From my right I heard Jeff swearing softly. I waved at him and offered the universal, “What’s wrong?” sign with raised hands and hunched shoulders. He shook his head and pointed out towards the middle of the lake. The circle of a rise spread and faded. A second rise, ten feet further out into the lake, spread fresh ripples and I could just see the strike on the surface.
Jeff and I settled into searching for greenbacks. We stood on top of the cutbank near the top of the trail, the only place where our backcasts were clear, or a few feet off-shore to quarter our casts along the banks, tracing a drop off where we hoped cruising greenbacks congregated.
There’s no real gray area about fishing in town. You tend to either love it (well, maybe be ok with it. Love is a strong term), or you hate it. It’s a difficult position to find yourself in, knowing that you may have great fishing in town but that the surroundings definitely won’t be the pristine river environment that you prefer on the weekends.
If it were only for the addition of the hydration pack the Rock Creek chest pack would have been a worthwhile purchase, but the superior organization, Zero Sweep tool docks, and four-point harness add even more value to the pack.
The honest truth about this fly is that I stole the pattern from Jeff, who either invented it or modified it, I can’t remember. I contributed almost nothing to the development of this pattern, except for the name, the erroneous pedigree, and the verbal abuse I offered up to Jeff whenever he was catching fish on it and I wasn’t.