In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer. Albert Camus
You've got about 10 minutes to work with once you bare your hands in 15 degree temperatures. After that, the digital opposibility that separates you from 99% of all other living creatures is nullified, and even if the eye of that fly is 4 inches in diameter and you're tying a rope to it, it's going to be a struggle. And never mind your already shaking hands as you watch the noses of several Browns breaking the surface every second or so, chowing down on any and all of those Blue-winged olives whose wings will not dry quickly enough to let them struggle skyward, away from sure death. Plus, you know from past visits here during this time of year that this smorgasbord is going to be a very short-lived, albeit heavily attended affair. Lots of targets. No hunt and peck. More like flock shooting. Try not to mess up your backcast. Don't hurry your delivery, even if every fiber in your being tells you differently. Lay it down softly in the middle, drag free, and stand back, because you also know in the back of your mind that at any time, as suddenly as they appeared, they will be gone, and gone with them will be those noses. The surface will become glassy and quiet again, with no sign of the feast that took place just seconds ago.
OOOH MAN! That one perfectly captured the feeling I know so well, and miss so much. Oh man! Its so clear in my head. Hands not cooperating but it doesnt matter. Watching what you are doing with one eye and watching the dance in the water beyond with the other eye. Trying not to hurry but desperate to get your fly on the water. And WHUFF--they are gone. And you have to smile a little, because for all our cleverness, we just can't win that particular game.
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