Peanuts

     Fishing is a difficult enough activity, though when you hate your favorite stream the madness ascends to another level.  Confirmed eight pound browns are now inhabiting my home river, up from the reservoir, and I have yet to connect with such a beast.  I haven't entirely given up hope this fall for one, but I am once again starting to feel like Linus sitting in the pumpkin patch waiting for The Great Pumpkin to rise and give out toys.  The kids' schedule in the next couple weeks is daunting, and the nights are arriving earlier; chances are growing thin.  Dry fly fishing has turned off here locally, and thus, I gave it a run this weekend subsurface by tightlining a small frenchie pheasant tail and a big stonefly.

     A lot of men lay awake at night thinking about bills, work, projects and the like.  Yeah, I think of those things too but lately it has been where a mega brown would stop and take a break during its journey.  The clock shows 12:08 AM, the wife is snoring, and I identify three likely spots as I stare at the ceiling.  Tails of a pool, glassy slicks after pocket water reconvenes, and in side channels.

     Working my butt off catching peanuts, but staying dedicated to my strategy.  Cast, drift, sighter twitches and set! This has to be the one....

     It dawns on me as I take a knee, wipe my brow, and frustratingly exhale a couple of hours into this particular journey which I initially deem a disappointment.  

     Dumb-ass, you're having a great day out here.  

    
      I'm still waiting for the mythological creature that is a reservoir run brown in this creek, but in the interim I had myself a great mid-October afternoon absolutely full of fish.  I had constant action on the pheasant tail half of the equation, continually finding silver bullets and the occasional holdover stocker browns in the three aforementioned areas.  I didn't even have a single tangle or lose a fly. I had some sunlight on my face. I wrestled with the thought of being dejected because I didn't catch that monster, but decided on the walk back to the vehicle that it was instead a stellar occasion. They're calling for an early and cold winter again. Nah, I'm thankful for days like this.  

     Even if Sally would have called me a blockhead. 

340CFS/60W/67A