Off over the flats under a decidedly spring sky.
Past the greening hillside to the water.
Another breezy, beautiful day at Rocky Ford.
The Lady, twitched seductively through the riffles, brings in the first fish.
Another fish is hooked and quickly lost. You check the fly: slightly bent. You straighten it. A third fish comes to the Lady and is hooked. It's a heavy fish, and fights hard. You have him three feet from the net when he comes off. You check the fly again: no wonder. Not worth straightening again.
You consign it to the deep.
Humpy time. The fish chase it. One chunky fish takes it.
You go to a yellow and quail soft hackle and get a taker on a slow retrieve.
So you hang the soft hackle under an indicator and let it drift.
The indicator slips out of sight and you come up on a very good fish. You play it carefully and get it in the net--barely. This is the biggest fish of the year, maybe the biggest you've taken at Rocky Ford. You get one photo and the fish twists out of the net. You tail it and try to net it again--no go. He's gone.
The sun angles lower and gilds the ridge. The wind backs off. Mayflies flitter in the air and glint on the surface. The fish come alive.
You have the skinny tippet but you don't have the right fly.
You have a small yellow humpy, and that's close enough for one fish.
Dusk comes and the fish slow down. You tie on your new stimulator and get a few bumps, but no one's eating it. Everyone seems to be satisfied.
And so are you.