A quick trip on another cool, windy day. You're back at the channel to see once again whether you can conjure up some trout from these recently barren waters.
You make a half loop around the south lake throwing a muddler at the shoreline willows. Birds get up and move; fish don't.
In the evening you decide to kick back to the channel drop off. You drag the muddler behind you.
A fish grabs it. He apparently didn't get the memo. About nobody eat any of Jim's flies until further notice.
Back at the drop off, the wind settles down a little and pods of fish begin to cruise up and down. You're offering an elk hair caddis, and finally, just before you decide to head in, another fish disobeys the order and pays the consequences. He looks chagrined and accusing at the same time.
You go ahead and kick in. It's a beautiful night, and on the way you relax a bit. You wonder whether you're getting just a little tense about this slow patch. Trout couldn't really band together and conspire to create a no-fly zone just around you.
Could they?
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