You have just enough time to drop in to see how things are. Storms have been rolling through and the temperature has dropped. The road is wet as you drive in.
But the rains won't bring up the lake like they have the river. It's a longer and longer walk to the water.
You launch at the channel and try the upper end of the south lake.
There are fish tucked in along the shoreline, but only the young and foolish seem inclined to take a chance on a big muddler.
Then a nice fish rises with a splash up in the weeds behind you. Your instincts tell you it's the big Brown you've been looking for.
But you'll never know.
You drop the muddler up tight to the bank, wait a moment or two, and there's a rise like a sinkhole right under the fly. Maybe you tighten a fraction of a second sooner than you would have if you weren't thinking about big Browns. But you feel the hook slide off the jaw and you come up empty. You come back half an hour later but there are no second chances this time.
You find another young and foolish fish.
And then, on the kick back to the truck, you find a fish not so young and foolish. You're satisfied with that. It feels like a bonus after blowing your chance at what you're convinced by now was a very big Brown.