The dreams of dry fly fishers are populated with big trout confidently sipping our flies from the surface. In my particular case I prefer to dream of a big brown eventually taking some of my tiny emergers, but only after a period of pure disdain interspersed with a number of refusals. There is no pleasure in too easy things. That is why a great fishing day can’t be measured in numbers, or at least not only in them.

On the other hand too difficult goals often lead to frustration.  There are days when you don’t know whether you are striking too early, too late or they just seem to take the fly… but actually aren’t. It is a mistery, at least to me.

The scene depicted below resulted in the urge of having a couple of cold beers to properly shooth my soul. 😀