Monday lunch routine has been the same for the past few months. I sit down, Patricia throws me a coaster and places a cold Pliny on it, and immediately asks me how fishing was. She knows me better than I know myself.
"It was good...remember that place that I went to where I forgot my rods and ended up catching fish on a stick?"
"Yeah...," she responds as she sets up her bar.
"Went back...did a number on 'em."
"You drove all the way back there to catch a few fish and then drive back? You are
She knows me so well.
I was rolling solo today, as the better half had a 'girl's night out' which in a man's vocabulary means, "you can fish all day Saturday." And I did.
Quite a bit of fish were caught today, mostly because I could actually present a fly without having to resort to MacGyver tactics. I'd say that fishing was tough, but it really wasn't. Apparently these fish out here don't see many anglers. When leaves that fall down into the creek get attacked by half a dozen different fish before one of them realizes it's not food, you don't necessarily have to match any hatches.
I hiked further today, leaving the beaver ponds and soft flowing meadows, for a terrain that was more like the areas I'm used to down south.
The trail soon ended and hiking further upstream became impossible, but I still managed to get some nicer fish to go.
There are some 12" fish in there, no doubt. But, one of the first lessons I learned as a young angler was that these fish did not reach that size because they were dumb.
Praying for rain, but hoping that these fish manage to find some comfort space as the water continues to dwindle.
BTW, how do you identify a pure Golden versus the *******ized hybrid?
Did some sight seeing on the way back. Have always passed by this structure but never bothered stopping. I'm glad I did: