If there were any Brown trout named Louis around they’d be Racoon food about now.Enough History.The river was very quiet this morning. The songbirds were doing their thing, and a mallard hen was seen jealously guarding her clutch of eggs. Ella barked at a Leopard frog in some dead wood, sniffed out a big snake under the Bunkerhill bridge abuttment and rolled in a dead something along the stream. She doesn’t smell too bad unless she’s in the front window where it gets a little warm.
The trilling of a cell phone finally broke through all of this beauty. I looked into the stream and observed a high-stick- nymphing-board meeting of sorts.Maybe it’s a Karma thing–I didn’t see one fish brought to hand while this multi-tasking, model -of -efficiency sport was working the water and the other party into a froth.
Note: Next time you go fishing stow your cell phone in the car, it will still be there upon your return.