As advertised, yesterday, Gale, Annie, and me headed into the hills to fish one of our longtime favorite cricks. As hoped for we found the crick deserted, trout willing and enjoyed several hours of what at times was nearly non-stop action. In the last run, Gale put on a clinic hooking, missing and landing so many we lost count and with that decided to call it good. We only tried three flies--a baby pink hopper (not so hot); a deer hair caddis (better) and wee (#16) rubber-legged, flying cinnamon ant (way better). Although to be honest it might just have been the longer we fished the more turned on the trout...Who knows, twas just what we had in mind and a fun time was had by all, especially...
Annie--dear, sweet, insane for fishing--who, by the end of it, was as usual nearly out of her mind with glee; like the more Gale moved the more...well, as I say, Annie goes bonkers at the mere sound of a rising trout, spying a rise, well..you just have to see to believe. On second thought you might not...like most things in life, fishin' dogs, insane or otherwise, just ain't ever-one"s cup o' tea.
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