
It was as if someone had thrown a switch. For over an hour the scene was quiet and there wasn’t much sign of life, but then mayflies began hatching and swirls started to appear here and there. Clearly the fish had become active.
Gene had yet to get his fishing license, but he’d agreed to come along to act as my camera man. At the moment he was cold, bored and sitting on a rock. The video camera that hung around his neck was zipped inside of his jacket.
Grabbing my second rod that was armed with a 1-¾ inch rainbow pattern Yo-Zuri L Minnow I stepped to the edge of the water.
“The next time a fish breaks the surface within casting range, I’m going to show him this minnow plug,” I said.
When I’m fishing and the fish aren’t cooperating I’m always running around saying this and saying that, basically thinking out loud. So I wasn’t too surprised when Gene didn’t respond.
Heck, for all I knew he was in the grips of hypothermia sitting there on a cold slab of granite, but hypothermia was the least of my concerns. After all I knew the sun would be on us soon and I could thaw Gene out before any serious damage occurred.
I only had to wait a minute or so for a trout to swirl once, twice, three times in a row off to the left side of the point we’d occupied. It would be a longish cast, but doable.
The spinning rod cut the air with a sharp swoosh, a thin cloud of mist momentarily enveloped the reel’s spool and the plug was on its way arching to intercept the surface feeding trout’s suspected line of travel.
Since L Minnows sink about 1 foot per second and I wanted to run the plug just beneath the surface, I engaged the reel a fraction of a second before the plug hit the surface and started working the reel briskly.