By Paul Lebowitz

Former firefighter Rob Witherill’s hefty ten pound anchor hit the rotten ice with the thunk of an axe. It chopped right through the thin sheet, leaving a plate-sized window of open water surrounded by a lattice of cracks. With the flick of a paddle Witherill nosed his fishing kayak onto the compromised ice, which crackled and crunched in complaint before finally surrendering.   

Before long Witherill had carved a path through the ledge of ice blocking access to his go-to trout spot near the center of Little Virginia Lake. He caught a few lethargic little rainbows, slowed by the cold water, and that’s when he noticed the shallows at the otherwise inaccessible back of the lake. There, in the warmth of the sun, frenzied trout splashed on the surface.

Witherill ended his day with a dozen or so pan-sized beauties, all released, and quite a story to tell. “Kayak ice-breaking. That was fun. It isn’t every day you feel like a kid again,” the Mammoth Lakes resident and owner of the new Mammoth Kayaks rental service said.

Witherill’s high-altitude sortie was an unusual and arguably risky use of a fishing kayak. On the plus side, he and his oversized and exceptionally stable boat carved their own escape route. The lake lives up to its name – it’s far from large – nor is it deep. And he had company if help was needed, one kayak fishing editor who should have known better.

That Eastern Sierra opener was certainly not your average high country kayak fishing outing, but it aptly illustrates the central strength of these humble little boats. In addition to handling the Sierra staples they get you to otherwise untouchable water.   

A few months later I was back on the water again with the unconventional character and his friend Mike Manning. This time we left the cozy 1849 Condos managed by Witherill’s wife and headed over the hill from the pleasant resort town of Mammoth Lakes and down toward Devil’s Postpile National Monument and little Sotcher Lake. “Don’t forget your kayak cart,” Witherill had warned, and I soon saw why. If we wanted to get our kayaks wet, first we’d have to get them dusty.

The short, tree-lined trail was little obstacle with wheels under our kayaks, yet fenced out any vessel larger than a car-topper. The go nearly anywhere kayak shines again.

We rigged and hit the lake. Manning paddled past a trio of float-tubers and set up at the base of a sheer granite wall. He flicked a spoon toward the shore, struck paydirt, and soon hoisted a beautiful Alpers trout for us to admire.    

Later the wind picked up. As we enjoyed a leisurely paddle back to the launch, the tubers were kicking hard to make headway.

“Most of the guys who live up here use tubes. They’re easy to transport. Kayaks, they think they’re a hassle,” Witherill said. Not Witherill. He prefers the mobility and comfort of the kayak.

“I get around faster, I can troll, carry more gear, even stand up and sight fish,” Witherill added. Somehow he forgot to tick off the benefits of sitting high, dry and warm out of the water.  

Granted, kayaks themselves have significant limitations. Short range isn’t normally an issue where the average lake doesn’t outstretch a mile. It comes into play on Crowley, obviously one of the region’s angling highlights. Fortunately it can be overcome by launching near your fishing zone.

“I drive in through the back roads and launch off Sandy Point,” said Witherill, who drives a high-clearance truck. The dirt roads sometime require four wheel drive. Once at the lake he often paddles into popular McGee Bay, wending his way through virtual fleets of motor boaters who must wonder how he got there. And there are compensations – again, it comes down to fishing where other boats can’t, up Crooked Creek or the mouth of the Owens.

Wind is an obstacle. Lakes such as June and Convict crouch in canyons; afternoon winds howl along their lengths. They are not insurmountable. Unlike his lower altitude brethren who eschew anchors, Witherill doubles down. That’s right, he uses one off the bow and another off the stern, planting him firmly in position in water up to 20 or 30 feet deep.

“I fish a rod off either side,” Witherill says, usually opting for simplicity. His basic tactics boil down to light line, soft rods, and tiny trebles (#18) baited with a morsel of Powerbait or Gulp dough bait. If he doesn’t get a bite within a few minutes, he slides to a new spot. It works great for rainbows in these heavily stocked waters, so why do anything else?

Well, to target big Alpers or brown trout for starts. The quiet kayak excels there too. Manning stalks the shoreline, casting and retrieving minnow-shaped plugs around creek inlets, lake outlets, and prominent depth changes. I joined him for a while on Lake George, where he scooted up to the shore side of a deep hole. A power boater was working the other side. The fellow shouted that our approach had surely spooked the fish. As the echo of his complaint faded on the wind, a pair of trout swam lazily beneath my feet. Kayaks are the essence of stealth.   

Kayaks are tailor-made for trolling, an effective way to locate active fish. An easy paddling pace is just right for presenting a spoon or small minnow. It’s even possible to use leadcore line in deeper lakes such as Bridgeport’s Upper Twin, where it’s one way to beat the heat of summer. The heavy line exerts considerable drag, so it’s most comfortable employed from a longer kayak that is less apt to turn. Hobie pedal-powered kayaks or rudder-equipped paddle kayaks provide additional help. A rod holder up front is a must.

Of course there’s no rule that says you have to stay in the kayak. Some anglers use it purely for transportation, stepping out to fish otherwise hard to reach stretches. The lower Owens comes to mind, as do the far shorelines of lakes encircled by scree slopes.  

Kayak fishing can be an extreme sport; witness our icy adventure. Wild man Witherill is contemplating a go at the cutthroats in Lake McCloud, a half-mile uphill grind on a service road. As far as fishing kayak portages go, that’s a long one, best attempted with a shorter, lighter boat and a minimum of gear. It doesn’t approach the outer boundaries of the sport. Somewhere there’s a kayak angler studying a topographic map, plotting a backcountry expedition to some wilderness water. Better pack an inflatable, Bub.   

For most people, kayak fishing is a relaxed, easy-going pursuit. The little boats are among the most inexpensive small fishing craft available, just right for fishing with a child on little Lake Mamie in the Mammoth Basin. On warm evenings, Witherill sneaks away from work at the nearby 1849 Condos to fish with his daughter.

“I think the smaller lakes have as many fish as the larger ones. They’re just in a smaller area. Big fish too, Alpers,” Witherill said. The young lass has a 6 pound Alpers to her credit, caught on a Barbie pole. “That’s bigger than many adults’ best. We chased it down,” Witherill admitted with a chuckle.

The length of the Eastern Sierra kayak fishing season comes down to an individual’s fortitude and preparation. Lake water temperatures range from chilly to cold, dangerously so in winter and early spring. In general, casual kayakers should find conditions to their liking from mid-June through September or October depending on altitude. Lower lakes enjoy a longer run. Avid kayak anglers can stretch the season by making judicious use of weather windows and gearing up for the water temperature. As the old saw goes, dress for immersion, not the air temperature.    

The rewards of kayaking the high country go beyond great fishing. There’s the wildlife; bald eagles that soar proudly overhead and fish-thieving bears on the lookout for a snack. And unparalleled beauty: tall pines, sheer crags, and expansive vistas. For fishermen, the best moments come early in the morning, when the world is hushed, the water serene, and the rising sun paints the mountains’ granite bones with incandescent flame.    

SMALL TROUT, BIG REWARD. The fish caught by Witherill during his ice-breaking exploit weren’t up to bragging size. His satisfaction came from kayaking to the one otherwise inaccessible area on the lake were the fish were actively feeding.

MIKE MANNING with an Alpers trout caught while kayaking at Sotcher Lake.

WITHERILL WITH a nice Mammoth Lakes rainbow. He believes the smaller lakes hold just as many fish as the larger ones, only in a smaller area.

FORMER FIREFIGHTER Rob Witherill navigates a stretch of ice separating sections of open water at Little Virginia Lake. This risky maneuver is not for novices.

THE ROTTEN ICE crackled and crunched before giving way to Witherill’s ice-breaking kayak.

LITTLE ADDISON Witherill on her father’s kayak at Lake Mamie. Small, well sheltered lakes are ideal for introducing kids to kayak fishing. PHOTO COURTESY MAMMOTH KAYAKS

WILDLIFE. Anglers can encounter black bears virtually anywhere in the Eastern Sierra. This one took an interest in the author’s kayak. It soon moved on; there were no fish onboard.

MANY HIGH-COUNTRY kayakers practice careful catch and release, particularly of larger fish.