It seemed stupid to spend close to two hours driving to fish for only seventy-five minutes. But I did it anyway.
I turned my attentions to a snotty section of the lower river. At 510 cfs it was a challenging wade. I didn’t bring my thermometer, but it felt about 65 degrees at index finger depth. Not bad for early afternoon on a sunny day in August.
This year, the wet fly fishing has been slower than usual for me. I think some of it has to do with the elevated flows. I probably should be doing more nymphing. At least the trout are happy. I fished size 12 Squirrel and Ginger on top dropper, a sz 12 Drowned Ant in the middle, and a size 12 soft-hackleBHPT (tungsten bead) on point. I had several raps from those pesky JV salmon; I landed one of them. What a tub of fish flesh. Almost perch-shaped. I dropped a brown who was hiding behind a rock with a dopey reaction hook set. The one brown that came to hand was wild and in the foot-long class. He was quite exuberant in his reluctance to come to net.
That one fish was just enough to cover my lack of good judgement.
Classy litterers only leave premium cans behind. This says, “I’m not just a rude, ill-bred person; I’m a rude, ill-bred person with exceptional taste.”
Someone enjoying a snack in the cool shade of the tree-lined riverbank.