You had plans to fish the day before, but the wind blew a gale, and things came up besides. So today you play hooky from the office. You never played hooky from school, but your priorities have apparently changed.
You discover that the south end is deserted. Campers have had that end staked out for the last month and a half, so you've avoided it. But you gladly pull in and launch.
The air is cool but the sun is bright and warm. You begin in shirtsleeves, although you have your longies on under the shirt. The lake is quiet, but the shorelines look inviting, so you work them with the orange stimulator. You fish and bask in the sun. It's good to be back.
You arrive at the little channel into the pond and a head pops up and takes the fly. Then another one.
You make the turn and work back down toward the put in. The mountain's shadow moves across the water bringing rises with it.
You go back to the shoreline and a little fish angles up out of the weeds and takes the fly.
While you're releasing him you hear a familiar sound, the huff and chirr of an otter. You look up and find not one but four otters coursing down the middle of the lake. Later you google the proper name for a group of otters. It's a family, or--better yet-- a romp. This family is definitely on a romp. They check you out, then go on their merry way.
You keep going up the shoreline, enjoying your evening stroll. You catch a couple of browns, but they're both 6 inches long. You hope there might be a bigger one somewhere up ahead.
You're enjoying casting, and most of the time are putting the fly right where you want it, right on the waterline. On one such cast into the skinniest of water the fly lands and a fish takes it with no hesitation at all. You've found your brown.
You keep going, thinking there should be some more. But a rainbow comes next.
The otters come back around.
They make quite a hubbub, and put all the fish down. Then they dive toward the shoreline behind you. They swim amazingly fast under the water, leaving a long curving wake behind them. You wish you could go romp with them.
Meanwhile you've come to a favorite little bay. You lay the fly down on its inside edge back under an overhanging tree. One strip and you've found another brown. A very nice brown.
You think there must be more, and you're right, but it doesn't turn out the way you hoped. The stimulator is done for the day, so you tie on a little dark muddler and continue up the shoreline. You drop the fly between a strip of weeds and the bank, and there's another instant take. It's a heavy fish, and you know it's a brown, maybe bigger than the last one. There's a great thrashing and then a lunge--and the knot fails. You're going to miss that muddler.
With the sun gone the cool air is now getting cold. It's been another good evening, so you decide to troll in. You tie on a streamer and start the kick home. You're just wondering if maybe a little bead head something might be a better choice when a fish takes the streamer.
You get two more on the way in.
You beach the float tube and begin to reel in and get yet another October trout.
You like October.