held very few fish ("a few monstrous cutthroat"). But the word had gotten out that the Fish and Game people had found the lake to be the richest yet found in the state, had stocked fingerling rainbows that in one season were averaging about three pounds, and it was going to be FLYFISHING ONLY. In spite of that, (Larry and I were the only family members who had more than a vague notion what that was all about) the family mounted a major expedition to see the new road, try some fishing, and just soak up the beauty of Chopaka mountain in the spring. I couldn't go. In fact, I have missed all of the opening days on Chopaka, forever, between college and life and whatnot. I had to live those first years vicariously through Larry's descriptions o 18-20 inch "average" fish, tackle-busters, broken leaders, reels cleaned, and on and on as people slowly geared up for fish larger and stronger than their wildest dreams. Those first few years on Chopaka were truly spectacular. My only trips to Chopaka were fall grouse hunting and fishing trips just before I left for school. Even then, Chopaka and its fish were an impressive laboratory. The sullen, deserted lake of my memories was now populated by an unimaginable coterie of campers and travel trailers. Flyfishing,as described in the fishing regulations, was observed by less than half of the fishermen, with the flatfish draggers trolling right down the middle of the lake, and the cheese and marshmallow crowd taking the far bank. The limit was honored in hours and deposited in coolers, and filled again. I was actually there once when the warden, after watching for two hours from the hilltop gave tickets to over half the tent sites. But we, that is Larry and I, actually did flyfish. Larry's best technique was, not surprisingly, trolling a lead core line with a tiny green ("It has to be green") shrimp imitation nymph. Given the seemingly bottomless layer of filmy algae and weeds, I could never imagine how his nymph could stay unclogged long enough for him to hook fish, but he inevitably never even got his line fully out before he had strikes. With that line, and with that success, casting was out of the question. Chopaka remains in my mind a wonderful dream, seen through the pink glasses of youth, and the rage of adolescence. It is still beautiful, I am sure. The fish are not quite as large as those first few seasons, but they are still impressive. The regulations have become even more strict, and are now honored more than ignored, and it remains one of Washington's notable "trophy" trout lakes. And Larry kept trolling around in it.
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