On the last trip of June you go back to the north end to confirm the end of the Drakes.
You get there in time to cover some shoreline with a muddler and wait for the wind to sit down and the bugs to show--or not.
Things are slow.
At the inlet you get a hookup. It's a pretty good fish...no, it's a very good fish...and it bores deep and runs and keeps on running and breaks off.
You go back in with a different muddler and catch a consolation prize.
You move on down the shoreline. Not much happening. You get one or two swirls and miss them.
The wind is calming and you decide to cross over to the Drake area. You have found Browns before in the open water directly in front of the inlet. So before you go you cast out and work the area by stripping the muddler seductively. You find a Brown yet again.
You cross.
You tie on a big Drake dry and search the shoreline.
You don't see any Drakes. Then you see one. You look around with new hope. But you see no more Drakes. It seems that the hatch is over.
But as you head back to the truck you slowly drift the big dry behind you, and three nice fish take it hungrily. Perhaps they, too, are finding it hard to accept that it may really be over.
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