Same Score, Different Games.

 

Had breakfast with Jean who left with enough tomatoes to feed the extended family, waited for it to warm up, (45 at 6:15am), and then went out and spent an a couple hours fishing another BR pool. The pool I fished has a small stream running into it which usually provides a summer refuge for a few trout. If any trout spent the summer there you couldn't prove it by me. Never saw a rise the entire time I was there. The only troublesome part of the morning was the fifty feet of knee deep mud I had to wade through to get to shore when I abandoned the venture.

Spent from noon until five killing time, shot the bow, read the newspaper, did a crossword, thought about tying a few flies, (will have to tomorrow), and took a short nap. At a little after five I drove up to Deposit and chatted with river friend and veteran fisherman Stewart and his landlord who purports to be a guide/ fisherman. Stewart's experience this year closely paralleled mine, while his landlord talked mostly of the twenty-two inch fish he and his buddy caught on a trip out west.

At 5:45 it was time to fish. Because of the Sherman Creek bridge closure, (one would think the Town of Deposit Highway Department must be consulting the PA  highway department on how to do road repairs), I had to once again drive up to Deposit, cross the river drive and down the other side in order to fish just above Hale Eddy. GET THE G.D. BRIDGE DONE, YOU ARE NOT BUILDING A BRIDGE TO CROSS THE MISSISSIPPI. If it was a dam, beavers could have done a better and MUCH faster, and no doubt cheaper job. 

It was after six when my blood pressure got back into the normal range and I suited up. Waded into a slow water pool and had rising fish, (they were very subtilty sipping), to throw at. Got one to eat and then arrogantly left the other risers and waded up to the "good place", where there was nada, turned around and spent a good hour and a half wading as quietly as I could towards rising fish, and making casts, (some good, some not so good), at spots where they last rose. It wasn't last night, (which was both good and bad), there were very few bugs, and the fish were hungry. Good casts got eaten, casts too far left or right got ignored. Only one fish ignored me, he kept rising and after about twenty casts it finally sank in, he knew which fly had the hook in it, tipped my hat and left.

Hooked eight fish, seven were counters, fish were bigger than last night, saw two kayakers, each hugged a shoreline and didn't disturb my fishing a bit, no drift boats, (saw two on my morning venture), no fisherman, (you can fish anywhere on the WB without putting on deodorant), enjoyed immensely the challenge of flat water fishing, and an 18 inch brown beat out the much harder fighting 17 inch rainbow for fish of the day. 

Note: That last paragraph, (sentence), was designed specifically to make Mrs. Haskins roll over in her grave, (God love her).

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