The road is muddy in spots from a rain the night before. The breeze is from the northwest, keeping temperatures mild. The light is hazy from high smoke. The lake rocks you hello.
The trout are looking up, and respond to your newly-tied bright orange and red stimulator as it wakes over the weeds above them. The weight of them, the flash and splash of them, feels good after a time away.
The reed beds hide a few fish. You get two to take the stimulator, and lose them both. One tail walks right off the hook. You tip your hat to them.
Callibaetis dance over the entrance. There are small fish rising hungrily, and they slash ineffectively at the stimulator. You cast into the inlet itself and a larger fish takes the fly under. You play him halfway out and he comes off in the weeds.
A parr-marked youngster manages to hook himself, then almost escapes through the net. You tip your hat to him, too.
You lazily kick back across, and the fish are still looking up.
It's good to be back.