I WAS PURPOSELY IN A TOUGH STRETCH of river. In order to explore it I had to get into the water and deal with the current as the riverside brush/growth in most places was too thick to walk. On top of that it was dark and ominious looking in the woods. Harper my dog could make her way under and through the growth. I could not. So I stayed in the river and forded the quick flow where possible always searching for the path of least resistence. While doing so I looked for a pocket or river edge with slower water and some depth. A place where a trout could hold. I inched forward hoping for such a location and one quality fish. Maybe one that had never been caught before.

I eventually located a likely spot, a possibility, along a bank with some overhanging branches. The drake hatch the day before down river on an easier section occured at 3-3:30 pm. It was about 2:30 pm. I studied the water upstream. It was all fast and turbulent as far as I could see. So I decided to sit, eat my lunch and wait for the hatch. The hatch would tell me if a Cutthroat was in there. I could prospect it with a fly impression right away and possibly entice something to rise but this season I’ve had my fill of that. I was on a regional river that would have the rarest of events: a genuine, solid hatch. A big fly hatch to boot! No, I wouldn’t cast blindly. I’d fish with my eyes, not my arm. I’d wait until the large mayflies started emerging to see if a fish was holding there. If there was one it would rise and glow golden in the warm afternoon light. I’d take advantange of what the river would offer…