“What did it eat?” I hollered.
Across the lake, my fishing buddy Pat yelled back, “Red chironomid. Again.”
I set my rod across my lap and unzipped a pouch on my float tube. It was a brilliant spring day, warmer than it had any right to be, and Pat and I were on my favorite high country lake a full month earlier than I’ve ever been before. Usually snow blocks the road until the first week of June. We were floating it before Mother’s Day.