You give up your Ahab-like quest to make the trout in the south end eat your Damselator. You go to the inlet where, even on a hundred degree day, the cool waters flow into the lake. There are rises at the entrance. You tie on the Damselator and lay it out.
There are fish working inside the inlet, too. One jumps into the sunlight: a buttery-yellow Brown. You go for him. He takes. You have him on. And then he comes off. But he took the Damselator.
You catch some more fish out of there. But no Brown. This Rainbow wraps around a branch, so you go in, pushing like a turtle over the shallow bottom, and scoop him up with the net, stick and all.
The cool waters filter in all along the west shoreline here. You work along with the Damselator. Right up along the driftwood you see a dorsal-and-tail rise where your fly is. A big fish. Likely a Brown. You lift the rod, you feel the hook come up against his jaw--and slip off. There's a swirl and he's gone.
There are Rainbows rising, too, and you catch a few. They're fresh and strong.
You tie on a new stimulator. Maybe those elusive Browns will go for something new.
You work back to the inlet...
...turn, and work back to the line of driftwood. Brown hunting.
You see another Brown come up in open water and flash his yellow sides at you. So you work out there, too. But you catch only a few more small Rainbows--this time.
After catching nothing on the last two trips, you're happy with the Rainbows. But you put those Browns on notice: I know where you are.