
The first fish was a fat palomino. They’re bright anyway. Too bright. Unnaturally bright. Genetically modified bright, in fact. This one came out from underneath a tangled mess of roots against the bank to nail a small white streamer. Palominos get picked on. This fish had apparently had enough and it took it out on my fly. The muted orange and yellow from the tannic water hid the brilliance of the hatchery monster. I’d caught palominos before, but never in the middle of a dark winter day. The fish shone like the sun.
But I’ve got too much pride as a fly fisher to go on too much about palominos.
The next few fish weren’t caught on the little white streamer. They fell prey to a #28 cream midge. Certain times of the year I have to fish dry flies. It is a period that begins in January and extends right up until after Christmas. And the smaller, the better. I figure there is some kind of advantage to tying on something most other anglers are too smart to mess with in frigid temperatures. Get noticed by standing out in the crowd. Which, in this instance, means blending in with all the real bugs. It is a bit of a contradiction. But fish aren’t smart enough to pronounce “oxymoron” – let alone grasp the concept.









