Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Quick Sip: Take Kids Fly Fishing Contest

The folks over at Take Kids Fly Fishing have assembled quite a bounty of kid-sized fly fishing gear. And they're giving it all away!

Head over to their contest page to find out how to enter. I don't know if this is a contest of coloring skill or the prizes will be randomly awarded but it's only open to those sixteen and under so all professional artists should site on their hands.

Monday, May 30, 2011

Arriving early. Staying late.

I arrived early for dinner on Saturday. In fact, that's not entirely correct. I arrived in the neighborhood, early. Now I wish I could say that I struggled with the social indelicacies of the early arrival of a guest and to what imposition I may put my host. But instead, I wondered, immediately, where the nearest trout stream was located and whether it was possible, in 30 minutes, to drive to, fish and return from said trout stream.

The navigation system told me I could get to the nearest stream in 15 minutes. With a return trip that meant I could fish for 15 minutes. Being 15 minutes late to a dinner appointment being, of course, socially acceptable.

I know you're all wondering how one fishes for fifteen minutes. The answer is that one does not.

I had not fished this stream before but had been told of its riches. In fact, it was rumored that poachers fished its banks out of season risking ticketing and worse just to sample its goodness.

Upon arrival at a bridge crossing I discovered the stream was every bit as lovely as I had been told. Downstream a large slow bend pool cut deeply into the forested banks with the requisite shallow, sandy slope on the inside. At the foot of this stream-side beach a father and son sat chucking wads of "trout dough" deeply into the run. They said the fishing was good. A fish made a splashy rise as if to accent the point.

Upstream the was a series of pockets and riffles that were too tempting not to fish and so I did. For late spring, this was a perfect summer evening. Short sleeves. Wading wet in water that was only cold enough to refresh and not cold enough to numb. Enough bugs to let you know the fish were on them but not those annoying #24 BWO hatches that would soon be driving dry fly guys nuts.

I nymphed a bit until a fish taking a swat at my indicator told me to switch. The nymph had brought fish to the hand and now the dry yielded nothing. Perhaps those fish are craftier than I originally thought.

Knowing my fifteen minutes were long up I wandered back to the road in time to see the father and son packing it in. Between them they had six fish which was two over the limit for this water. I even glimpsed a taking of pictures with the boy posing in heroic fashion with a string of fish. I'm so glad I witnessed this passing of the poaching ritual from father to son. Such a tender moment worthy of Rockwell and the Saturday Evening Post. And a Conservation Enforcement Officer.

Now I had the truest of quandaries. I was easily 30 minutes late to dinner at this point. My cell phone was in the car. The light was starting to go. A sweet piece of water was devoid of fisherpersons. The fish were splashing in the pool in that "chasing caddis" sort of way and there was a large spinner swarm of mayflies in the air. And, I was dining with a fellow piscator.

I knew he would understand.

So I crossed over the guardrail and slipped down the path to the water.

The fish in the bend pool refused my dry fly presentations in myriad ways. I then switched to a Caddis Pupa and picked up a few including a beautiful, eight inch, wild Brook Trout.

The spinners were now swarming closer to the water getting ready to deposit themselves upon its surface. With barely enough light to see the fly and the tippet I spent five minutes tying on a large Rusty Spinner and then cast for another ten minutes to fish that clearly were not interested in spinner but instead were still keyed on the caddis.

And then the light was gone.

And I needed to get to this very late dinner appointment.

And the flicker of a bonfire called to me.

And I went to it.

Bonfire of The Inanities

Friday, May 27, 2011


I've got an eight weight switch rod that I bought for this summer's adventure in Alaska. I cast it once up in Pulaski for Steelhead this past winter and will definitely get out in the coming weeks to practice some more on the Housy.

The whole Switch Rod thing can be a bit confusing, especially with regards to putting line on the thing. Gary W. sent me the article below written by George Cook that defines the rod and types of lines you may need depending on the application. A very succinct primer on the subject.

George Cook the Northwest Sales Representative for Sage, Rio, Redington, Sarcione and more brings us this great “ramble” on Switch Rods as only he can. Thanks George.

Fresh off the famous Sandy River Spey Clave I can tell you that there is No Doubt that the Switch Rod Evolution has Landed Big Time in the Pacific Northwest. However, this game has a fair level of confusion amongst it’s enthusiastic following. The following ramble should help clear a path to the river with better Angling ahead…….

Switch Rods “A users Guide” By George Cook
10’ 6” to 11’ 9” in 5 to 8 Weights are the most commonly found Switch rods. Within this, a useful breakdown would show that the 10’ 6” to 11’ 3” range of rods serve as “True Switch Rods”. This as the Name Switch would apply, provides BOTH a Single Handed and two Handed Spey Tool to the Angler’s disposal. In this regard the Switch rod here can really “Get After” a lot of varied Fisheries and methods. Examples Would include: Single handed Nymph/Indicator Fishing (Switch Line),

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Orderly Obsessing

Tom Rosenbauer over at the Orvis Podcast talked last week about preparing for a trip. It's a fairly succinct list of twelve or so (I never really trust his count, he sorta just make things up from a numbers perspective) tips on how to prepare both pre-trip and prior to getting on the water.

Now that's all fine and dandy if like taking your advice from a humble and wise individual who's fished around the world for anything that swims for something like four decades and works for a top provisioner and outfitter such as Orvis.

I, however, can provide you with an alternate list of preparations based upon less than a decade of actual fishing for a handful of species. While I may not be either humble or experienced, I believe my preparations will resonate with many* of you out there. Here's my countdown to a successful trip.

Day 11 Prior To Departure: Log on to the USGS Streamflow site and weather.com. Look up conditions in the locale that you will fish. Bookmark same. Consult Online Topo Maps of location. Perform visualization exercise of the excellent fishing and delightful weather you will experience whilst fishing along the blue lines. Consult Google Maps to cross-correlate topo map with satelite map. Wonder why fly fisherman can't get the same high-res, real-time satellite pictures that the CIA gets. Bookmark. Review guide's website and scoff at the pitiful display of caught fish. Visualize your hero shot of a world record fish.

T-Minus 10: Reload weather.com. Consult the ten day forecast. Divine the impact of the weather over the next ten days on the streamflow gauge based upon experience, wisdom, and pure guesswork. Wring hands with anxiety about potential, disastrous conditions.

T-Minus 9: Repeat Day Ten Preparations. Consult local fly shop website for intelligence on the hatches. Note fly box contains inadequate supply of needed flies. Consult fly tying desk for appropriate materials to tie required flies and order any materials missing (plus a bunch of other stuff your really don't need).

T-Minus 8:  Repeat Day Ten Preparations but with enhanced visualization of you catching "The Big One" during a spectacular [insert bug name here] hatch. Recall the pinhole leak in the left leg of waders. Reload Ten Day forecast at least once per hour throughout the day.

T-Minus 7: Repeat Day Ten Preparations noting with some anxiety that there's now a 30% chance of rain on the day you will fish. Recall from the trip to Penns Creek two years ago that a 30% chance of rain doesn't mean it will rain 30% of the time. In fact, it means there's a 30% chance that it can rain cats and dogs 100% of the day. Dig out rain gear, put in car. Wring hands.

T-Minus 6: Unpack order from fly shop. Stack neatly on top of the chaotic pile of materials on fly tying desk. Commit to tying "tomorrow". Repeat Day 10 preparations noting that the percent chance of rain in the 10-day forecast seems to change hourly. Commit to reloading web page every half hour to ensure intel is accurate.

T-Minus 5: Put hook in vise. Wander out to garage and inventory fly gear. Repack vest/chest pack/sling pack to ensure everything is in order. Note lack of leaders. Put stuff in car. Pour beer. Check weather website every 15 minutes while watching reruns of NCIS.

T-Minus 4: Lament rain predictions of almost 50% and potential for thunderstorms on the anointed day. Call the guide and obsess about conditions. Hear the soothing sounds of the guide's voice as he talks you off the ledge. Reload weather website every ten minutes. Reload the USGS streamflow site every 15 minutes. Recall you still haven't done anything about the pinhole leak in the waders but at least they're packed in the car.

T-Minus 3: Recheck gear. Add a back-up rod for the back-up rod to the stack. Consider taking another pair of waders "just in case" but then discard that idea as crazy. Add a small stream rod just in case you decide to fish a creek. Add a back-up rod for the small stream rod. See the bug juice and sun screen sitting on the shelf and toss that in the back. Applaud yourself for not forgetting same once again. Reload weather website and note storm has moved out two days. 10% chance of rain on fishing day. Do happy dance. Reload topo map site and engage in advanced visualization exercise.

T-Minus 2: Tie two Comparaduns in the appropriate color. Surf web for several hours seeking examples of emerger and nymph patterns for the required fly. Note you're missing two key ingredients for the correct form of the nymph including the fabled "urine stained fox belly fur". Abandon vise, pour beer, recheck gear. Watch CSI reruns for several hours.

T-Minus 1: Be alarmed that the storm has moved back in and it's likely going to rain tomorrow. Check one more time to ensure rain gear is in car. Drive to buddy's house to pick him up. Note that his pile of gear is half the size of yours and scoff at his lack of preparedness. Drive X hours to fishing locale stopping along the way to get a coffee at Starbucks and check the websites for weather and streamflow reports. Call guide and obsess along the way. Stop by fly shop near stream and pick-up: Leaders, flies, at least one hat, local map, aquaseal for wader leak, and a t-shirt. Check-in to hotel. Sleep fitfully.

If you follow this fool proof list of preparations, you too can be prepared for days on the water.

* At least three of the four people who read this blog. Thanks, Mom!

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

The Next Generation

Got out for a quick trip to a small stream this evening on the way home work. The water was high and a bit off color. A couple of fish taunted me with rises and I hooked a couple on a Caddis Pupa though only one made it to the net.

While kneeling streamside switching to a nymph rig I looked down into the water in a small eddy and was pleased to see a swarm of small fish. I assume they're the next generation of the wild trout or minnows. Either way, great to see.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Quick Sips

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Too much water and Rabbit's Feet

I suppose there are things worse than wet springs. Dry springs, certainly. Deep, snowy winter, absolutely. But wet springs are frustrating. We're so close to realizing good fishing but it's just out of reach. We're teased by the few days where water levels are acceptable and just as soon as we think the good days are here the skies open again and water that was reasonable turns dangerous.

Like most folks, I fish the large water when it just starts to rain (before it gets off color) and then when the large rivers come up I go to a trib where the water is coming down. With so much rain, it's not been possible to employ such a strategy. The water is just high, high, high. Of course, if you live someplace where the record breaking snowpack is lurking your water is going to be high and off color for quite some time and I suppose I shouldn't complain.

To amuse myself on these rainy days I've gotten caught up on some work including managing our TU chapter's website. I added a "Fly of the Month" section last month and wanted to put a video in there. So, below is my first fly tying video creation. As with most things, I got a bit carried away producing the thing but until the rivers come down I have the time.

Let me know what you think. If you have a pattern you'd like me to attempt for the next one, please feel free to suggest it.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Quick Sips

Monday, May 16, 2011

Take me fishing

A Brook Trout gets a
new home
This past weekend I organized the Candlewood Valley TU chapter's Youth Education Day. Around twenty kids and their parents spent the day learning to cast, tie flies and identify bugs (also known as riffle dwelling benthic macroinvertebrates). We also released about forty or so trout into a small stream so now they all know more than they need to about trout.

Hopefully we've infected a few more kids and parents with a desire to get outside and maybe even think about the environment in a new way. I was so tuckered out by the end of the day I couldn't even muster the energy to go cast to uneducated fish.

Or maybe it was the tick on my leg sucking my lifeblood.

Trolling about the intertubes this evening I stumbled on post over on the Outdoor Blogger Network that asked a question "How do you plan to celebrate National Fishing and Boating Week?"

My answer, "Fish-a-boat-a-what?"

Okay, so I'm a little uninformed on this whole thing given that I'd have missed it if Blogger hadn't gone down for a while and they extended the deadline. But it turns out that the folks over at Take Me Fishing (run by the Recreation Boating and Fishing Foundation) have declared June 4-12, 2011 as National Fishing and Boating Week.

So, back to those folks on OBN.

Now that I have some awareness of this industry event, how do I plan to celebrate the week? Well, pretty much like I celebrate every week. By fishing a bit. And by taking my kids fishing whenever I can. And maybe helping other kids learn about the sport, too.

The boys and I will continue to fish for Bluegills down at the pond until they're out of the shallows. We'll float the Deerfield with Dan and Tom. We'll cast for trout around Yosemite in July and we'll hope for decent summer flows for bass on the Housy. Maybe we'll even fish the salt (once I figure out what that's all about).

I hope you'll all join me in celebrating our sport by passing along your passion to the next generation. To your kids or grandkids. Or by volunteering with your local fishing club to get other kids excited about the sport. And if I'm showered with Take Me Fishing gifts I'll share our summer antics directly with you.

Well, that's only a half-truth (or a half-lie). I'm going to share our summer antics with you regardless. Pictures. Videos. Word craft (such as it is). But if I win I'll share our summer antics with shameless placement of logos.

Who knew I could be bought so cheap?

This is my National Fishing and Boating Week contest entry sponsored by Take Me Fishing and the Outdoor Blogger Network.

TakeMeFishing.org – National Fishing & Boating Week

Standing in the Rain

I stood in the rain on Sunday, belly deep in a river, lacking a proper lunch and ignoring the rumbling in my belly so as to be able to taunt some trout and to allow them, as they often do, to taunt me.

The rain was a respectable rain. Nothing annoys me more than misty rain. That misty crap just swirls about and leaves specks of water on your glasses and generally makes things miserable without really doing anything worthwhile. If it's gonna rain, I want it to just get on with it and give me buckets full. Yesterday, the skies accommodated my wishes. And the trout didn't seem to mind.

I originally planned to fish the Deerfield but a variety of things, including the rain, conspired against that plan. With nothing in store, I reconstructed the day starting with a leisurely breakfast at a local restaurant with the family and the puttering about in a manner that is only possible on a Sunday. Eventually the water began to call me and with the tributaries beginning to fill with the morning's rain the main stem of the Housy was the place to fish.

This particular hole I fished is a great one. It is easily wadeable and the river is wide and relatively shallow across most of it's span. There's a nice channel along one bank where the majority of the fish hold but one can pick-up trout anywhere in the several acres that comprises this particular run. By the time I left there were eight people fishing it and there was still plenty of water.

The fishing was good. There was a satisfactory Caddis hatch that proved impossible to fish with a dry fly. The one trout that eagerly rose to my fly cleared the water in his enthusiasm and missed my fly by about three inches. So, nymphs were the order of the day.

I didn't have any Caddis Pupa with me so I decided to drown a rabbit's foot emerger by tying it as a dropper below a BH fly. Worked like a charm. Chartreuse seemed to be the color of the day though I bet I caught just as many fish on the Lightning Bug as I did on the emerger. As the day progressed the water got murkier which probably explained the success of the Lightning Bug.

Around 4 p.m. the rain picked back up after an hour respite. I had just managed to land three rainbows in fairly quick succession while a guy fishing the other side of the stream watched, fishless. With my expertise as a nympher of trout clearly demonstrated, I decided to quit. The chill brought on by the renewed rain would not be alleviated by more fish in the net.

Besides, a fishless hour, like the one before the guy showed up, would've harmed my reputation with the chap across the water.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Suicidal Spawners

The Bluegills are back in the shallows thinking about making more Bluegills chasing each other about and splashing aggressively at anything that appears on the water's surface. We accommodated their desire for slashing at stuff by throwing out a Quigley Cripple. Much fun for a Thursday evening.

Thursday, May 12, 2011


First appearing in Gray's Sporting Journal, this short story by the talented artist, writer and fly fishing guide, Bob White (yeah, I hate  envy him too), is a true pleasure to read. You might as well stop by his website while you're at it to see his art. Pretty spectacular stuff.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Quick Sips: Facking, River Bedsheets

Monday, May 9, 2011

The smell of the ocean

One couldn't ask for fishier weather
I have stood in the brine and it smells of skunk.

My first fly rod outing for Stripers was a good primer on tactics and tackle courtesy of my buddy Jon but it was fishless courtesy of half-million Striped Bass that decided to be elsewhere.

Well, that isn't exactly true, we did see a handful of bass caught, mostly by guys chucking hardware and I did get a few violent, fishy tugs on the line, but nothing hooked up and nothing got to the net.

None of that, however, has prevented me from being fully enamored with this new dimension of the sport. It is the antithesis of trout fishing and it has some appeal. There's nothing stealthy or delicate about casting a six inch fly sixty feet and it is a joy!

I've often found trout fishing relaxing due to my zen like approach. Mostly I'm fishing small streams and I'm being the uncarved block -- seeking quiet and simplicity and the interaction with all aspects of the nature of the thing (and hopefully catching a fish or two).

Fishing the salt is full contact. It's mixed martial arts vs yoga. Much fun.

I'm not throwing away my 4wt rods anytime soon but I am pining for a return to the salt. The call of the deep has been heard.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Stripers. Soon.

Heading out in an hour for my first run at catching Stripers on a fly rod.

The salt beckons.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Stalking small mountain streams

We've all passed by the stream I fished on Saturday. It's one of those pretty, small, freestone streams that crosses the road here and there, maybe parallels it for a bit and then disappears into our imaginations.

At it's widest it's about five or six feet wide. It runs crystal clear and in the bright light of midday it shimmers in the golden browns and yellows of the cobble bottom. And it has enough features that just scream "holding water" whether that's a beautiful eddy loaded with just the right amount of scum, small pocket water, or beautiful hemlock shaded runs. And it's on a dirt road off a dirt road, so the traffic is light. It's a gem.

And so, I finally pulled over and fished it.

Evening in the forest
Earlier in the day I had spoke to a woman and her father who were fishing the stream's big feature, an eddy the size of a small house (in a neighborhood where a double wide trailer is a big house). They were drowning some worms without luck though she did mention the fish were splashing at some bugs. Bingo!

It was late in the day when I arrived. The sun was already approaching the tops of the high pines that dominate the forest in this section of Southwest New Hampshire. I was intrigued by the spot where the river took a sharp turn to the east, away from the road, so I crossed over a side channel and plunged into the overgrowth (making plenty of noise given the earlier sighting of a bear by my Dad).

A turn into the woods
From the road, the river appears to widen and slow. I expected that I was going to get into one of those marshy spots, maybe even a beaver pond. Instead I found that the river widens against a rocky out crop and then proceeds to plunge down a twenty foot water fall. It was quite a dramatic surprise. However, I would have preferred a something nice to fish versus something nice to look at.

Not having the time to follow the stream further (not even to some inviting pools at it's base) I fished upstream along the road.

As one would guess from the State's name, New Hampshire has a lot of granite. And this particular river looked like a quarry. Granite boulders and slabs are everywhere. It doesn't make for the most fertile streams though I had caught wild Brook Trout previously in streams in this watershed. Picking up a rock yielded many fewer bugs that I would have hoped for but this isn't a limestone stream. The bugs were there. And the trout should be there too...

For water that looked so fishy, it was startlingly devoid of fish sign. As I gazed into the pockets, the eddies and the short glides there was not a subsurface flash or a sip or even a splashy rise. Nada.

I fished every likely spot for a hundred yards getting increasingly more stealthy as I went. Still Nada.

The eddy
I eventually ended up a "Big As A House" Pool. The large eddy was full of scum slow swirly in a clockwise orbit. I fished the back edge for a while with a nymph rig that got me nothing. So, I moved to the head of the pool.

Fishing downstream into the two seams that defined the head of this large pool I hoped to find some fish feeding on nymphs coming through the riffle. No luck. A half-dozen fly changes and working both the inside and outside of both currents yielded not a sniff. I then tried hoping for a fish and even tried to will a fish to strike. Neither techniques worked.

And then a fish made a splashy rise deep in the eddy. It made a small fish rise. But a rise is a rise. I reeled in and dug in the fly box for an emerger. The fish made another splashy rise as I cut off the nymph rig. And at least two more while I tied on the emerger the last clearing the water by a couple of inches and showing me he was a nice sized Rainbow. Sweet!

I'll not bore you with the details but suffice to say that I cast all manner of emergers with stunning accuracy and drag freeity and only got a skunk. I got a text right around then from my eldest son that dinner was waiting on me so I scooted back to the ranch.

Some days you just have to settle for being in an amazing location doing what you love doing.

The impenetrable waterfall of doom.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Quick Sips

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Swinging on the Croton

After a long winter and high water, the log remained where is
was supposed to be, carving a nice deep channel.

Yesterday started at 5:30 a.m. I was in the office by 7, meetings, meetings, meetings and by 4 p.m. I figured I had put in my time, especially given the 8:30 p.m. conference call that loomed. A short distance away, courtesy of the City of New York, a delightful trout stream beckoned. I answered the call.

I figured about ninety minutes was all I had but with a rod already strung with a Mickey Finn I could get on the water quickly. I resisted the temptation to switch to dries mostly because there were no bugs, no rises (okay, I did see one half-hearted rise) and, more importantly, the water didn't look like dry water. A bit high. A bit cold (50 degrees). The Mickey Finn just seemed the right choice.

I fished the first couple of casts quickly. Yielding no joy, so I switched to a slower retrieve. A tug. Next cast. Another tug in the same place. Next cast, just swung the fly through the lane. Fish on! This Brown looked stocked (or maybe abused by his neighbors) but the ones I took on subsequent casts were all bright, crisply finned wild trout. Very rewarding.

I moved up to a spot where I thought I might find fish rising to the sporadic caddis and Hendrickson hatch but it was not to be. In this run the fish ignored the Mickey Finn and then a variety of nymphs. I fished it for the duration of one cigar and then called it a day.

As I walked out I was spoke with a few fisherman. None were fishing but they had all come down to watch the water. One old guy clued me in. May 15th is the traditional time when this river turns on. These were dry fly guys waiting for a good hatch. And, apparently, fishing nothing else.

Splendid evening.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Old Water, New Water

I just got back from the gathering of the menfolk up in New Hampshire. It's a gathering of my brothers, Dad and Uncle up at the house north of Keene where we basically spend a couple of days eating, drinking and generally pursuing manly pursuits such as replacing the window that the grouse flew through (miraculously surviving and leaving bird crap and feathers strewn about), replumbing the kitchen sink and telling and retelling family lore. We've been doing this for years.

This year my eldest son attended for the first time. It was very satisfying to add another generation to the table. The time is well spent and I always get a bit of fishing in as a bonus. More on this trip, it's fishing and insight soon. For now, I must roll back the calendar to last week.

Tuesday night, I fished an old friend. It's the river on which I caught my first trout on a fly, a Brown Trout, on a Grey Ghost swung near an undercut bank. She's a pretty piece of water flowing through suburban landscape. She's been abused by the development, pollution and other affronts that rivers such as her must endure. But she is sustained by a fair number who people who defend her and by a stunning natural resiliency.

I hadn't fished this river in close to a year. Last year the flows during the summer and fall were very low. It wasn't until winter that she started to get some water again and by then the snows had started. The worst   snows in decades. And even I, one who fishes regardless of temperature, was prevented from visiting the banks of this river for several months.

With snow came snow melt. For a few weeks in March a river that fishes nice at around 100 cfs was anywhere from 1,000 to 4,000 cfs. Undercut banks were cut away. Trees were felled and the river straightened itself by cutting new channels.

I arrived at the river in the late evening after a day at work that went longer than originally planned. My plans were to eliminate the stresses of the day with a fine cigar and some effortless casting. And maybe even a bit of catching.

I wasn't sure whether the fish that are stocked in this section were still about. It fishes well year round but I was in the mood for some dumb fish. The particular spot I picked has easy access, in fact it runs along the parking lot of a small shopping center, so it gets pretty heavy pressure on opening day.

Since it was ten days past opening day I walked the banks to see if I could see any fish. I was surprised to not see empty bait containers lining the banks but the telltale signs of heavy foot traffic were present. The far bank of a deeply shaded run was one of those spots you could get fish pretty regularly and I did see the flash of trout behind the likely rocks. Ascertained of the presence of fish, I grabbed a rod, a small fly box and lanyard.

Nymphing was the ticket as there were no bugs in the air and no rises on the surface. Fish came on Pheasant Tails, the Worm from San Juan and Lightning Bugs and were a nice mix of Browns and Rainbows.

After working the one run that had been channeled I moved up river. None of the riffles, pockets, and pools were where I remembered them being. The shallow spots were now deep and the deeps spots seem to have been filled with sand and gravel. The near channels were far and vice versa.

Fishing one run I realized far too late that where I was putting my fly in the shallow far seam (which used to be the far deep seam). As the fly swung into what I thought was unproductive water I lifted the rod to cast. Two, count em two, trout took a swipe at the rising fly. Not to self, work that close water next time.

Now that I had my brain reoriented I worked up the stream till dark. Fish came in spots where they should have, except for that fish that jumped clear out of less than twelve inches of water, though not in the areas where they used to. While I was disappointed that the usual spots were no longer the usual spots it was cool to discover again this gem of a stream.

When I returned to the car it was too dark to see the mayflies coming off the water, but they were there as evidenced by the few that had landed upon my car. The Hendricksons were in. So some things hadn't changed. The season of rising fish will soon be upon us.