a few property owners’ houses are now a little closer to the river in this area, because of the amount of land that was lost to the river’s surge.
One only has to walk the new and unstable banks of the river to get a lesson on the effects of hydrology. It is fascinating how a channel can change so dramatically in a very short period of time. The Yuba River looked as if a nuclear bomb had been detonated over it — a moonscape of brightly colored scoured rocks lined with woody debris strewn about hither and thither. More than just a good flushing, the river now is a clean slate, with its future picture to be painted as Mother Nature sees fit.
Bug Life Stripped Away
It is inevitable that when high flows occur and massive amounts of material are moved, the aquatic insect populations will be affected. This has been happening over millennia, yet their populations quickly recover and become stable again as time passes. Adapting to such catastrophic events is simply how these species survive. However, it will take at least another few years for aquatic insect populations to rebound to a somewhat stable level. That is, if the winter of 2018 does not produce any big-water events, rolling those cobblestones once again.
After the high-water events of 2017, I took many aquatic samplings. The most prolific bug in all of the samplings was the Ryacophila caddis. Second were Baetis mayflies, and third, the Glossosoma caddis. Occasionally the seine would capture a Skwala Stonefly nymph or a March Brown mayfly nymph. No matter the species collected, they were all in lower numbers compared with previous years. The resident trout at least have the downstream recruitment of chironomids and other food items that flow out from the base of the dam at Englebright Reservoir to supplement their dietary needs.
The biggest surprise from this past summer into early fall was the emergence of more than a few short-winged stoneflies, Classinea subulosa, a unique species. The “Summer Stone” male has extremely stubby wings and cannot fly, and while the female does have wings, it runs across the water’s surface to lay its eggs. What’s remarkable about their emergence after the rampant flows of 2017 is the fact that stonefly nymphs are very poor at navigating flushing flows and are helpless while in the drift.
The Current Fishery
I could not find exact historical data for trout per mile in the Yuba, because there were many conflicting numbers, depending on the source. Before 2017, they were estimated at 600 per mile. Now those numbers are likely to be much lower. Ralph Cutter wrote an interesting article on where resident trout take refuge during the high flows on the lower Yuba River (See “Got Wood?” in “Under the Alders” California Fly Fisher, March/ April 2017). I suspect many did find shelter among the submerged willows, slow side water, and structure that Ralph identified as shelter from such storms. With the amount of water that flowed for such a long period of time and with so much material moving throughout the system, though, one has to wonder if many fish were crushed or injured. Or did the majority of the trout population simply get pushed down below Daguerre Dam and into the Feather River? Maybe the smaller fish are better able to survive because they can hide within the nooks and crannies of the cobbles, or better yet, in the skinny side water.
It’s certainly the case that during this past summer, anglers and guides began catching smaller rainbows, fish ranging from 10 to 12 inches. Hopper/dropper rigs, and caddis dries in the evening were the most effective methods. Some of the small rainbows lacked proportional girth, a result of a decimated food chain. You can get only so big when Mother Nature offers just a few crumbs of food. The trend of smaller fish continued into the fall, with the occasional larger trout being hooked. I’m still hoping the bigger trout will move upstream following the migrating salmon as the latter construct redds and begin to deposit their eggs in the gravel.
As for salmon themselves, however, in the last few months, there have been very few in the system, which has been depressing to see. The effects of a four year drought and mismanaged flow regimes are the likely culprits. Even more disturbing is that when the January 2017 high flows moved the bottom substrate, there were still eggs in the gravel and alevins trying their best to survive an earlier-than-normal ride downstream to the Delta. We will definitely see a reduced population of adult salmon spawning in three to four years, when those that made it out return from the ocean to spawn. The prospect of a healthy wild Chinook salmon population does not look favorable for the immediate future. I hope the sweet smell of fresh water triggers more salmon to swim up the lower Yuba.
Habitat Improvement: Now or Never
The habitat for both juvenile and adult trout, salmon, and steelhead in the Yuba has been in decline for the last few decades. A decline in catch rates has been attributed to fishing pressure or highly educated trout by many anglers, when in fact, it comes down to a need for habitat improvement. Sufficient spawning gravel, large in-stream woody debris, side channels, adequate food sources, shelter, and riparian vegetation are the key physical elements of a healthy fishery. Prior to the floods, mitigation measures assigned to the US Army Corps of Engineers to replace large woody debris already had fallen short of their goal. Loosely piled logs were placed on gravel bars to be carried downstream, becoming in-stream habitat for fish. Those log piles were dispersed during the high flows, all right — all the way to the Delta.
Currently the Corps has placed root balls with a hope that they will not be swept downstream as easily and stay in place. Next, they will figure out you need to anchor large woody debris to be effective. The South Yuba River Citizens League is currently working on upcoming projects for the lower Yuba River that include more braided areas, side channels, and spawning-bed enhancements. Good projects for the Yuba River are on the table at federal and state agencies and also at NGOs. Is it too little, too late? In my opinion, it’s now or never.
Locating Fish
Where does an angler find trout now, with all the changes in bottom topography? Because the population of fish per mile is low, there can be areas where there simply are not very many trout holding. When the salmon are in the river spawning, the majority of the trout will be directly downstream of redds, waiting to intercept eggs or aquatic insects that are released in the drift from nest construction. The rainbows will often remain just below redds even if the salmon are not present, and when the eggs hatch, the trout are then looking for helpless alevins in the drift. With such a high-protein food source confined to a small area, it’s not surprising you will find trout in the immediate vicinity of salmon redds.
Yuba trout will also key in on areas where predictable hatches occur day in and day out. If you can identify a location where a pod of fish is rising, it’s highly probable they will be there in the days following, if the conditions are the same. And conditions matter for finding areas with rising fish. Anytime it is cloudy or drizzly with mild air temperatures, look for trout feeding on hatching mayflies. During such situations, a mayfly cannot dry its wings quickly and remains on the water for a longer period of time, making it easy for the trout to consume it.
No matter the conditions or time of year on the Yuba, the best place to look for trout is in transition zones, especially in the many deep, slow pools. Another prime transition zone is the main seam of a major run that has sufficient depth and holding water from the head through the main body and into the tailout. During the winter season, when the Skwala stoneflies are active, bank water becomes more important, because that’s where the food source is, just as it is during the summer, when grasshoppers are active along the sides of the river.
Fishing the river with a buddy who has acquired knowledge of the new prime lies or hiring a guide can shorten the learning curve on where to look for trout on the new Yuba. The angler who has the resources to spend a lot of time on the river will surely be more in tune will all the working components of an ever-changing environment. Like a freshly planted vegetable garden, it will take time for the “Newba” River to grow and mature into a productive fishery once again. Changes in our landscapes and waterways are an ongoing part of the planet’s rhythms, and it will remain that way after we are long gone. The time it will take for the lower Yuba to come back is quite small in the grand scheme of things, but for fly anglers who enjoy what the river provides mentally, spiritually, and physically, it seems like a very long time. We are impatient dreamers.
