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There's new snow in the high country. It's still fall down here--but winter is coming down the mountain. So, like gathering wood for winter fires, I gather in a last few memories to warm me on those long cold nights.
It began with this nice fish and the black marabou muddler.
Right after that I had another take on the muddler. It was a deep swirling take by a big fish, and I got him ten feet from the float tube before the hook pulled out. These are also memories that make you warm.
I got no more hits on the muddler, so I went through a few different flies to see if I could find the right one. I hooked a small fish on the cinnamon ant but lost him in the weeds; then caught another one.
That is a Brown. He was well over twenty, fat and heavy, the best Brown--the best trout--I've caught in this lake. There's a memory. I'm getting warm all over just thinking about it.
I cast that wonderful little stimulator out again and gave it a couple of strips and another good fish smashed it. This was no wallowing Brown; this was a leaping, running Rainbow. I held my breath again.
Then no more hits on the stimulator, or anything else I tried on top. But I didn't seem to care. The rises were dwindling, and I was in my happy place, so I just settled back and trolled until dark.
But I can always add that to the memory.