Simple Solutions does a good deal of business in Augusta, Maine. The good thing about spending alot of time in Augusta is that I am that much closer to Shawmut. I get outta work and I am wading in the Kennebec in no time. Tonight was one of those nights. I waded across the Kennebec to my favorite run. I knew there would be some nice fish hanging in the quick water. I was right. I tied on a cone head leach pattern and BANG! A nice Brown Trout took the fly. I took his picture and released him. I heard some sorta yelling across the river and I knew it was Greg. We fished across from each other for a bit and casted to a few rising fish. I then waded over towards Greg and we fished a nice run together. Not much was happening on top so I tied on my Killer Kennebec River nymph system. Tungsten Prince as the leading fly and march brown wet fly as the dropper. Very first cast at the top of the run, Fish On! Greg said something like, “You gotta be kidding me.” Yup, it was all coming up roses for me. I was feeling like the King of the Kennebec in all my glory. Nice Brown before and a nice Rainbow on now, the perfect night. Well, keep reading. So, Greg took a few photos of the fish and we released him. I was on my game, I was confident, I was catching fish and I was tromping through the Kennebec like a Grizzly Bear. Nothing could stop me, I was on a roll. Then, I pushed my luck. I said to myself, “I know there is a fish over ther in that run.” The logical part of me said, “Jeremy, don’t cross that section. It is pretty deep. You should stay where you are and fish with Greg.” But, I didn’t listen to intuition. I started to wade across. It was getting deeper but I knew it would come up. Well, it never came up. In fact, it went down. Way down. I was on my tippy toes and then there was nothing. The water gushed into my waders and I was swimming. I didn’t just take a little dunk. I was swimming. Doing a scissors kick right through the deep run. I felt like such a moron and boy did I look like one. I drifted right by 2 guys that were fly fishing the hole. Sorry guys, I messed up your fishing spot. I finally hit some shallow water. Soaked to the bone and tail between my legs. Greg, like like a good friend, said “I do it all the time.” We laughed about it and went back to our cars. Greg bought me a pack of smokes and a coffee. We stopped into Fly Fishing Only and Mike Holt offered to run home and get me some sweat pants. I refused and drove home in my boxer shorts. I think the lady at the toll booth thought I was a little strange, but I am sure she has seen stranger things. So it was a great night at Shawmut. But, as the saying goes, “Every rose has its thorn.”