I stepped into the water at the inside of a nice long U-turn in the stream with the flow moving right to left. I tossed my fly almost directly across the current, wiggled out some line and let the tasty morsel drift downstream into a nice seam. As the fly reached the furthest point and began to swing across the current, I gave it a few jerks and immediately felt a nice hit. He fought bravely as I worked him throughout the grassy shallows.

The Good Fight

Once submerged, my noble adversary was in his element and he wasted no time in heading for the protection of a fallen tree. I, precariously balanced on the most algae covered of rocks, almost joined my foe as I took it on a knee and nearly witnessed his attempted escape from an underwater perspective. Like a waterskier's rooster tail, my line cut the water as it slashed side to side across the stream. In a desperate attempt to avoid capture, the fish went Kamikaze and made a beeline right for me. I reeled in line with all the speed and dexterity I could muster. Just when I thought he would pass between my legs and confound my efforts, entangling me in my own double-tapered web, he made a break and took the newly reeled line with him. My reel sang the sweetest melody that to a fly fisher's ears is akin to nirvana, a song from the gods. Only Scylla and Charybdis could match the hypnotizing sound.