The mayfly hatches I wanted to fish never really materialized. Flies were popping, but not in volume. A caddis emergence Wednesday night lasted about 10 minutes, and got me as close to sustained dry fly action as I would get. Of course, having gone about 3 hours without a hit before that started, I overreacted setting the hook on the first two fish that struck and broke them off. Fishing famously requires patience, and no less after the action starts than while waiting for it to begin.
Otherwise, I took a few fish on streamers each morning, and a few on nymphs or assorted dries in afternoon and evening. My best day was Monday, when I landed 10 fish on an olive Wooly Bugger between 5 and 7 PM, besides losing a few others. Did land my best stream rainbow ever, a 16 incher--at least I think it was a stream rainbow. There were a couple of steelhead getting busy on a gravel bar just below where I caught the 'bow on Tuesday morning, and I did see a few steelies here and there at other times. I might well have caught a smaller steelhead dropping back to the lake. Nice fish at any rate.
The trip probably would have been very different if temperatures had been seasonable. Each evening, large mating swarms of Hendrickson spinners gathered over the river. If the temperature had stayed above 70˚ at sunset, they probably would have fallen and stirred some good feeding. A few--very few--actually did drop on Tuesday night and I caught a couple browns on a Henny spinner pattern. Mostly though, I ended each day watching the skies in vain.
Whatever else it is, fishing is a wonderful cure for notion that the world may revolve around you and your desires.
Today, I'm tilling up the patch for our native plant meadow in the backyard. A beastly task. Be a miracle if I finish the day without a hernia.
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