Back to Early Lake. It was a typical April day: May when the wind sat down and the sun was out, and March when the squalls would blow through.
A little quick cleanup, moving a large chunk of styro to the takeout for later disposal.
Now it looks like a pristine wilderness lake again--which it isn't.
The fish--newbie stockers--were up again. I coaxed a few to take a muddler, the same one I had tied for Rocky Ford last week and then left at home. I guess I had tied it for here.
This is not a wilderness lake, but wild things can be found here. Hawks and eagles hung on the wind overhead. The eagles were so high I could barely see them. The hawks have paired off for nesting season, and would call to each other frequently.
Break time. The woods are waking up.
The fish were still up, though they waxed and waned with the wind and weather. They liked a dead drift when it was calm, and a slow strip through the riffles.
I fished the rest of the day with a series of dries, including a bivisible. An old fly for a new season.
After a few hours I was cold, but then the clouds cleared enough to let the evening sun through, and the wind backed off.
I decided to stay a little longer. My feet couldn't get more numb than they already were.
I just fished and caught, relaxing into a leisurely rhythm.
I kept it up until it was time to wait a little longer to see what the sunset would look like.
And then to wait a little longer to see how it would finally turn out.
I started to kick out and flicked my fly at a cluster of rises as I had been doing steadily all evening. I got another hookup. The last fish of the day.
Uh oh. I usually don't begin to catch bluegill until the water has warmed up a couple weeks from now. And that's usually when it's time to move on to the Browns and Rainbows of Trout Lake.
Is this the beginning of the end for my days at Early Lake?