Today I spent time on new water. A nice spot just above a small dam. The air was cool and damp, with only an hour of sunlight left. No one else around. It was all mine.
The pool was like glass, pierced periodically by the small ripples created by a feeding fish and a small trail of foam. Then I saw the tail. This was no minnow, chub or sunfish. This had potential.
I sent the dry fly towards the fish. Coming up short, I let it drift. Second cast was closer, but still shy of the rise. The third was on target, but while stepping forward to confirm my cast, I quickly sank up to my knees in soft mud, losing my balance and falling backwards into the muck in a seated position. Cold water began to seep into my waders as I struggled to free my legs and regain balance.
Sensing that standing up would only result in greater constriction, I humbly crawled to the river bank, feeling the full effect of the intruding river water.
Common sense would have dictated a return the car and a change of clothes, but the promise of solitary fishing and new water pushed me to explore two adjacent spots, wet shirt and jeans still clinging to me. Sadly I returned to the car with soggy clothes and no success.