The heat is back, and a gusty hat-stealing wind out of the south. You launch at the south end and kick over to the relative shelter of the trees. You throw out a muddler and it begins. The fish are up and they're hungry, and they fall for the muddler time and time again--sitting still, stripped, and drifted behind the tube as you kick along. You cover much of the south lake from early evening until well after moonrise, and the fish are always there. It feels like the turn has begun, that turn from the sluggish dog days of summer to the hungry days of fall.