The air is warm, the water is warm, and the fishing is, well, slow. During the day the trout are hunkered down, hanging around spring holes and the feeder streams where the little dribbles of cool water still flow in (boy oh boy, do we need rain). In the evening a few small pods of fish move around, sipping mayflies and other insects blown in by the warm breeze, but a summer’s worth of fishing pressure has made sneaking up on individual fish and groups of cruisers difficult. They’ve been educated and shy away from the boat. Long, accurate, delicate casts are the only way to hook up.
I can do long, I can do accurate, and I can do delicate but all three at once is asking a bit much so I spend a fair amount of time just sitting, watching and waiting. Here’s some of what I saw on the pond two nights ago:
Only one other human was fishing.
The loons are still here. The chick is growing fast.
The adults have begun to moult, changing from summer black and white to winter drabness. They won’t be able to fly for a few weeks, as they lose and grow feathers, and are spending a lot of their time grooming.
The fishing is great even when the fish aren’t biting. So sayeth Quill Gordon, even though some members of the Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society might disagree.
Hold on! That’s not a loon. It’s a chicken. Silver Lace Wyandotte, to be exact.
Happy Labor Day.