It's snowing when you get to the lake. Cottonwood time already. You're glad to be fishing in the snow in shirtsleeves.
You do the muddler thing around the north end. Right away you see a sly rise under a bankside tree. You cast to it and strip. A yellow shape comes up under the fly and turns away at the last minute. You drop it in again and let it sit. The fish takes and you hook up--briefly. The brown thrashes off the hook. You keep going.
You work past the inlet. Things are slow. So you double back to find that brown again.
You don't see any rises, but you know where he's likely to be. You lay the fly in under the overhanging branches of his hideout. He's on it in a flash. This time you net him.
The #14 did the trick.
You hear another fish working inside a strip of submerged willows, so you go in and go for it. The fish resists, and you lose the #14, and the #10, in high tree branches. It was fun trying, though. Smart fish.
You go back to the inlet area and continue with a different muddler. Nothing comes to it. As dusk settles in a few rainbows are rising out in open water. You tie on an old Adams and miss a few and catch a couple.
You cross over to the other side before it gets too dark and work a muddler again. No hits this time. But that's OK. It's been a good afternoon.
The crescent moon smiles down as you head for the take out. You're smiling, too.