Maybe if I had applied that measured pressure to my gas pedal, I would have gotten to the river sooner. But here I was, and the prime water — where I got all my fish Tuesday — was on lockdown. (So much for inclement weather and mid-week timing. Bah. I liked winter fishing better when you could expect half-miles of the TMA to yourself.) I decided to make do with points elsewhere in the same run, usually a fair bet. But today that water was the difference between fishing and catching. I fished hard, and I fished well, but whatever was seeing my flies wasn’t eating. Silver linings? There’s something about cigar smoke twisting through snowflakes that brings out the romantic in me. River was 230cfs in the permanent TMA, very lightly stained and cold.
Jack explains the finer points of winter nymphing to Lloyd.