I found the bass.
No, these aren’t bass. I never said I CAUGHT the bass, but I know where they are. How do I know where they are? Because I can SEE them. Crystal clear water. A river entering a small lake. The big, Scud-like bass are patrolling back and forth downstream of where the river enters the lake. Just waiting for a buffet of whatever it is they are consuming. But not my fly. Not my topwater fly. I can’t bring myself to throw a sinking fly. Just can’t do it. Too much fun watching fish hit topwater, so I settle for the maniacal smaller fish who hit my fly like teenagers on spring break. They just can’t help it. Even when I try to jerk my fly away from them they just keep coming until they are staring at me at close range as I untangle the hook from their tiny mouth. This place is one of my all time favorite places. Mom went too, less than a week after heart surgery she was leading the charge and had her line in the water before I got out of the car. Just can’t keep her down.