There comes a point in the nymphing session — usually after I’ve been at it for a while with no touches, and especially if I’ve been losing a war of attrition with the bottom — when the indicator goes down, I set, and I cannot believe that I’m stuck again.
Depression sets it.
But sometimes the bottom moves. And despair turns into the delightful prospect of possessing that which we love and desire.
It’s a fish, and by the feel of things, a decent one.
Even after walking it down the run a ways, the trout still won’t come, and I wonder if it is fouled. No, it’s just a big ‘ol Farmington brown — nearly twenty inches worth — with my tiny midge lodged firmly inside the white of its mouth.
The prize for hiking a good distance to fish in solitude. Celebrated with the cigar gifted to me by Alton (thank you).
River conditions: 140cfs, clear, 33 degrees. Not much hatch activity (a few W/S caddis and midges). Most of the pull offs and dirt roads were inaccessible due to snow pack/plowing piles. That may change with the warm weather this weekend. I managed a nice rainbow in another spot, then called it a day after three hours. Two BB shot on the drop shot rig today resulted in a lot of snags, but also produced the kind of slower drift that I think catches more fish in water that’s barely above freezing.
The winning fly, Glenn Weisner’s blue bead head midge. You can read more about on Ed Engle’s Lone Angler Journal.
I know you’ll ask, so here’s the recipe: