A Day with The Sunfish Family... In Picturis

The yellow popper would prove itself on largemouth bass... despite being photo-bombed by a very small sand fly.  

First bass of the day going back....

Topwater action... 

Bass on the Jitterbug!

A memorable "popper take" along the lily pads.

Wild roses in forest clearing near the landing. 

Ruffed Grouse on the road to lake number two.

Grousing about.

Hare's Ear bluegill.

An iridescent Black Crappie on fly.

Canoe Fishing the Marsh

There is something to be said about going low-tech.  Countless numbers of our lakes, marshes, streams, small rivers, and backwaters essentially go un-fished due to inaccessibility.  The bass boat, multi-species boat, and motorized skiff just can't get into some of these places.  This is when a canoe comes in handy.

I recently scoured canoe manufacturer's websites and the blog-o-sphere looking for takes on what makes the best fishing canoe.  Ultimately, folks are looking for a stable, seaworthy, maneuverable, fairly heavy, moderately efficient, short, canoe design.  The trend toward expensive and ultralight kevlar boats just isn't that important for fishermen unless they are planning on doing a lot of portaging.  The key thing to note here is that kevlar boats are so light they are subject to "blow-outs"--a term coined to describe when a canoe suddenly "blows out" of its fishing position when a slight gust of wind hits it.  The idea is the lighter the canoe the more it lends itself to this boat control issue (it needs more load to reach optimum displacement, too buoyant, etc.).

The first model I looked at was Wenonah's Kingfisher 16.  The massive beam (40 inches) attracted me to the model for stand-up fly-casting, poling, and general stability for fishing.  However, the canoe is so beamy that it would make portaging into the BWCAW cumbersome; and, getting the canoe on my shoulders a bit difficult.  The incredible beam would also make this canoe less than desirable to paddle on larger lakes as it has more displacement than most other models in its class--which means a loss in efficiency (though the manufacturer claims it is surprisingly efficient for its width).  The advice I found suggested this canoe for "balance challenged" folks on the heavier side, stand-up fishermen; or, those looking to take a high strung hunting dog on a paddle to the duck blind.  A canoe salesman up in the North Country told me, "If you tip this over there's really something wrong."  I like the idea of this canoe (the manufacturer claims it is a great stand-up fly-fishing canoe for redfish in the no-motor zones) but the cons and limitations for my application here in the Upper Midwest were enough to send me to other models.  Notably, the Wenonah Aurora 16'.

The Aurora captured my attention due to its versatility as a fishing canoe.  In the Upper Midwest, versatility is a key trait due to the quantity of waters we have here:  floating the upper Brule River for browns and brook trout; the Upper Mississippi, St. Croix and other large to mid-sized rivers for smallies and muskie; portaging into the BWCAW for trout, smallies and pike; and floating the backwaters and marshes for various warmwater species.  We have them all here; and, a single canoe should be able to do it--at least that's my thinking for getting the biggest bang for the buck.

At 36 inches wide, the Aurora is much easier to get onto my shoulders and portage when the time comes.  The lesser beam also makes it more efficient to paddle than the Kingfisher while still maintaining stability.  It may be a bit twitchier than the Kingfisher but still difficult to capsize.  The 16 foot length is also attractive.  A bit more length than the short "fishing canoes" that every manufacturer seems to make, it offers increased versatility and efficiency.  Plus, every fly-caster I know says get the 16' because it spreads out the bow and stern fly casters more--making casting less dangerous and worrisome.

The other trait that lured me to the Aurora is the manufacturer... Wenonah.  Here in the North Country Wenonah is synonymous with quality, innovation, cutting edge designs, and stability within the organization.  They are a name I can trust and they have worked hard to build that reputation over the decades.

Other canoes I looked at:

• Mad River Explorer 16' (it appears to have less bow and stern rise than the Aurora which might make it more resistant to "blow outs"; but, the slight V hull it has can become a wear point)
• Mad River Heritage 16 (slight V hull design)
• Old Town Guide 16  (a heavy polyethylene design... portaging would not be fun)
• Old Town Discovery 158 (touted by many as a classic... also a heavy polyethylene design)

When all was said and done I ended up getting the Wenonah Aurora.  There are just so many possibilities this canoe brings to the table.  And, I look forward to many years of paddling it.  But, first I had to break it in on the marsh for some largemouth bass and bluegill fishing.

At the landing and ready for maiden voyage.

Fantastic top water action. 

Waiting out approaching storms at the landing.

Post-storm bluegills on flies.

Wind squall on the pads.

A crude damselfly nymph I tied up with peacock herl... the bluegills liked it.

One of many that ate the damselfly nymph.

  

Paddling in...

Frost Advisory, Freeze Warning, and Musky on Fly

The alarm clock went off at 5 something Saturday morning.  It was muskie opener and we had a plan... muskies on the fly.  A small lake loaded with muskies would await us.  The fish aren't big (I've seen one fish caught over 40 inches) but they are so numerous they offer the best chance of catching a muskie on fly.  In fact, on previous trips, I observed as many as 8 small muskies following the fly on a single cast... as the fly had stopped near the boat they pointed their sharp snouts at the fly forming a near perfect circle around it allowing us to count heads.  Try a figure eight in that scenario!  Those days were ridiculous not only because of the numbers but because of how small the fish were.  They've since grown up... a little... and that is about it.  The masses of 22-24 inch muskies now tape around 30 inches, plus or minus a couple.  Perfect quarry for the fly rod.  

The coffee maker snarled and steamed as we stumbled around readying ourselves for the day.  The smell of fresh brewed coffee and wet morning air sneaking through the front door filled the house. Each time we would make a trip to the dew coated truck our backdraft on the return trip would drag the outdoor air into the house.  This fusion of two of the best smells on the planet became the smell of anticipation for the day.  10wt.... check.  Muskie flies... check.  Camera... check.  Warm clothes and rain gear... you betcha.

As we pulled out of the driveway, boat in tow, the truck thermometer read 43 degrees.  It would stay there the entire day.  Add to that northeast winds exceeding 25mph, rain, mist, dense fog, white caps, and rows of wind streaks on the water running the entire length of the lake.  Not the weather we had planned for.  Not ideal weather for fly fishing.

We arrived at our spot in a large weedy bay with good broadleaf cabbage beds.   The bay tapers slowly for quite a distance before sharply dropping into deep water at the mouth.  A rocky point extends into the weedy bay at the mouth and some of the larger muskies in the lake (the real beasts of more than 30 inches) like to hold on it.  This is where we would focus our efforts.    

Fifteen minutes into it and the first muskie of the day had shown itself.  It would prove to be the largest muskie sighting of the weekend.  As the chartreuse rabbit strip fly undulated in the water alongside the boat a wide 30 something inch fish lazily rose from the depths to take a look.  As gentle as it could, it made one half turn around the fly inspecting it the whole time.  I twitched the fly along and began to move it in a big circle to entice a strike.  The fish sunk slowly and out of sight.  It would not return.  Back to casting.

One hundred yards down the shoreline we would see our next fish.  A strong follow from a fish in the mid to upper 20-inch range.  As the figure eight was started alongside the boat the fish sunk and disappeared.  It would not return.  Back to casting.


Our next drift across the flat would take us down the middle of the bay and directly over a large cabbage bed.  The fog was so thick shoreline was no longer visible.  We looked at the GPS and hoped this wasn't our navigation out of here at the end of the day.  The wind was starting to increase and the fog blew past us in the same way it does on the mountain tops in the alps.  We casted on and drifted faster despite deploying a drift sock.  I stripped the fly back in 8-12 inch strips mimicking a jerk-bait.  As the fly approached and became visible a tan object was behind it.  A hot muskie lit up and looked to be in the mood.  I stripped faster.  The muskie tracked.  I stripped to nearly the rod tip then went into an L-turn with the fly.  The muskie tracked and looked real hot.  I moved the fly around the bow of the boat to the downwind side and started a figure eight with the fly rod.  The muskie swung on every turn for 2 or 3 revolutions.  I began to think about catching it on a figure eight.  Then, it sunk and disappeared into the dark frothy water.  I quickly picked up and fired a cast into the same spot.  It followed again.  I repeated the ritual of figure eighting the fly as on the previous cast.  The muskie followed.  Then sunk into the depths never to be seen again.  The wind howled.  Cold mist pounded my rain gear as thousands of fine rain drops were audibly bouncing off in continuous unison--the crescendo matching the wind gusts.  Exposed skin began to hurt from the cold.

The next two hours of casting brought nothing but sore fingers and a cold face.  The weather was at its peak evil.  We accepted the wrath and headed in knowing we still had Sunday morning to fish.

The National Weather Service issued a Frost Advisory Saturday evening for into Sunday morning.  Our hope for better weather was squashed.  But, we told ourselves desperately that "you can't catch fish unless your line is in the water".... dammit, we set the alarm for an early rise Sunday morning and repeated it all over again.

We arrived at the lake an hour earlier than the day before.  It was cold but no frost.  The cloud cover lingered enough overnight to keep the temps just above freezing.  We were grateful.  We headed to "our" bay.

The winds blew as strong or stronger than on Saturday.  We drifted across the bay blind casting.  Each drift was lined up on the GPS for strategic coverage of the bay.  We saw one fish follow and he sunk immediately at boatside.  Feeling beat up we moved on and the sun began to shine.

We spent the next couple of hours exploring bays, inlets and outlets.  We saw no fish, cursed the weather, and began to realize this was it... a skunk was possible.  A quick look at the weather app on my phone informed us that the National Weather Service issued a Freeze Warning for the night.  Things were getting depressing on board.  We reeled in and started for the boat landing.

As we motored slowly toward our exit, the sight of cabbage stalks on the graph fed every last cell of will in the body.  Cumulatively, this took its toll.  Soon it became, "let's try one last spot".  And, so we did.  A small inlet dumped into the lake behind an island.  A spot that probably gets overlooked more often than not.  A micro spot that might hold a fish or two.  We slowly motored into the inlet, cut the big engine, and dropped the bow-mount trolling motor.  We eased in to the bay.  The water was shallow and we wondered if it was too cold.  But the inlet was running high and gave us hope it was dumping warm water into the lake.  A bed of broadleaf cabbage was visible directly off the inlet mouth.            A pair of loons were fishing near the casting target.  Food was here.  Cover was here.  And, the creek dumping in offered warm water.

We began casting over the cabbage and immediately got two nice follows from fish around 30 inches.  Then, I cast way back into the inlet and began to strip the fly.  The sun was shining and it warmed our hands.  It felt good.  The fly stopped.  The rod bent.  I felt the throb of a fish on the other end.  I was hooked up with a muskie on fly.  I stripped it in as it darted about in all directions.  It twisted on the line like a small mackerel in the Gulf.  It pulled but it was its athleticism that I admired.  We boated the fish.  It measured just over 26 inches.  The markings on the fish were clean and sharp.  It was iridescent and metallic looking in the sun.  It's body was barred and it had a distinct hazel eye.  A beautiful fish and native to the area.  A treasure.  Muskie in miniature.  We took some quick pictures and slipped the fish back into the water.  It cycled its gills three times, tensed up, and darted out of my hands and into the cabbage bed it came from.  I watched, impressed, as its barred markings across its tan back blended into the freshwater environment and disappeared.  I wasn't cold anymore.  

The North Country Slam

The 7wt and 10wt ready for action.

In my late teenage years my grandfather passed away from cancer.  He was someone I looked up to and his pride and work ethic was contagious.  He taught me to be tough, work hard, be proud, and walk my own walk.  When he was sick, and under the care of my family,  he instructed my then-together parents to, after he passes, receive money he'd saved up and take a vacation... some place nice.  And, when that time came and our grieving process wound down we scheduled a trip to Key West for some fishing--as requested by grandpa.  

The trip helped take our minds off things and it became an exciting time for me... getting to talk to top guides in the lower Keys such as the late Jose Wejebe, Bill Oliver, the Delphs, Jeffrey Cardinas and a slew of others.  These guys would become my fishing role models in the years to come and I dreamed of their lifestyle.  I was hooked.  Soon, I was chasing the ever elusive "Grand Slam" on the flats:  tarpon, permit and bonefish on fly all in the same day.  But, despite sight casting relentlessly to tarpon over 100 pounds I never did land one on fly (I did manage to catch a tagged 40 pounder late in the trip on bait in the Key West Harbor).  The permit, well they narrowly eluded me... as two giant permit rushed my tarpon fly on the edge of a flat they butted heads over the presentation; but, they never took.  The way they both tipped on the fly haunts me to this day, "How could they not have eaten it?".  And, the bonefish... they were shadows of fish moving across the flat laughing at my untrained eye.  In the end, I never did get the "Grand Slam" other than the one that was on my Guy Harvey t-shirt.  But, the experience was amazing and will stick with me forever.

Returning to the North Country, the land of my late grandfather, we too have a "slam".  Depending on the lake it will be a different mix of fish.  And, the lake I chose for Memorial Day weekend was the lake my grandfather lived on.  I got to know it well over the years.  The "slam" pursuit on this trip would consist of pike, smallmouth bass, and walleyes.  

The day started blind casting to post-spawn northern pike holding on shallow flats located in the back of mucky bays.  Using the 10 wt., I fired out a large white and red streamer I concocted many years ago.  The pattern was tied on a 2/0 Tiemco tarpon hook.  It didn't take long before there was action... within an hour and half I would catch, photo, and release pike of the following sizes:   38", 36", 38", and 40".

First fish of the day... 38 inches.

Second fish... 36 inches.

Third fish... 38 inches.

Last pike of the day... 40 inches. I could feel this fish actually had a turtle in it's gut!  

40-incher going home... you can see the turtle shape in its belly.

Content with pike fishing, I neatly reeled in my line so that it would lay on the reel in even rows.  I put the 10 wt down and pointed the boat toward smallie-ville.  We headed out of the weedy back bays and motored toward some large shallow flats made up of broken rock.  The water temperatures were a bit cool yet (52-55 degrees F.) but our bet was that prespawn smallies were starting to move shallow.  And, once we arrived it didn't take more than a few casts with the 7 wt to confirm our hunch.  We enjoyed some quick action on 17-19 inch smallies.  At this time of year it is extremely important, for the future of the smallmouth population, to fight the fish quickly and not have the fish out of the water for more than 30 seconds.  The fish pictured below were out of the water just seconds... with the camera already out and ready while they were being landed.       

Dad in on the action...  with one pushing 5 pounds.

    

After just a few hours, two of the three "North Country Slam" candidates had been boated and released.  And, fine specimens of fish they were.  We decided to float off the spot, eat our lunches, and reflect on the fishing a bit.  As we chomped on deli sandwiches the wind shifted strong out of the east-southeast.  The clouds blew out and the sun became intense.  A good chop was developing.  A walleye chop.  With lunches down we headed for a shallow flat where we had observed walleyes chasing flies in the past.  This spot also contains smallies so it was a win-win decision.  We fan-casted as we drifted over the flat.  Concern began to grow onboard.  Nothing was biting.  We made a couple passes.  Nothing.  Then, reaping the reward of fisherman's patience and persistence a fish stopped the fly half way in on its retrieve.  The fish stayed deep and had some weight.  But, it didn't fight like a bass... nor a pike.  It stayed deep and bent the 7 wt nicely.  In time, I saw color and the tell tale white spot on the caudal fin identifying it as a walleye.  The "North Country Slam" had been completed.

A nice 20 inch walleye on fly.

        

    

Frog Water Pike and Legends

A late spring in the Northland means frog water pike.  This time of year pike will be in the shallow swamp water at the back of shallow, weedy, bays.  Throw in some emergent vegetation and a slow moving river or two meandering into the lake through alders and sedge grass and you have the perfect combination--a springtime pike haven.

Growing up I heard legends of giant spring pike.  My late grandfather, as a boy, went down to a well known creek feeding into the lake to check the spring sucker run.  As the hoards of suckers made their way up the creek and into the flooded swamp and sedge above, something waited at the river mouth to feast on this seasonal spring delicacy.  Something very big.  Giant pike.  My grandfather sighted these beasts swimming around with 2-4 pound suckers crossways in their mouths.  Occasionally a big pike would swim up the creek a short distance in water far too skinny for such a fish.  It didn't take long and my grandfather had one captured.  Proud as a boy could be with such a catch, he put his hand in the fish's gill, draped it over his shoulder, and began walking home to show his parents and siblings.  The tail of the fish drug on the ground.  

On another occasion, a group of my father's childhood friends were in a small wooden boat near one of the major river mouths during this same magical spring period.  One of the teenagers noticed a large dark shape discoloring the water near the boat.  And, it was slowly and deliberately moving toward them.  With all eyes fixed on the shape the local teenagers collectively dropped their jaws as they realized it was a huge pike.  Clenching the gunnels of the boat, they silently watched the fish swim under, observing the head emerging on one side of the boat while the tail was still visible on the other side.  My great aunt has a similar monster pike story... a sighting which also indicated a pike longer than a small wooden rowboat was wide.

It's stories like these that get you thinking.  Yes, we live in a different time where pike like these are rare.  And, the legendary stories always seem to be told by individuals 1-2 generations older.  So, I wondered if pike like this still exist... or, should we grow apathetic and accept those days are over with nothing more to catch than hammer handles?  Armed with a 10 weight fly rod and some big pike flies I sought to find out.  And, a late spring would set the stage nicely.

Top to Bottom:  Enrico Puglisi Minnows, Reynold's Pike Flies, Foam Diver, and a very chewed up red & white deer hair/rabbit strip diver.

We launched the boat on a calm and overcast day with rain in the forecast.  The light wind we had came from the south, which in my experience has always been a good esox wind.  With the boat in the water, the 10wt. threaded up, and the bow pointed in the right direction, we hammered the four stroke and headed for the frog water.  Water temperatures were in the low 50 degree F. range and things looked good.

Once in the bay we slowly came off plane and eased into the back of the bay.  The depth finder read

three feet deep.   The bottom was soft.  Muck.  Occasional broadleaf cabbage stalks.  Emergent vegetation on the shoreline.  We cut the engine and deployed the bow-mount trolling motor into the lake.  Then, under electric power, further eased into frog water.  The depth finder fluctuated between 2-3 feet.  Soon, we were within a good cast of shoreline veggies.  Mallards and goldeneyes swam the shoreline.  Red-winged blackbirds chattered in the marsh.     

I stripped the line off the reel and stretched it.  It lay coiled on the deck.  The stretching procedure takes out any unwanted memory in the cold fly line allowing for rocket casts without tangles.  I flicked the fly into the water and let it soak.  Then, worked three false casts and fired the diver into the shallows.  On the third cast I was hooked up.  After some defiant fighting the fish came boat-side and was carefully landed and released.

First pike of the day.  A tad under 30 inches.

This ritual would repeat itself for the next 1-2 hours.  Roughly ten pike were boated and released.  Of the ten boated, three made it into the 30-inch club.

A skinny 30-incher.

31-incher.

30-incher.

I still hadn't sighted any pike of legendary status.  Yes, there were the 32-36 inch pike that would follow the fly to the rod tip, only to turn and spook back to their lair when the retrieve ran out of room.  And, I can't tell you how frustrating it is to witness that (at least a musky might swing on a figure 8).  But, really, no pike of true legendary status were seen.

The rain started to fall steadily now and the nice south wind we had earlier had switched around to an east wind.  And, it started to blow harder.  The pike bight began to slow down.  Knowing there are a couple of similar bays on the lake we pulled the trolling motor up, fired up the big motor, and charged through the rain to the next spot.  This would be the setting where two of the three previously told stories of monster pike had occurred.

We arrived to the marshy inlet bay.  Again the depth finder read 2-3 feet.  Muck.  Emergent vegetation all around the river mouth.  We started in an inside bend with the intent that the east wind would push us across the back of the bay giving us ample casts in the right spot.  A large Tamarac stood lonely on the swampy shoreline.  I fired my cast toward it.  The large deer hair diver landed softly near the shoreline in front of the Tamarac.  I stripped the fly back.  The deer hair diver with its rabbit strip tail worked like an undulating jerk bait on the sink tip line... an action reminiscent of the old suick jerk bait that might have been cast in this same spot with a steel rod some 70 years ago.  The fly neared the boat on retrieve.  Then, I noticed the water alongside the boat was changing color.  The color was moving.  Moving toward the fly...  My jaw dropped and my knees began to shake.  The pike of lore had shown itself and its nose was just inches from the diver on the other end of my line.  It came as close as it could to nudging the fly without touching it.   Then.... the retrieve ran out of room.  I had stripped in all my line.  The retrieve was over.  The pike turned its massive body.  Its tail spread broadly fanned to make the maneuver away from me.  The fanned tail had to be the size of a dinner plate.  The girth of the fish gave me no doubt it could have eaten one of the previous members of the 30-inch club.  I desperately swung my rod into an L-turn and started a figure eight with the fly.  The fish slowly and unamused sunk to the mucky bottom and slowly disappeared into the stained water as if it were a ghost.

Silence fell upon the boat.  I sat down.  My knees were weak and quivered.  I looked into the dark water.  I looked to the marsh.  I looked back out to the main lake... and at my fly, then back to the Tamarac on shore.  A steady rain fell onto my head.

I recovered and threw some more casts back into the same spot.  Nothing showed.  I continued to drift down the marshy shoreline casting.  Nothing showed.  I reeled in and called it a day.

I left this spot knowing the legendary pike of the Northland still exist.  And, with one follow to the boat-side this magnificent fish of lore had shown itself to a new generation of legend tellers.  
     

Yellow spots on a 30-inch club member.

A future legendary pike in the making?

Back to the marsh!

   

The Brown Trout Dream

Last night I dreamt about fly fishing for brown trout.  Not one of those fluffy romantic dreams... like a scene from "River Runs Though It" compleat with violin music.  But instead, one of those weird ones... which included blue ribbon fly fishing for browns in a flooded creek in the back yard (which doesn't even exist... but it did in my dream; and, the 12-20" browns that were running the creek were a pleasant surprise).  After such a bizarre dream, I woke up this morning and it was clear what my day was going to be... despite previous plans.  So I slammed a few espressos, tied some flies with shaky hands, threaded up the 5 wt., rebuilt my leader chopped down from previous streamer fishing, grabbed the trout box, some tippet material, a snack, and headed out the door to one of my favorite small driftless area trout streams.

As I neared the destination I was astonished to see new snowbanks... and how high they were!  The fields and meadows were blanketed under significant snowfall.  And then I remembered, a few days ago the area received a good foot of new snow.  My thoughts quickly turned to concern for stream and road conditions.  I wondered if the back roads would be accessible; and, would I arrive to a flood and unfishable conditions.  But, I drove on in disbelieve of the new snow which had fallen in May... it looked like I was driving to a stream during the special winter season and the whole sight seemed rather ridiculous.  Did I mention it's May?

Then,  I arrived at the stream.  And it was perfect.  High but within the banks.  Clear, but with some color.  Not muddy.  Good visibility for flies; but, just enough color to help conceal me from the fish.

I assembled the fly rod.  Then, moved the strike indicator to the proper location on the leader.  Today, I would fish with a gold-bead prince nymph with a small caddis pupa dropped below it.  Unweighted, other than the bead-head on the prince.  5X to the prince.  6X to the caddis pupa.  It looked good.  I had the place to myself.  Wonderful.

I approached the first bend pool and noticed a large rock midstream breaking the current.  Just upstream of it was a nice feature... wood.  A small tree had fallen into the stream and lay across the bend a few feet below the surface.  A good riffle dumped into the pool.  I approached carefully, measured my cast, and stripped line from the Abel.  I carefully placed the first few casts upstream from the tree--with the thought I would drift over it and by the time I passed it the flies would be at depth when they drifted along the midstream rock.  It worked.  The indicator darted between the wood and the rock; and, the first fish of the day was on.  A beautiful, wild, driftless area brown trout.  Then some more casts, same as before; and another fine trout of similar size--about 10 inches.  But, as I made more casts there were no longer more trout.  I headed upstream.

I picked up a couple more browns in each of the next two spots.  The stream improvements looked great and the fish were using them.  TU really got this stream right.  As I approached one of the improved riffles, a large fish moved out from the shoreline rocks and into the riffle.  It pushed a wake from the eddy it was holding in all the way through the riffle until it finally sunk into the head of the pool.  Only a very large trout could do that.  And my imagination ran wild with the thought of a 25 inch  plus trout in the area.  But since I spooked it I wasn't hopeful of catching it--trout that big don't get that size by being stupid.  And surely the spooked beast knew exactly what I was up to.  So, I eyed a nice, long, spring-creek-ooze-of-a-run upstream.  It was the kind of monolithic current that looks stagnant if it weren't for the random boils that would appear, indicating its flow. A great blue heron was hunting along its shoreline.  But soon, he conceded his fishing spot to the catch-and-release angler.  

I couldn't do wrong in this run.  About every 3 casts yielded a take... for the next hour and a half.  The fish ranged in size up to 13 inches; but, averaged a respectable 10-11 inches.  A perfect spot.  Mostly midges were coming off the water; however, the trout weren't too into them.  A few rises now and then; but, most of the action was happening below the surface.  All the takes were on the small green caddis pupa.  I imagine the flies were fishing about half way down or somewhere in the intermediate depths.  The trout were really locked into this presentation.

All told I must have hooked 30-40 trout in the two and a half hours I was on the stream.  I landed at least two dozen, though I wasn't really counting.  An hour into it my temperament soon synced with the pace of the stream.  The slow, laid back ooze of the spring creek.  The twitch of the indicator.  The sound of the great blue heron flying over.  The chattering pair of osprey perched above the stream.  The newly arrived warblers busy on the ground turning over leaves in search of food.  The swirl of midges above the stream.  The occasional mayfly.  The swoosh of a swallow. The riffle bubbling downstream.  A lone gunshot in the distance indicating a successful spring turkey hunt.  And a whole lotta trout.  I'm reminded why trout fishing is such a healthy addiction.

Ahhhh, dreams every now and then do come true... and the reality can only be made possible by putting in the effort.