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The rain that started yesterday lasted all day and all night. It was supposed to rain today, and it did a little in the valley--the pavement was wet when I got home--but up at Cutthroat Lake it stayed dry.
I was there because of my success yesterday. I mounted the full expedition, float tube version.I had just launched and gotten up to trolling speed when I caught the first, the best, and the only fish of the day. I enjoyed it.
Another female. The photo is poor; she was so big that she barely fit in the net, and she was so round and fat that she kept rolling off my lap.
I caught her on the same soft hackle that did the trick yesterday.
I trolled on with trusty soft hackle, but I didn't get any takers. So there then ensued a veritable cavalcade of flies. I figured it was a good chance to see if I could find the right one. But I didn't.
Through it all I marveled at the sky. The sky this Spring has been spectacular. Today was no exception.
The wind would pick up now and then, but there were long periods of calm when I expected things to pop. But they didn't.
But I saw a lot of fish. They would hang motionless two feet below the surface and ignore everything I threw at them. Or they would cruise slowly by, seemingly taking something just below the surface or in the surface film, but ignore every emerger or floating nymph I threw at them.
They weren't spooky, just disdainful. In fact they were so unspooky that they would swim around the float tube without a second look. I didn't know this one was there until I kicked it. It stayed right there, swimming under the float tube and brushing up against my flippers.
I tried to catch it, although it felt a little like trying to hook your dog. I had an emerger on with the indicator above it about a foot. I flipped it near the fish and dragged it over to get the emerger right on its nose. It calmly tilted up and took a big bite of the indicator.
Crazy fish. Naturally, at least the way I think, I promptly tied on a big surface fly, in this case a cricket, and dapped, swam, popped, and twitched it over and around the fish. No response.
It was as though I did not exist.
Or it was as though the fish had said to his buddies, "Hey, watch what this guy does when I bite his indicator!" And they were all laughing their fishy laughs at me and my ridiculous cricket and even more ridiculous technique.
Look, you can see the smile on its face.
But, no hard feelings. It was a thoroughly entertaining trip, a good break from Trout Lake, especially now with its high, turbid water and crowded conditions.
And I saw signs--that random splashy take up along the snags at shoreline--of wonderful summery things to come.