Time to see whether Drakes are hatching on other shorelines. You launch today at the far north end. You'll make the circuit around past the inlet, across to this side again and back full circle to where you're standing.
The first thing you notice is that some of the mountain across the way has come down. You wish you could have been here to see it--and hear it. You once witnessed a slide here--half the size of this one--and the roar made a fine echo up and down the valley, and the dust plume hung in the air for a long time.
You're fishing the BD Muddler. Just thirty yards along the shoreline you drop it into a likely looking spot.
There's a fine Brown in there. It hammers the fly. Wow. Under the influence of the Drake spell you might be tempted to think that was a Drake Take. But then again, Browns will hammer flies all year round. May it always be so.
That's always a great way to begin. What a beautiful day it has turned out to be. You kick back and kick on around the shoreline, fishing as you go.
You get to the inlet and fish it from the outside in. You get some hits from little fish, and you get a brief hookup on what looks like it could be a small Brown.
You turn to kick farther into the inlet and flip the fly out in open water. A Rainbow likes the looks of it as it drifts along.
You don't find anything else inside the inlet. Later in the summer, if past years are any indication, there will be Browns in there hanging out in the cold inflow. Now you leave it to a family of geese and move on down the shoreline.
You cast into the driftwood and get a strong take. This is a place you have encountered big fish before. You've pulled a few out of here successfully, but not this time. The fish goes down and breaks off. After that, if you had a handkerchief, and you did this, you would take it out and mop your brow while shaking your head ruefully.
You find another BD Muddler on the fly patch and tie it on. Then on down the shoreline.
You get a better view of the landslide. Nothing is forever, even mountains.
You start the kick across to the other side. That side is where you have found a good Drake hatch in years past, and fish mopping them up.
The Loon is back. It stays far away. You imagine it enjoys its solitude.
On the way over, the wind picks up from the north. Soon it's blowing hard, and it's cold. You debated when you got here whether you would need a jacket. You're glad you have it on.
You pick your way along the shoreline probing all the good spots. You find little fish willing to flip at the fly, but only two are serious about eating it.
Meanwhile, you see only one Drake blowing in the wind.
By the time you get near the takeout the wind has died down. You wait to see if more Drakes will show, and fish will begin to rise. You're willing to stay a little longer if they do. The Loon calls briefly and then is silent.
No Drakes. No rises. On one of your last casts you catch your last fish of the day, a Rainbow glowing with all the colors of the sunset.
That's a good way to end the day.