Gnome Steps Off Boat, Steps Into Stream

Take me to a stream, a river, a slowly flowing body of water where the trout can cavort with one another, spawn, and later sip my fly from the surface of the water. Matt drove us to Bartlett Lake this morning. We boarded a small, metal boat, and slowly made our way around the bank. I cast toward the edge of the weeds that live under the surface and provide hiding places for trout and other critters, in addition to a good place for feeding on insects. Initially, the trout ignored my Chernobyl ant pattern. And three other patterns we tied on my tippet. For a couple of hours I did not do much more than cast to the edge of the weeds , watch and wait. Fishing began to seem less torturous when I saw some jumping into the air. I cast in that direction and mostly caught them. Other times I cast and watched . . . and hoped a trout would pass somewhere near my fly, happen to glance up, and decide to open its mouth. All the fish we caught today were Brown trout – beautiful Browns. Since I release my fish, Matt did not touch them. I kept the fish on my line until it felt too exhausted to fight any more, then Matt would reach down and hold the tippet, and with his hemostats take the fly and with a quick twist of his wrist flick it off the lip of the trout. I prefer not to touch the fish, and as my hero Leo Wulff used to say, "A good gamefish is too valuable to be caught only once. The fish you release is your gift to another angler." After a while the wind became troublesome for Matt because it pushed the boat as easily as it would push a sail. Matt moved us to the opposite side of the shore where the lake had more protection from the wind provided by the mountain, but the trout had hunkered down for a while and I cast . . . and watched . . . and waited . . .
Thankfully, time passed and we had our lunch at the picnic table where more chipmunks came to see if they could have a chip from Matt, and some lettuce from me.
Thunder and lightning looked remarkable in the distance. Somehow we avoided the strong rain, but hail fell on our vehicle as we drove to the Governor's cabin for a quick photograph and then headed back to the lodge.
I look forward all the more now to stream-fishing now that I have a boat fly on my fly fishing hat.