I was on the far north end, nicely sheltered from the wind. For some reason the trout were quiet. Thunderstorms blew through lastnight and this morning, and the temperature today was 20 degrees cooler than yesterday; maybe that was a factor.
But the little punks didn't seem to care. They seemed to be everywhere, and they willingly took my flies.
Somehow they relaxed me. When the occasional bigger fish would rise I felt no urgent need to chase it. It would have been useless anyway; the rises were rare.
So I caught little trout on a fairly regular basis, and watched the Loons, the Eagle, the Swallows, and this helicopter, with its dangling bucket, making regular runs to a fire somewhere nearby. Maybe a lightning strike; I never saw or smelled smoke, though.
As evening settled in there was a good hatch: caddis, and two kinds of tiny mayfly that I haven't identified yet. The water was covered with bugs, but the big trout were still reticent.
Later, in the near dark, I did get a shot at one gulper. He came right toward me. I had a caddis on by then and cast in front of him. He kept passing my fly, and I was stripping like crazy and pulling my fly ahead of him. He was finally practically in my lap and I was holding the rod as high as I could, dangling the fly in the water. As clumsy as I was, he must have seen the fly. But he refused every offering.
I'm positive he went right under me. When I looked around he was still gulping until he disappeared in the darkness.
Maybe I should have had a mayfly on.
But I really didn't mind. I had a good afternoon being reminded just how enjoyable it can be to catch the little punks.