...hit soon after Annie and I waded into position. Howling wind, rain and fingernail-sized hail pounded down such poor Annie put tail between legs, lowered nose to the river and sulked...I of course held onto my hat and leaned into the wind, desperate to remain upright and, perish the thought, not find self floating down river. Then, almost quicker than the storm hit, one last really hard blast and it was over but...
...apparently so was the fishing. The midge hatch vanished, like no bugs, nada...And while I cycled through throwing buggers, drifting soft hackles and nymphs...except for a handful half-hearted tugs...
...landed just one rather skinny, though as advertised, pretty brown. As you can see the hot fly of the day, and I use the term loosely, was that old standby #18 BH PT...No surprise there, eh?
To say the river went dead perhaps could stand a bit of clarification...In the two hours plus while we fished Gale tramped around taking pictures, looking for birds and other critters: Sum total, a single Clark's nutcracker and two black-billed magpies, like this is end of March, migration is in full swing...two hours, three birds, Big Hole river, early spring...I rest my case.
No comments:
Post a Comment