I almost had the Davison River all to myself, except for this silly duck perched on a rock in the middle of a pretty good run near the parking lot.
Neither of us caught anything.
The trout were splashing and laughing in mid-afternoon, but I never figured out just what it was they were feeding on.
I did hang one huge rainbow with an itty-bitty nymph somebody gave me for Christmas. I thought I had hung up on a log or rock, then noticed that the rod tip was shaking like a wet dog in the kitchen. I got to see the monster. That's all.
The fish had this dumb, sad look on its face, as if it was feeling exasperated at fly fishermen trying to land it in a net.
Fat chance. It somehow untied my knot, kept the fly for a souvenir and left me with a slack line.
Sometimes, I hate these fish.
But the duck didn't do any better.