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.
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