I don’t remember my vest being wet

The snarling black lab with the faded red kerchief reminds me it’s his garbage can – and despite my wish to pass, he’s unwilling to share either contents or the path.

Fishing of late has become a series of indignities; rain when there shouldn’t be any, sun when there shouldn’t be any, and mean arsed black Labradors who beat me to the river just to harsh my mellow.

I can’t wade anywhere near where I fished last year, the water being too high and too cold, and can’t cast far enough – now that the river’s twice as wide. Yet I still wade out with high hopes and practice something or fiddle with flies, and after a couple hours stride back to the truck contented.

Make that three times as wide, as of today’s graph…

I had an opportunity to confirm model plane fabric is tough as nails. Thirty minutes of abuse on a seven weight head didn’t even scratch the carapace.

… and despite being hung up on rocks a half dozen times, that point is still sharp enough to make any gamefish blanch …

Tags: American River, fly fishing for shad, cubic feet per second, terra firma, wino dog