There are nights on the water that are more frustrating than others. Those nights in question are often shortly after you have a stellar evening and you should invite a fellow angler to partake in the glory you so feverishly enjoyed on previous occasion. Mr Fontinalis Rising and I have been pushing off testing out a new pike stick from Redington due to a variety of poor excuses and tonights reason was similar- high wind on the big lake throwing some serious chop and turning our attention to the headwaters of some beaver dam brook trout stream. After hiking in to half a dozen locales, we had settle in on one last site for any hope of mayfly emergence.After reaching streamside, we quickly noticed a few sulphurs and bwo’s. In a mere moment, there were dimples on the surface that quickly turned to savage takes not unlike shark week when they troll around that fiberglass seal off S. Africa’s Great White coast.
It happens to every angler, at least once in their fishing career. No matter what you have in your box, your vest, slingpack/waistbag- they simply are not interested. We floated a veritable buffet, and every rise just to the for and aft of my offering. We debate the great drake debacle- the nymphs are so deft at swimming, that they, as emergers, spend little or no time breaking the minuscus before they spread their wings and take flight. In theory, smarter fish conserve valuable energy expenditure to wait for the spinners to drop back to the waters surface. I had a few takes, landed one decent brown, nothing for the record books nor Dan Rather. Needless to say, we had a learning experience, we always do. Next time, I am going to bring more than just my drake box.