I’ve been watching the gauge all week waiting for the worst of the water to pass, cabin fever got the better of common sense, so I hit the river armed with tackle, instead of a cup of coffee.

I had lots of experimental flies to test and was badly in need of exercise, a wintertime phenomenon that coincides with cold temperatures and driving rain.

Water visibility was 18″ – which is similar enough to normal to make me figure with some colorful flies and blind luck I may be able to set hook on something other than a chocolate Old Fashioned.

The Little Stinking was running at 254 CFS, which is about double it’s normal flow, enough water that I’d have to pick crossings carefully, yet not enough to wear something other than hip boots.

The Bridge Pool has new holding water, a pair of recliners that were heavy enough to find purchase in the gravel beneath, they replaced the sectional sofa that spawned the cursed “fly eating eddy” – so I was pleased at the prospect of new substrate. No fish were visible anywhere but the Merganser Squadron was on high alert, so something must’ve been available.

That was the high point of the adventure, birds, scads of them – and the fishing took it’s cue from the feathered menace, it was “for the birds” as well. I tested some of the new flies checking both visibility and sink rate, wandered upstream to Old Nondescript’s lair, noting the beaver dam had been blown out – but the beaver were intact. They eyeballed me warily while I flung assorted flies at stuff and disappeared quickly when I got too close.

Nondescript was nowhere to be seen and the watermark on the bank suggested he’d had an additional 3 foot of water through his favorite lie in the last week, likely he was nursing some resentment at his living room suddenly transforming itself into an aquatic interstate, so he left my offerings untouched.

I’ll try it again next week as the flow should have returned to normal. No evidence of any salmon – but with the water off color it’s not likely they’d be visible.