Trout Lake Report: Sometimes Slow Is Good

I went out with Jeremiah again the other night. He had summer basketball practice first, so we didn't get to the lake until almost 7:00. We weren't feeling too rushed, but we knew our time was limited.

Jeremiah had gotten a visit from the brown truck the night before, and was eager to try out the new spinning rod and reel he had ordered from L.L. Bean.

I had gone through some of the old lures I still had, took the trebles off and put on single hooks, a requirement at Trout Lake, and set him up with a little box of lures.

These are the two he used this trip. I've had that little flatfish for years and years, and I bought a handful of Colorado spinners long, long ago when I was in, appropriately, Colorado. I just tied a red saddle hackle collar on the hook to dress it up a little.

Jeremiah started with the flatfish, and we worked a shoreline that usually produces well. It was slow this time, though. Jeremiah pronounced pretty quick that this would be the night we get skunked. He switched to the red spinner halfway down the shoreline.

He got a couple of hits, so that kept him going, but he was getting frustrated.

We got to the end of the willows and I had a hit on my muddler but missed it. Jeremiah worked that spot over real well with his spinner.

I started across drifting the muddler, and he followed after awhile trolling the little red spinner.

I was almost across when he hooked up with a very nice fish. I watched as he played it and netted it. Looked heavy from where I was. I told him to keep it in the net and started to kick over for a photo, but the fish got away before I could get there.

So Jeremiah was happy now. He changed his prediction: "Now you're the one who's going to get skunked."

I almost did. The fishing stayed slow, and when I did get a rare take I missed it somehow. I had worked almost to the end of the prime stretch of shoreline on that side before I finally hooked up.

In the meantime dusk had settled in and Jeremiah had headed off on his own following some small fish that had started rising back over toward the channel. I enjoyed watching him out there watching the lake and the fish and trying this and that and learning and enjoying himself. I worked around and joined him.

He decided he wanted to try the fly rod again, so we traded. He worked the muddler while I hoped he might find a big brown out for a night prowl, and I got to try out his little spinning rod.

It was fun. Like old times on the Pigeon River in Northern Indiana with roostertails. This time I tied on the flatfish and trolled it around in a circle and caught one more fish.

So nobody got skunked, and we had a good, relaxing time. Sometimes slow is good.