My trail companion and I took a fisherman’s walk today up a familiar brook. The terrain matched the weather as the air was wet like the stream, and thick like the forest and tall grasses. Stopping halfway to our destination, we decided to soak our lines on either side of a large bend– I could not put my fly rod together fast enough as I watched my fellow angler quickly set a night crawler on a hook and begin to fish. Leaving my dry fly solution at home, I tied on a favorite that would float for some time, but once waterlogged, could double as a small streamer– I am not against using wet flies, but I do prefer to watch a trout take floating feathers rather than ones on the bottom. We left this spot after a short time as we wanted to reach an unnamed pool that required much more walking. Before leaving, I had the excitement of one strike and so did my spin casting competition.
We finally reached our target and I think we both would have enjoyed a cool swim if it would not have affected our chances of holding a colorful trout. I only had the pleasure of a few casts before the intimidating clouds made a strong suggestion for us to leave. With a long rolling thunder noise and flashes of lightning that my camera wished it could replicate, we hurriedly took to the woods and made our way back at a quick pace. We were fortunate to make it to the truck before the rain picked up, although because of the humidity, you would not know it by looking at our clothes.