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I miscounted. My trip last Saturday was the third in a row, fourth for the week. It's good when it feels like I've been there more than I actually have. Usually it's the opposite.
So Saturday I continued my campaign to get on the lake as much as possible before leaving for Indiana for a week and a half, and to try to catch the Drake hatch. I drove a borrowed truck, a little four cylinder Toyota. I like the protective coloration.
It was warm. I'll say it again: it was warm. Look at that sun. Felt so good. I took my rain jacket in the tube but didn't need it. At all. Even after dark. That's a first.
I got right down to business and tied on the sparkle Drake. There were many smaller fish busily working, and I got lots of flippy hits, but no hook ups. Seemed like a good sign though.
I trolled a black beadhead leech across to the west side with no results. I got some more hits on the Drake there, but again, little guys with no hookups.
I tied on a Cicada just for the hell of it. It's an Orvis fly, compliments of my brother John, and I've never used it. It's big and floaty and has long, long rubber legs. The little trout were all over it, but it was way too big for them. So I went to a little Elk Hair Caddis and finally hooked a little guy, but he came off before I got him to the tube.
I saw some better rises down where the west side shallows open out into deeper water. I went over there and tried the EH Caddis--and the Cicada--but got no takers, and saw no more rises.
A light breeze had been blowing all this time, and it kept the water clear of most of the cottonwood fluff that can afflict this end of the lake. Then the breeze died, something I usually welcome. But this time the result was that the fluff spread out all over the lake. All over the lake.
I think the trout thought it was snow and froze to death. Activity slowed way down. So I went subsurface with a beadhead nymph and indicator. The indicator is green, but after a few retrieves it would turn white with fluff and disappear.
I sat in the perfect calm, warm and comfortable, and watched the beautiful evening unfold, keeping one eye on the indicator.
The moon came out.
Time to go. I was resigned to a skunking, but tied on the black beadhead leech again and began paddling back to the truck. The bats were out, and Nighthawks were screeching high overhead. Poor Wills called, and frogs called for Robert.
I was reveling in being warm even as darkness fell when I felt that rattling bump that means a trout is taking the trolled fly.