During the gap after the shotguns are put away and the water is still frozen over I get restless. Thoughts go to summer days with fish rising to dries or wading in ankle deep water in saltwater locals. As the water opens I jump at the opportunity.
I’d never seen a strike like it. The turbid water was sluggish all afternoon, and the action slower still. Glide after riffle, run after pocket, pool after hole, each held its silence in turn. Top water? Zip. Dropper rig? Uh-uh. Deep drift? Nada. Strip a bugger? Swing a bugger? Bugger and a worm? Whiff,, Read More