If it had been asked of me earlier this week that there was a magic mystical location that had the trifectal ambrosia of trout diet of cicadas, salmonflies and green drakes, I would have politely guffawed and been on my merry way. I know that I blog such as this is utterly worthless without pictures, but I can assure you, there were many witnesses to the day and to the illuminations in the water breaking the surface for our emergers and illustrious dry flies.
The illuminations were nothing but pure 100% brown trout, the foreign yet unsubdued salmonid of Europa. These fine dragons of the deep graced our presence with brilliant hues and tantalizing red smudges that looked as if the great Tomerelli had painted them himself, encircled by faint blue halos that were lost in a sea of mustard clouds and indiscriminate marks careening for the caudal tail.
A perfect 75 degree morning favored us as we partook of the holy breakfast toast my lovely had created for all of us, and after some debate of which stream to dapple and entice thus fishes, we chose the high road. Lakes full of crystal clear yet freezing water popped up left and right as we made the ascent into the holy land of trout. Not sixty seconds had passed after the careful choosing of our destination did my lovely simply inquire, “What kind of bug is THAT?” as a plump and delicious salmonfly proceeded to hide away under the park bench when Leaky saw it and stifled a laugh, which to me sounded more like he was passing wind and softly cried with pleasure.
A perfect specimen to behold, the size of a hummingbird, this oversized stonefly danced awkwardly across the stream only to be swallowed by the pines surrounding the river corridor.
We knew it, like it had been told to us before, the success of the day and the pursuit of trout was accomplished, that this was a day for constant re-telling, yet we had only to fish it first!
As we made the way towards a tiny confluence, we noticed the green demon lurking under the clouds, and re-appearing before our very eyes to reveal its tiger striped body and ever bulging eyes as Leaky exclaimed in a loud rant, “Green Drake!” Two TOI’s (secret fly pattern)later, we had the run of a lifetime, each picking up a dozen trout apiece and laughing all the while, addressing the chance that karma had tossed our way. With the drones of cicadas in the willows, we continued upstream and onward in our hunt for the Von Behr and Loch Leven, whichever they may be.
I took time to silently express gratitude to Poseidon for the fate of the perfect water temperature, showing respect for Zeus for sparking the emergence of the hatch thanks to the cloudy sky, Hopi the wind god to send a calm breeze down on us, and Fortuna for blessing us with a downpour of splashy hungry trout.
A good day between heaven and earth, and it almost seemed to transcend the difference betwixt us, as we made our way back to the car, and left me highly anticipating the keyboard to stroke the keys in an attempt to re-create the day…
