Trout Lake Report: Moving On

You're moving on from Drakes, just like the fish. You still launch at the channel, but this time you will work both sides of the channel and then head into the south end for a big loop of goodness.

The sun is bright and warm, but you have your jacket. There's a restless wind blowing, and you know how the summer has gone so far.

You fish a Damselator all up and down the channel. The usual suspects are not in the usual places.

You switch to a big muddler and bob with the wind into the south end. You haven't been here for a month.

You get one hit but can't get the hook into it.

You cross over, waking the muddler behind you. Nobody notices.

Clouds have drifted in to cover the sun. Thunder rolls in the distance. The wind cools down. You put on your jacket.

You see a nest in a leafless willow standing in the water. You go to investigate. It's inhabited. Looks like a Kingbird. I bet it's warm in there.

You don't intend to drive her from the nest, but as you're taking photos--with the zoom--the wind pushes you too close and she exits in alarm.

She doesn't go far, though, and she makes her displeasure known. Her mate comes over and joins in the shrill scolding.

You drift on in and reach up for a portrait of the youngsters. Looking good.

You kick away, and she immediately settles back into the nest.

On down the shoreline, the moment arrives. You finally get the fly over a fish ready to eat it. The fish dives into the weeds--the water is down and the weeds are up--but you winch it out and get it in the net. Appreciate it, fish. You're beautiful.

A little way farther along lightning strikes again. Another beautiful Brown. As with the first one, the fly is halfway down it's throat. These guys aren't messing around.

You work on around to the channel. The wind peppers you with rain drops now and then.

At the channel entrance you kick back across to John's Cove. You want to show that muddler to whoever may have recently moved into that address.

Somebody's home--you get some bumps--but it's apparently not a Brown.

You play until almost dark and kick in through the chilly wind. Maybe summer will come for real tomorrow.

It's late. The folks at the nearest campsite, snug in their huge RV, are probably just tuning into the Late Show.