Immersed in the old riverbed, it’s relatively easy to lose sight of the freeway and apartments looming over the concrete-laden riverbanks. The sounds of the city are easily lost to the rush of the water and the collective noise from the ducks and seagulls. I take my first steps into the coolish water and the stalk is on, my eyes focused on the river before me, staring into the tannin-colored water attempting to conceal the carp living beneath sporadic layers of foam. They are survivors. Non-native inhabitants of Los Angeles who have adapted to an adverse and trying environment, just like most of us who live here. Although they are, by far, the largest of the river’s inhabitants, they are nervous fish that instantly scatter at a wrong move or an errant shadow cast over the water. The fishing feels just like spot-and-stalk hunting for bonefish on the flats of the Florida Keys, except that I’m in the heart of Los Angeles, steps away from one of the busiest freeways in America. I’m also wading knee-deep in treated water dumped into the river to supplement its depressingly low natural flow, instead of the azure waters that surround Florida’s coral cay archipelago. I’m casting to carp whose fins are tinted with red at the tips with bright golden scales the size of nickels, instead of silvery missle-like bonefish. Their lips look pretty similar to a lot of bad collagen jobs I’ve passed on the street. No, carp aren’t prize fish like flats bonefish or permit, but if you’ve had the privilege of stalking them, you understand what I’m talking about. Even acknowledging all of the shortcomings of my situation, I’m still casting a fly towards powerful fish that have seen fewer flies than most of the fish that any of us have ever attempted to fool. On the casts I feel the familiar weight of a fish, my fully flexed 8-weight muscles the fish through a maze of roots, rocks, sunken shopping carts, cement blocks with tetanus-laced rebar, and surprisingly strong currents. Most of the time, my thick mono leaders and carefully tied knots survive the gauntlet I force them to run. And for that, I’m thankful. And I’m at peace with every bit of it.
The Los Angeles River is not the historic Battenkill or the iconic Yellowstone, and it’s definitely not the isolated and remote flats of Belize. The river isn’t pristine, and I’m not catching native fish. Carp are looked down upon by many fly rodders and I’m still trying to figure out why that is. It’s still just the LA River no matter how I spin it in my head. But, there’s nobody else down here this morning, and it’s in my backyard. Today it’s still my secret place that has managed to be overlooked, disrespected, and underused by most of the city.
Casting a fly in the Los Angeles River has probably never crossed your mind. The Los Angeles River probably wasn’t a must-fish destination on your bucket list. Even after reading this article, let’s be completely honest, it’s still not going to be on your bucket list of fishing waters. If it already was, or it now is, please, please contact me when you make the pilgrimage - I’d love to meet you. Should the LA River make it onto any must-fish list you have, fish it and appreciate it for what it is, but don’t spoil it. For now, let’s try to keep it our secret.