The great weather continues to bless us here in the upper Midwest. We haven't had a soccer practice rained out and the warm southern winds have me fired up to catch a fish.
I took the long way home so i could swing by trout stream to wet a line. The first pool where i caught my PB didn't raise any fish. I worked my way down stream to the next pool that surrounds goose island and pitched a Colorado spinner in just above the rock. I retrieved it slowly toward the ripple and a silver flash followed by a strike.
ya, I managed to take it away before he could get hooked.
From a Sand County Almanac .
Out of the clouds I hear a faint bark, as of a faraway dog. It is strange how the world cocks its ear to that sound, wondering. Soon it is louder: the honk of geese, invisible, but coming on. The flock emerges from the low clouds, a tattered banner of birds, dipping and rising, blown up and blown down, blown together and blown apart, but advancing, the wind wrestling lovingly with each winnowing wing. When the flock is a blur in the far sky I hear the last honk, sounding taps for summer.
It is warm behind the driftwood now, for the wind has gone with the geese. So would I--if I were the wind.”
― Aldo Leopold
Location, location, location.
It looks like this pair has found the ideal place to set up a nest, on top of the rock.
I look forward to stopping back to see how this brood develops and to try and catch the one that got away.
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