Chasing the Tug: A Day on Crowley Lake with Mr. Long Valley Fly Fishing
July 2, 2026 - Joe and I woke up at 6 a.m., buzzing with anticipation for a day of fly fishing on Crowley Lake with our friends Edward and Nikki Rae Hart. This trip had been years in the making. Edward had spent that time refining his guiding skills, upgrading his gear, and most excitingly, investing in a boat that could fit all four of us. Finally, the invitation was official, and we were ready to say yes.
We met the Harts, aka Mr. and Mrs. Long Valley Fly Fishing, at the Crowley Lake Marina just after 7 a.m. The boat was already in the water, bobbing gently at the dock, waiting for us. As we set out, Edward shared that he’d crafted some new lures the night before, eager to test them out on the water. The morning was perfect: sunny, calm, and clear, with hardly a ripple to disturb the glassy surface of the lake.
While finalizing our fishing double date the evening prior, the Harts had given us plenty of tips to prepare for the day. They warned us that the lake would be cooler in the morning, especially as we picked up speed while heading to our first location, so we packed jackets and buffs. They also recommended sunglasses, sungloves, sunscreen, water, a hat, and plenty of snacks. After all, we planned to be on the lake for about five hours or until noon and with direct sunlight and its reflection off the water, we’d need protection.
When we arrived at our first (and, as it turned out, only) spot, Edward dropped the anchors and walked me through the basics of casting and what to do if I got a bite. His instructions were clear and easy to follow. Though I’d dabbled in fly fishing years ago on the San Joaquin River (with Edward’s guidance back then too) and had grown up fishing occasionally with my cousins in the Central Valley, I realized how little we’d actually known back then. We’d just grab earthworms from a liquor store, stand on random shores, and hope for the best.
Fishing again after so many years also brought back memories of simpler times. While attending Sacramento State (go Hornets!), I’d often visit a random pond in a city park to destress and play Pokémon Go! back when the game was at its peak. This day brought back memories of fishing there with my boyfriend at the time. We were far from experts, relying mostly on trial and error. We even tried setting traps for crawfish using bologna as bait (yes, really).
Our first trip to that pond sticks with me. I’d picked out a pink, “girly” fishing rod because it was cute (I know, such a “girly” reason). It was supposed to have an automatic reel, but the first time I pulled on it, the whole thing broke. We rushed back to the sporting goods store and swapped it for a sturdier (albeit less pretty) rod. Hours passed as we fished, chilled, and learned. It was an inexpensive, relaxing way to spend time outdoors, and a great excuse to hunt for Pokémon we couldn’t find in our neighborhood. I’ll never forget the pride I felt the first time I caught a fish, though I have no idea what kind it was.
I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy, willing to try almost anything, and always up for keeping pace with my mostly male cousins. Nature has always fascinated me. So, when I finally hooked a fish, I was determined to do it all myself: bait the hook, cast the line, and reel it in. The one thing I now refuse to do after that experience with my ex boyfriend is kill a fish I catch. That time I tried hitting the fish on the head, but no matter how hard I swung, it kept squirming. The guilt of making it suffer longer than necessary weighed on me, especially since we planned to eat whatever we caught. My ex eventually took a knife and finished the job, gutting and cleaning the fish while I helped where I could. The following night, we cooked our catch for dinner and after that, we were hooked.
I look back on those early fishing memories with fondness. Even the silly mistakes and lessons learned. What stands out most is the peace I felt sitting quietly by the water, fully present in the stillness of the moment.
So, when we set out with Edward that July morning, I expected a similar experience: moments of quiet excitement, maybe catching three or four fish total, and spending most of the time sitting, recasting, and waiting.
Well, that’s not what I got.
Within 20 minutes, Nikki had caught the first fish, and the excitement on the boat was immediate. My turn came next, but my first two bites didn’t land anything. I grew to understand that fly fishing isn’t like regular rod fishing, you don’t reel in right away. Instead, you pull up on the rod to create a bend, let the line tighten when there’s slack, and then reel just enough to keep tension. The goal is to tire the fish out while making sure it doesn’t dive under the boat or tangle the line in the anchors. It’s a delicate dance: pull back on the rod, reel in at the right moments, and keep your eyes locked on your opponent.
After two misses from the first couple of bites, I was determined to land my next catch. I wanted that quintessential photo: a fisher(wo)man grinning with their catch in hand. By the time I finally secured my first fish in the net, Nikki and Edward (the only others fishing while Joe spent the day enjoying the scenery, making observation through a set of binoculars, and serving as our unofficial cameraman) had already caught and released their own fish.
The rush of seeing that bobber dip under the water, pulling up on the rod, and feeling the fight of that first, second, and third fish is something I’ll never forget. My body reacted on instinct, and I was so grateful to Edward for his patience, guidance, and encouragement throughout the whole process. From the start, he was calm, communicative, and gave me the space to figure things out for myself.
After all my few experiences of fishing, I’ve learned that there’s only so much someone can teach you verbally. True knowledge comes from a mix of what you’re told, what you see in action, and then putting it all into practice in the moment. You’ve got to feel it for yourself. And each time I felt a bite on my line, my body began to memorize the steps, developing the natural rhythm of fishing.
Watching Edward was like observing a master at work. His movements were graceful and composed, whether he was steering the boat, ensuring everyone had the tools they needed, or demonstrating techniques he’d refined over years. It was special to see my friend in his element, witnessing the fruits of his labor after all this time. I still remember when Edward first talked to me about his dream: working at a local fishing store, learning the area, connecting with other anglers, both locals and visitors, and one day having his own boat, leading his own guiding trips as an Eastern Sierra fishing guide. Between the fish we caught and the high fives we shared, the real magic of the day was seeing Edward in his element. It was neat to hear about all he’s learned over the years, from identifying birds to understanding the geologic history of the area, all while guiding us with patience and skill.
By the end of the day, we’d each had about five or six bites and landed three or four fish. It was a solid day on Crowley Lake, not just from my perspective, but from the whole crew’s. The scenery was breathtaking, with a 360-degree from the Long Valley Caldera, waterfowl diving and calling around us, and the beautiful fish we’d all caught. Those five hours flew by before we knew it.
We decided to call it a day by 11:50 a.m. The wind had picked up, making casting trickier, and by then, we’d all gotten what we came for and then some. One of the highlights? Nikki and I caught fish back-to-back, so we had two of our catches in the net at once. We posed for a photo together, my rainbow trout beside her cutthroat trout, the only one of its kind caught that day.
We wrapped up the day at the Crowley Lake store, where we devoured a large pepperoni pizza and fountain sodas. Hands down, it was my favorite and most exciting fishing day ever. As a gift, Nikki and Edward surprised me with a year-long fishing license. I’m already itching to get back on the boat, cast my line, and chase that addictive tug.
Hell yeah, sensei!
If you’re interested in booking a guiding trip with Edward Hart—aka Mr. Long Valley Fly Fishing—or want to check out his content, follow him on Instagram at @longvalleyflyfishing. A website and more are on the way!
