Trout Lake Report: Sad Endings

What a wonderful trip. You launch on the channel with plenty of time for a long, leisurely afternoon and evening. You begin casting a muddler into the shoreline. You see a few fish tight against the water's edge snatching damsels off the reeds and driftwood. So you cast to one of them.

You strip. There's a bump. You stop and wait a beat. Then you strip again, and the fish commits. It fights hard. You think it's a Brown, but it turns out to be a Tiger. First time you've caught one.

In short order, you get another hard pull. This time it's a Brown. An exceptionally beautiful Brown.

You make the turn out of the channel into the north lake and head down the long shoreline that leads to Drake Central. You're in no hurry, and you comb the water's edge carefully with the muddler.

And there are good fish eager to hit it.

You know this shoreline well, and you visit each good and proven lie like an old and trusted friend.

And they don't fail you.

You reach the Drake stretch. Conditions are perfect, except you don't see any Drakes. You spend a few moments searching the water and the sky and catch a glimpse of just a few.

But this is why you have come. You knot on your new Drake tie and grease it up.

A few casts and you drop it right over this Brown. He smacks it instantly.

You move on around casting mainly up along the shoreline, and more fish put their stamp of approval on the new Drake fly.

You get to the far shore where the swallows have their summer homes and turn and begin to work your way back.

You find fish. You miss a few splashy takes. And once a good fish takes you into the weeds. That's the first time that's happened this season. It won't be the last.

The day begins to wane, and a few brief showers sweep across the lake.

The Drakes haven't come, not as they have in the past. You will need to think that over to decide whether the hatch is on the ebb, or hasn't really begun yet.

But even without a heavy hatch, you find fish. Now, working slowly back the way you came, you coax them out of the shadows under the willows with twitches and slow, steady strips. This will be one of those rare days when you catch more than anyone deserves.

The sun breaks out for a brief farewell. It feels like a celebration.

By the time you make the turn into the channel the light is going fast. You find a few pods of small fish rising out in open water, and you hang out awhile with them until dark, showing them the big Drake and getting a splash or a brief tug now and then.

You're sad. You don't want the day to end.

Youth Sports Post: Header

Isaiah is playing soccer in a local Men's League this summer. He got a great header in the last game. A little taste of the World Cup in our own backyard.

"It's All Part of the Story" Fly Fishing New Zealand

Feed your dreams....

Trout Lake Report: Father's Day

It's Father's Day. You slip away after the last soccer game. There's still time to make an evening of it at the lake.

The weekend has been cool and wet, and as you approach the lake you drive into a blustery shower.

You park at the big pine on the north end. No time to range all the way down to the Drake Banks on the other side. There have been plenty of Drakes here.

You wait for the rain to quit.

While you wait you cast a critical eye on a new Drake tie you're eager to show the fish. You think it will work just fine, if the conditions for the hatch improve.

The rain finally blows over the ridge to the east and is gone.

It's still breezy, and there are no Drakes visible, so you do what you like best: work the shoreline with a muddler.

Not a lot happening. Then, tucked up under a willow--there he is. He takes before you strip. You think he's waiting for Drakes, too.

You get to the end and turn around and head back. You see a Drake, another, maybe another. They're sparse, and the wind is sweeping them away. But you want to get back to where you saw and missed that Brown.

You go past the truck and on down the shoreline a ways. Then you begin to work your way back against the wind. Here, too, the Drakes are few and far between. But there are fish who are willing to take the muddler until more Drakes get here.

Each fish takes hard and fights strong, and each time you think it might be that Brown. But you don't find him this time.

You've caught four. You think you might stay long enough to catch two more, making six, one for each of your children. Then the wind picks up...

...and you hear a low, muffled boom of thunder to the south. More rain coming. Looks like you won't get to use your new fly this time.

You decide to head on home a little early. The four fish you caught will be for the four kids grown and gone. The early trip home will be to spend the rest of Father's Day with the two kids still there.

Not too many Father's Days left before they'll be grown and gone, too.