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Subject: Hooknose Date: Wed, 9 Oct 2002
Hi Gene, That is a nice picture taken from the top of Hooknose Mountain. Is there a road or trail that goes up there?
    When I was a kid, my Dad and I roamed all over the countryside seeking fishing holes. When I was about 12 years old, my Dad, Don Sands and I hatched the idea to hike into Hooknose Lake. We heard a story from Jimmy Monroe that he had backpacked in fingerling trout and stocked the lake many years before. It was common knowledge that Jimmy Monroe never  let the truth interfere with a good story. Yet, we were curious and eager to make a new find.
    At the time, no roads or trails existed to access Hooknose Mountain. It was going to take a Herculean effort to blaze our way. The Lake was just below the peak (hook), fed year around by the Mountain's glacier. We opined that a fisherman's riches awaited us beneath the shadow of the "Hook." We planned to initiate our climb when Dad and Don got off work on a Friday afternoon. All day Thursday, I busied myself preparing our backpacks, checking our equipment, and digging for the ever useful worms for bait. That night, I dreamed of huge trout and magnificent vistas. It must have been the same type of dream that plagued the Spanish Conquistadors with their visions of gold in the new world.
    I was more than ready when Friday dawned, and it seemed an eternity before the men got home from work so that we could  begin our adventure. We drove up to the place where Bob Ziemmer  lived on what is now  commonly known as the Boundary Dam road. At the time, I just knew the road as the "Flume Creek Road." We parked the car at Bob's place, took an eyeball bearing on relative location of the "Hook", and started picking our way through the forest. We got into some real nasty second growth with serious heavy undergrowth that I thought we were never going to overcome. With lots of hard work, sweat and ample cursing from Don, we managed to thrash and hack our way through it. We were greatly relieve when we broke out into more open country, however the steep climb ahead was to be an equal challenge.
    It seemed like we climbed for an eternity! Young, full of energy, and expecting to see the Lake at  the top of every escarpment, I scampered ahead of the men with Don's  cocker spaniel barking joyfully at my heels. The dog and I would get about 100 yards ahead of the men and stop and sit and bask in the scenery. When the men approached our position, we would get up and dash ahead to a new vantage point. As the evening shadows began to appear, I realized we were not going to find the Lake unless the men picked up the pace.
    Soon dark overtook our modest expedition and we were forced to find safe spaces sandwiched between boulders to unroll our sleeping bags and wait out the darkness for dawn. It was a bit uncomfortable, and the cold winds had started to sweep over the mountain and howl through the lonely pines. I coaxed the dog into my sleeping bed to share warmth. We split a Snickers bar for dinner, cuddled up and the two of us fell quickly into a deep slumber leaving the men to grouse and grumble as they tried with apparent little success to make themselves more comfortable on their beds of loose rock and exposed tree roots.
    The sun rose early on the mountain. We were stiff and shivering when we arose, but the late summer sun was warming and welcome. The dog and I shared another Snicker bar for breakfast while we waited for the men to ready themselves to resume the climb. They moaned and groaned and paced about a bit to work out the kinks ... complaining all the while of the lack of a hot cup of coffee. I remember musing about how complicated adults made things. If you are on an adventure with a pocket full of Snickers bars and the companionship of a good dog then what else could one possibly want! Adults expectations were just too high, I thought, and, under the circumstances, largely unreasonable and unrealistic.
    The dog and I gave each other a knowing glance, and we patiently waited while the men pondered our fate and their next brilliant idea. Soon the sun had warmed the cantankerous side of our companions and we resumed the climb up the Mountain. With less than a hour's effort from our resting place, we found our way under the "Hook" to the Lake. It was so small! I had envisioned a huge lake full of giant trout. This lake, I thought, was barely big enough to float a raft! But, it was exquisitely beautiful. Wild and yet  serene. My hands shook, partly from excitement and partly from the  morning cold and the slight breeze blowing off the glacier, as I tried to bait a hook and be the first to cast a line in the clear waters of  the glacial lake.
    My worm no sooner hit the water than a hungry fish took it. He fought wildly. As I endeavored to retrieve him, he repeatedly broke the water with his arching, thrashing body, and then he  would retreat with loud splashes to the depths. The dog yapped with excitement. Fish?! This wasn't a fish. It looked more like an eel! I finally landed the fish held him up in disbelief and called to Dad and Don to hurry up the mountain and come see. I didn't think that fish had  eaten in a week! Whether the fish were starved or some strange  mutation, I was not sure; but he was a lot of long bone and little meat.
    I freed him from my hook and put him back into the water. I remember wondering if the fish in that lake would like a Snicker bar to fatten them up some. Well, Jimmy Monroe was right about the part of his story that claimed that Hooknose Lake had trout. Whether or not it was Jimmy who stocked it, we were never to learn for certain. I developed the theory that a lone eagle had captured a female trout from one of the lower lakes, and, on the flight to the eagle's nest, the trout, in a primordial act to protect her species, released her eggs into the lake. The same eagle on  a later trip captured a male trout, lost his talon grip on the male  trout and dropped him in the lake. The male, finding the eggs, fertilized them. Its my story and I am sticking to it!
    I liked old  Jimmy, but somehow I just could not imagine him doing God's work and  stocking hidden mountain lakes with trout. Not to say that he didn't, but just that I have my doubts. Jimmy's finest hours were when he was perched on a bar stool spinning yarns that were part truth and part fiction. Like I said, Jimmy Monroe never let the truth interfere with a good story. Cheers, Jack

(No, there is neither road nor trail to the top of Hook nose where the picture was taken. There is a road that goes well up on Hook Nose to the relay station, and hikers make an easy days hike of it from where they park their cars, to the top of the mountain and back. Those who have made the trek tell me, you take the Abercrombie trail to where it hits the top of the ridge, and then free-lance northward along the ridge to the top of Hook Nose. Frank Beatty Jr. told me he had the same experience with the fish from Hook nose lake. All head, and no body. Frank and his companions accessed the lake from the back, or Frisco Standard side. Frank said it was a no fun trip. When I had an airplane, I flew over it several times, and took a couple people up to see it, who was doubtful a lake was there. Actually, more of a pond then a lake. gka)