At lunch on Friday I ate by the water. Ann and I sat on the back deck of a restaurant. A river ran below us. I discussed with her the form of the river. It ran over boulders and shelf. The water looked like water that could hold trout. I had not fished this water before. I told her that I thought the river held trout. I ate my pulled pork sandwich.

On Sunday I went to church in the Small Town. After worship I did my chores. I walked down to the porch. Pollen lay on the table. Water rings were made in the pollen from a dripping glass now gone. The pollen was yellow on both sides. I brushed the pollen aside. I read the Sunday paper. I was ansty. I thought of the water.

Articulated streamers designed to imitate large meals are all the rage lately especially with the crowd that likes large fish. I suppose that includes most of us, though once you try casting those beasts you might reconsider. That is, until a large trout slams the thing, then it's all worthwhile.

The reality is that most of us spend a lot of time casting more modest flies to trout of the more common variety. This time of year the game gets smaller and smaller as we move into midge and olive season. A buddy recently wrote me about a pending fishing trip. The advice was that we'd start at size #18 flies and work our way down until we found the sweet spot probably around #22 or less.

Since we're only seeing small flies hatching, it's not a big leap to assume that's all that's in the water column. And while it might be true that these smaller bugs are the majority of the fauna all those bugs that hatch in warmer months have to be live somewhere off peak. It's no surprise that they're living underfoot.