Yesterday was gorgeous, with sunshine and temperatures in the mid seventies, but there was a storm brewing in the distance. Thunder was rumbling far off in the west, and slowly headed in my direction. I would have to move quick, so I grabbed my old decrepit flyrod and a box containing a few poppers, as well as some nymphs, just for good measure. I waded through a tangle of saplings and small vines, making my way to a bank above where a branch dumps in to Wildcat Creek. Immediately, small shadows scattered, a school of bream, and they were headed for cover, which in this case was a mountain laurel bush and some submerged roots of an undercut bank. All around me, and overhead, were limbs, vines, and leaning trees that would take my flies and probably my leader if I tried anything other than a simple roll cast. After a few tries, and a couple of snags, I figured out that I would have to let the slow current make the presentation for me. I flipped my white popper out toward the opposit...
Reflections on life in the Great Outdoors