Today I fished the Big Water. In an attempt to keep Her golden treasures concealed, She hit me with brutal westerlies and cloudless skies. Bathed in warm sunshine and accompanied by the sound of rustling alder, I smiled as I watched trout dimple on chironomids in a sheltered pool.
September fishing is magical, and with trout more colourful than any artist’s palette.
As the season now counts down to its inevitable end, the heartache is real.
I’m beginning to miss you already.