Happy Birthday, Ralph--And America!

Our Fourth began on the night of the third. We bought a box of fireworks, and as soon as it was a little dark Jeremiah and his friend, Ian, got started. Isaiah was at a friend's house, so he missed out. I really did think of saving some for him, but it's like chips: you can't eat just one.

On the Fourth itself we went into town to help celebrate Ralph's birthday. Ralph and Leona are friends of ours who run a business in town. Every year family and friends and neighbors gather at their house for a feed and a fireworks display put on by their son. This year Ralph is 80, so they pulled out all the stops.
The boys were awestruck--and maybe a little scared--by the sheer firepower laid out in the street: $1,700 worth of flash and noise.

People finished their burgers and salad and had some birthday cake; the band played their last numbers, and anticipation grew.

As dusk deepened people began moving chairs down into the yard. Fireworks began to pop and sizzle around town. Then, without warning, the big show began.

Pieces of gritty ash, and some bigger chunks of spent ordinance, began to rain down on us. Kim and the boys kept moving their chairs farther and farther away in a vain attempt to escape.

But what a show.

When it was all over, Leona thanked us for coming, then heaved a big sigh of relief and said, "At least nobody got hurt."

Great party, Ralph.

Friday Fishing Report: Lucky

It said 103 degrees in town today. But the fishing at my favorite lake wasn't so hot.

I wax eloquent, then get waxed. That is, I wax eloquent about the mayflies and my ability to haul trout in hand over fist, and then the fish humble me.

The Drakes are gone for another year, and on the south end, at least, there are only midges hatching right now. The wind has not been a factor on the last few trips, so I can't blame that. But even on wonderfully calm evenings the fish are being very selective, and furtive to boot.

They will come up, probably chasing nymphs and emergers (yep, I've tried those), but they haven't entered that zone in which they feed hungrily and steadily for long periods of time. One can predict feeding lanes and intercept trout then; and they are opportunistic, taking anything that looks like it has protein in it if you can get it in front of them. Now, one watches from afar as fish rise there but not here, now but not now.

I have applied my Stimulator theory, and have caught a few fish on them. But it's like pulling teeth, and I may catch one and then have nary a bump or swirl for hours. Still a little early for Hopper Time, apparently.

I fooled this nice Brown on a Griffith's Gnat. He was over a weedbed and was as close to being in a feeding pattern as I've seen recently. But he wouldn't take it just sitting there; I had to jiggle it a little to coax him up.

I tried a variety of flies and techniques, but kept coming back to the Gnat. It seemed to make sense. To me.

But not to the trout. I caught no more fish today. Ah, but I find that humility is good for the soul. As these goose parents teach their young, things are as they are.

And the way they were was beautiful, in every sense. I may not have had much luck fishing, but, believe me, I know I'm a lucky man.

Thursday Fishing Report: Le Pewed

Visions of large Cutthroats danced in my head. So I headed back to the Cutthroat lake after work.
What I found was a large multiple-family gathering across the lake from the put-in, complete with two jet skis and a large motorboat. (And ATV's and fireworks.)
Add those to the list of aesthetic challenges faced by this little lake.
I'm pretty dang certain that "special regulations" on a lake includes the proviso that motors are prohibited except for electric motors. But, there they were.
The "waves" you see are swells from their wakes. There they go again, just out of frame on the right.
Our friend Ben has an anti-jet ski tactic when he goes fishing. Isaiah fished with him once and saw it in action. Ben takes his BB/Pellet gun with him in the boat. When a jet ski starts to get too close, he picks it up, looks right at the jet skier, and begins to pump it.
He doesn't point it at anyone; he says he's never had to.
I trolled for a couple hours with not even a bump. I don't know if the fish were as put off by the motorized watercraft as I was, but it's a valid assumption.
Eventually it was suppertime, I guess, because they cut the engines and left the water. I still had some time before dark, and was happy to see this Callibaetis and many of his brethren begin hatching.
It was a good hatch, and I had a few flings at rising fish. I tried an Adams. Then a caddis. Then a smaller Adams. Then I clipped the Adams. Nothing worked. The feeding pattern was too random to hone in on a particular fish.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I admit, I considered just not reporting on this trip. But that, of course, would be dishonest. So when the homeless guy living in his truck in the camping area came over (it was going on 10 PM and he said he was beginning to worry about me) and asked how I'd done, I told him honestly.

He said, "You didn't catch any??"

No, homeless guy, thanks for your concern, but I didn't catch any.

Wednesday Fishing Report: Hello, July

Tuesday Fishing Report: Good Bye, June