The dog days are here. Temps have been peaking near the 100 degree mark. You go to the lake to cool off.
The south end campground is deserted now. Time to see what's going on down here.
You know with each trip in this heat that the odds of getting skunked are high and probably getting higher. Especially if you insist on fishing mostly muddlers on top. You tie on a muddler.
You work the shoreline for awhile, but you see rises--individual and sporadic--out in open water. So you turn the tube away from the shoreline and cast out into the vast spaces. It has occurred to you that fishing to these widely scattered and unpredictable rises is the trout version of whack-a-mole.
Except in this case the trout do the whacking. The muddler is floating on the calm surface when a fish comes up ten feet behind it. It comes up again with a lunging take of something. It's a hot fish, and it's coming your way. You sit tight...and it whacks the muddler.
Nice. The time was right. And all is still right with the world.
After that the evening is infused with possibility, and every cast filled with anticipation.
You don't catch another fish. But you know the next fish is out there, and you'll find it--when the time is right.