The fly landed and the current pulled the loop of slack tight as the fly started swinging from the fast water against the far bank into the slower choppy water. As I was fishing this small piece of water, a memory came flooding back.
The river was much smaller than the water I was fishing today. The run also pushed into a snag on the far bank and the cast, mend, and drift were identical. I remember swinging a fly into the fast water just above the snag and coming tight to a fish. A couple head shakes and the fish came loose. Another fly fisherman had been watching and asked if he could follow me through. "Of course," I replied as we talked briefly about the run and spey casting. He started casting and then I heard a splash. I reeled up and watched him fight and helped him land the largest and prettiest fish I saw that entire winter. He was beyond excited at the experience.
The run I fished today did not reward me with a fish, but the trip down memory lane was worth the cold toes.
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