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. Continue reading →