Solo again. This happens more often than not lately. My once dependable and eager fishing partners have become encumbered with the worldly responsibilities that they once were all too happy to cast off, leaving them unable to wet a line yet again. That's alright though, this malady has yet to strike me or slow me down, and so I let the rush of early run-off push me further down towards the confluence of this usually low water river to it's confluence with the bow. I plan to fish above it's mouth as the afternoon wanes, in the clearer waters of the bow, looking for rising fish with the setting of the sun. It's as I am crossing this very spot when I see it for the first time...ever! A caddis hatch so thick it covers the water completely in places. I have heard of the mother's day caddis hatches before in places south of here, like Montana, Idaho, and Oregon. I have never witnessed one myself, and didn't think we had them here...until today. With the battery in my camera dying on me, I was able to get some pictures of the water and the river's edge where all sorts of messy bug copulation was going on.
Love is in the air
Now one would think with a hatch this big exploding all around one's self, that catching a fish would be easy. This was not the case today, and the big stinky skunk was in full effect. I saw several guides float by with their clients as I made cast after cast trying to dredge up a trout. The ones I knew I spoke with, and they informed me that they were having a slow day as well. I can't figure out why the trout were not eating. No rising fish and nothing on the nymphs either. Still, as I slogged my way upstream, back to the truck, against the flow of all that snow melt, I was happy. Fishing is the only thing I know or act I have participated in, that makes me happy even when I fail at it. Next weekend, however, I am going to kill that $#%$# skunk!