I'll Have Leg Cramps For Sure Tonight.

 

My fishing day turned into a triple header when, with the temperature climbing into the 60's at about 11:00 this morning, I looked out at the river and saw swallows everywhere. Put on the waders and waded in. False alarm. The birds were no doubt feeding, on what I couldn't say, (or see), but 45 minutes of casting failed to raise a single fish. I returned to the camp, and picked the ripe tomatoes and some peaches to take up to the Troutfitter for David.

Had a late lunch, (a BLT). Watched my friends horse romp home first by so many lengths, that they showed a commercial before the other horses crossed the finish line. Around 2:30 I got in the car and drove up to Deposit, found a run I like to fish void of anglers, and waded in. It turned out to be the kind of fishing that I like best. Just a few bugs, (sulfurs and olives), with an occasional rise here and there. Got a couple of refusals right away that let me know that the fish were looking up. In three hours of fishing there were about a dozen fish that were willing to eat my flies. The best was a 19 inch brown that ate an upstream cast just before I picked up the fly to cast again. He had turned and took the fly coming right at me not more than ten feet away. A Kodak moment if ever there was one, even without the camera.

It was after six when I got back to the car, left the waders on, and drove downstream, found an almost empty pool, and in the first two casts, hooked a yearling and a nice 13 inch brown. Then things came to a halt until the sun was off the water, and the olives started to hatch. For the next forty five minutes it was a C.F., (a closely gathered group having sex). Were there rising fish? Yes. Would they eat my fly? Yes. Did I stay cool calm and collected? You be the judge. Three times the hook came out of a fish in the landing net, and not once did it come out without me either threading it through the mesh or cutting it off and tying it back on while the noise of fish slurping olives was loud enough for even me to hear. The frenzy reached it's crescendo when I tied the mother of all knots in my leader. It was a simple overhand knot, but before it was pulled tight, it lured the fly and tippet into and through it. In a couple of false casts I was able to create a world class snafu. Threw an incomplete pass to stop the clock, cut off the fly, broke the tippet off, tied on a new one, leaving the overhand knot to be dealt with in the daylight tomorrow, tied on a new olive and was ready to go. Alas, the fish had stopped rising. Waded ashore and walked back to the car with a smile on my face. It was the best day of fishing I've had this August, and my only disappointment was that no one was there to film the last ten minutes of it.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

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