Not by the water since the 4th, I started to feel the need a couple of days ago, and instead of taking my black Lab Sadie to the Bedminster dog park, opted for the North Branch Raritan with my fly rod at sundown, not with designs on fairly recent stocked trout--no doubt some remain; I've witnessed rainbows caught at this spot in August--but smallmouth bass. Instead, just after I waded in for a camera shot I decided not to post, a largemouth of less than a pound came in close, stimulated to search the water I stirred with my wading boots.
I could have used my waders, very limited by shorts with my cell phone and wallet in pockets, no desire to get my underwear wet, but Sadie never left my side as the arrangement worked out. My fly casting seems to have improved a lot this spring. I cast a lot on the Salmon River last November, too, so maybe I just don't remember. A lot of getting OK at it is just telling yourself you're as in on the action as many who do no other kind of casting.
A beaver as big as Sadie swam on under the U.S. 202/206 bridge as a tractor trailer and a dozen cars zoomed overhead.
One hit during this short stint. Could have been anything. The Muddler looked plenty deadly in the water, but what drew this scant attention--dead sticking it in the slow current, river low. Just long enough, I guess, before it would have settled on bottom.