A November Day

November days, one such day was yesterday. It was bleak with rain in the forecast. I chose to fish a stream that was close to home and did not know what I was going to find. The summer as well as early fall was lacking rainfall and some of the streams have suffered. After gearing up I walked to the stream and found it flowing like early spring. Lots of water. The fly in the batters box was a winged wet, it was there from my last outing. I tossed it out and after many casts I did not take a strike. I moved upstream fishing and enjoying the sights of the woods, and the wind blowing through the leafless trees. I changed flies, the bomber was called to duty. No love for that fly either. A look into the box and another wet fly was selected, a yellow mallard wing, and a gray body.

On the third cast I had a strike and a brookie came to hand.

I fished the stream to the old washed out dam, which is quite a walk. All along I continued to take hits, and a few more to hand. A light rain started to fall, and a chill was felt.

In this area where the large clump of instream wood had collected creating a bend in the streams flow and a perfect ambush point for a trout. The little yellow fly drifted just about to the end and a sudden swift strike took place...no hookup. I fished that fly several more times running it through everywhere I thought that fish was. I changed flies twice but the trout was put down. The rain continued lightly as I moved upstream. I knew my time was limited but until I felt the rain working through my jacket I was going to fish. Upstream proved to be slow and I said to myself it's time to head back. Before leaving I gave that wood clog another shot. I tied on a Royal Coachman streamer. Into the water it went, and the strike was fast and effective. A brook trout was on. Soon the fish was at hand. I don't know if it was the fish I had missed earlier, but it was indeed a fine wild trout.