My son Sam and I got out yesterday evening for a couple of hours. Warm, sunny and breezy with a few small mayflies hovering around. Sam saw a couple fish rise, and I managed to hook a fish at the bottom of a deeper pool, but he threw the hook after a second or two. That was as close as either of us got to landing a fish. I don’t remember the last time I got skunked. I suspect it’s not as far back in my past as I’d like to think it is.
I make landing nets in my basement shop at my home near La Crosse. This spring I’ve retired my old net, which was one of the first ones I made (and is now embarrassing for me to look at), and replaced it with a much nicer one that I just finished a few weeks ago. So far, I’ve not caught a fish nearly big enough to merit its use. Patience, man, patience.
The net has one of those clear rubber net bags, which I’ve never used before. I’ll let you know if I like it better than the traditional black nylon net bag as soon as I catch something of size, which is hopefully sooner rather than later.
Despite our poor luck, it was a beautiful evening, and we enjoyed our walk back to the car with the sun behind the bluffs, and the deer moving out of the timber and into the fields.
And after looking at these photos on my larger monitor at home, I might start calling this valley Little Montana.