The Road to the Dreamed Castaic
From Clear Lake, the next destination was—Castaic Lake.
By the time I had started fishing, this lake was already famous in Japan as a place where big fish could be caught. At the same time, I understood that Castaic Lake was one of the lakes where the swimbait culture was born in America. Just hearing the name made my heart race, and I had long dreamed of the moment I would finally set foot there.
Leaving Clear Lake behind, I drove south. The journey was not just travel time, but a precious moment to feel the landscapes and winds unique to America with my whole body. A straight road stretching all the way to the horizon, an endless blue sky, the dry mountain slopes in the distance. Even the atmosphere of the gas stations I stopped by felt like a special part of the trip. Different from the familiar scenery of Japan, I savored the dry scent of the air while munching on snacks, driving at a relaxed rhythm.
The trip from Clear Lake to Castaic took about eight hours. It should have been a long drive, but strangely, it didn’t feel that way because of the swelling anticipation in my chest. When I finally arrived at the Airbnb and dropped off my luggage, my body should have been tired, but my heart wouldn’t settle. On the eve of fishing, I couldn’t resist taking a quick look at the lake, so I followed the map and headed toward Castaic Lake.
The Lake I Couldn’t Approach
Following the navigation, I arrived at what seemed to be the entrance to the lake. However, a solid gate stood firmly in my way, and I couldn’t go any further.
“Did I come to the wrong entrance gate?” I wondered for a moment. But there was no sign of another possible entrance around. I pulled out my smartphone and posted the situation in the Swimbait Universe group on Facebook.
The people of Swimbait Universe are always kind. This time too, many comments appeared right away. It seemed the entrance was indeed the right one. But as I kept reading, my chest tightened. Apparently, there had been a water accident at the lake, and the road might be closed because of it.
Sure enough, the accident had happened. The missing person had not yet been found, and I was told it would likely be impossible to enter the lake that day. The moment I read that information, a wave of complicated emotions struck me. I sincerely hoped that the missing person would be found quickly, yet at the same time, the selfish thought crept in—“What if I came all the way here and can’t fish at all?” I didn’t like the weakness of my own heart for even thinking that way.
Tired from the long drive, I decided to stop by Wendy’s, grab a hamburger, and turn in early. Tomorrow, I prayed I would finally stand at the lake I had longed for.
Road Open, To the Dream Lake
The next morning. I thought there might still be a road closure, but I drove toward the lake anyway. In my heart, I prayed, “Please, let it be open.” As I approached the gate, miraculously, the closure had been lifted. However, the missing person had still not been found, and due to the accident at Castaic Lagoon, fishing would only be permitted at Castaic Lake itself.
My chest pounded. At last, I would set foot on the very lake I had seen countless times on TV.
As I drove up the mountain road and reached the summit, the view suddenly opened up, and the scenery of Castaic spread out before my eyes. The water lay cradled by the dry mountains. The “holy ground” I had dreamed of in Japan had finally become reality. Words slipped from my lips.
“At last… I’ve come to the lake I dreamed of.”
Losing My EDEN8 in the Sacred Place
Unable to contain my emotions, I quickly prepared my tackle and began fishing. Unfortunately, SUPs were not allowed here. Still, bank fishing was possible, so I studied the points from the shore and kept casting.
In my hands was, of course, the “EDEN8 (Trout color).” It was a partner of my long journey, a special lure filled with memories. While imagining the bottom structure from the bank, I kept casting. There was no response for a while, so I thought the fish might be deeper. I counted the EDEN8 down, letting it sink before retrieving. Then it happened.
I felt the lure snag. Desperately, I tried to free it, but it wouldn’t come loose. Looking closer, I realized there was a cut braided line drifting underwater, and my EDEN8 had tangled in it. A bad feeling ran through me. I loosened the line, changed angles, tried every possible way to rescue it. But then—
Snap!
The dry crack echoed, and EDEN8 sank into the dark lake bottom, pulled along with the braided line.
I stood frozen. The sense of loss filled my chest as if I had lost a dear companion. EDEN8 was never just a lure. It had shared countless memories with me, a symbol of my fishing journey. And now, of all places, it had disappeared into the sacred birthplace of swimbaits.
I tried again and again to recover it, but it was impossible. Soon the fishing hours ended. My chest was heavy with sadness and regret. Yet a thought came to me: “Maybe it was destiny for EDEN8 to rest in the holy ground of swimbaits.”
“Perhaps it has returned to where it truly belongs.”
With that thought, my heart felt just a very little lighter.
The Taste of California Burger
That evening, I decided to shift my mood and stopped by California’s famous burger chain, In-N-Out.
I had heard the name before, but honestly thought it would be something like McDonald’s. Yet the moment I took a bite, that idea was blown away. It was simple, yet juicy, so delicious that a smile spread across my face.
Before I knew it, I was going back the next day, and the day after that, eating In-N-Out every day until I left California. Taste is a funny thing—it carved itself deeply into the memory of my trip.
Toward the Final Day
Thus ended my first day at Castaic. Tomorrow would be the final day of fishing there. And it was also the day I would head to another destination I had long wanted to visit— the trout hatchery.
My heart was already seeking the next adventure.
See you… EDEN8.
