Saturday was cold, the previous night being cold enough that I decided against going up into the high country to seek out brookies. Instead, after a long morning of banana pancakes and coffee, I grabbed my 9 foot Iwana, a 9 foot horsehair line, and my small pack and headed over to my home stream. I didn't have any expectations other than voiding the smell of skunk that I had obtained over the past few outings.
The water was up a little from the dismal flows of the past year. With the sun warming my face, I noticed a few little black stoneflies coming off. I tied on a small, black, beadheaded soft-hackle and it wasn't long before a fish was brought to hand and redemption was mine. I began the slow process of working my way upstream. This day, I wasn't worried with covering water, as I usually do, but rather breaking down various runs into their technical components to work on my presentation and manipulation skills.
After 12 or so fish brought to hand, I felt that the practice had paid off.
Just for a moment, climbing up that rhodo-choked streambed, all was right with the world.