The preferred method of sampling for fish during this series of expeditions down the Tuolumne River (aside from the ever popular rod-and-reel method) was snorkeling. High water levels prevented efficient use of electrofishing equipment and bedrock dominated shores impaired our ability to potentially land a seine. This left underwater observation as the easiest and most reliable method at our disposal. So we snorkeled. And snorkeled. And snorkeled.
Wondrous images of Sacramento pikeminnow flashing and rainbow trout disappearing and reappearing behind bubble curtains filled our slightly fogged masks for days on the Clavey River. Finally there came the chance to move downriver and try a new stream, the North Fork of the Tuolumne. A new river meant new sights! After rapidly claiming out campsites, we hurriedly donned our ridiculous outfits and promptly headed down to the confluence.
Lo, the glory that is warm water! The pleasantly warm discharge of this minor tributary filled our wetsuits as we began our survey. As Claire, our fearless photographer, sat out this survey and volunteered to record our data Nick and I progressed up the stream. To this point there had been many beautiful sights, but none that could be called startling. Imagine my surprise when rounding a large boulder to see a fish directly in front of me. A fish, how could this be surprising you ask. I can hear the question in your unspoken thoughts.
What was surprising about this fish wasn’t the species (smallmouth bass, a voracious invasive that has long been recorded in the North Fork) or the size (a mere six inches or so, a far cry from the monstrous pikeminnow roaming the Clavey). No, what was surprising was the behavior. Did this diminutive devil run, fleeing before the majesty of a wetsuit-clad human? Did it swim away in terror from this destroyer of life? No! Instead it held its ground, and what’s more, it went on the offensive! It aggressively darted forward, lunging at my face in an effort to drive me away. Que raro!
I have long since been told of the interesting tendencies of adult male smallmouth bass to guard their nests, not only prior to hatching of the offspring, but for several weeks after as well. This behavior is interesting, but not something that was foremost in my thoughts at the time of my dive. Even if it were in my thoughts, the principle of nest defense is quite different from its execution. I hurriedly backed away a foot (or three), spit out my snorkel, and hastily said to Claire “Smallmouth bass, six-to-twelve”. Only after re-entering the water was I able to collect myself and objectively observe the fascinatingly aggressive smallmouth guarding their nests.