We decided to check out some runs that had a softer flow that we thought would accommodate the sloth like metabolism of our quarry. That was the ticket. The drift was painfully slow, the indicator barely moved as it inched its way down the run in perfect unison with the bubble trail, then the serenity of the run was shattered half way through the drift as leaping chrome erupted at the end of my fly line! A stunning hen brought to hand to get the skunk off, redemption at last. We found a nice pod of steel that was willing to take our offerings with reckless abandon.

Most all of the takes were on the outermost edge of the current seam right at our feet. Once we were dialed in, the fish came to hand one after the other. I must admit I did lose a bruiser of a male right on the shore. When I beached the huge buck after a solid ten minute battle the hook popped out instantly and away he swam back into the depths. None of the fish I hooked that day broke any of my terminal rigging.