LAST CAST: Where's M. Creek?

Everyone’s always asking me: “So, where’s this M Creek you’re always raving about? I’ve never heard of it.”
“That’s the point,” I respond.
M Creek doesn’t exist. I’ve looked for it myself. Not a creek in the United States named M Creek.
“That doesn’t make sense,” they always respond.
“That’s the point,” I tell them again.
M Creek is many things if not confusing and impossible to find, and I’d like to keep it that way.
But if you really must know, the M stands for many things.
Made-up Creek. Majestic Creek. Memorable Creek. Mysterious Creek. Magnificent Creek.
In other words, it’s My Creek.
No, I’m not stupid enough to think there should be a creek named after me. This just happens to be my favorite little fishery around. A think-nothing-of-it, drive-by-it-a-million-times stream that gets overlooked by nearly everyone around these parts, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Every good angler has an M Creek that they escape to now and then.
That one secret spot or little-known fishery that produces fish time and time again, no matter what time of year it’s fished. It’s one of the few things in life you can count on.
M Creek might be reduced to a trickle in the summer, but its few remaining pools still hold a couple pesky rainbows that’ll smack a nymph like it’s the first snack they’ve seen all year.
A creek where all is right with the world, as long as you’re fishing it and escaping the daily rigors of everyday life.
It might only be four feet deep in its largest pool and eight feet at its widest run, but M Creek is My Creek and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be (this side of the Sierra Nevada).
It’s a creek you care for. One where barbless hooks are the only ones these wild trout will ever see.
It’s also the least-photographed fishery around because every rainbow that graces a hook usually escapes by the time he reaches the bank.
Even when you do land a fish, you quickly slip him off the hook and send him on his way in the amount of time it takes to turn on that $500 digital camera you have tucked away in your vest.
And I’d like to keep it that way.

Last Cast is a column written by the editor of CaliforniaAngler.com.