Make that singular, for one bass was all I could manage. But it was, as someone once wrote, a perfect fish. Twenty-inch class, dime bright from the sea, with sharply contrasting lines and the attentive eyes of a predator on the hunt. Taken on the third cast. A sharp tug on the retrieve, then some willful bullrushing against the substantial moon tide.

I only fished for an hour (switch rod in two-hand mode, full integrated sink tip line, three-foot leader of 20# nylon) but that too was perfect: air temperatures in the mid-fifties, winds from the southwest, bottom half of the drop.

Both sky and angler were positively glowing on the walk back.

Today’s fly was a pink, olive, and chartreuse soft-hackled flatwing, just about sparse enough to read a newspaper though.