“Wau-goosh-sha” or “Little Fox”
A summer haze has settled itself into the evening, and the air hangs thick with moisture. Across my brow buzzes a small flock of mosquitos, and no matter how many times they are swatted away, they are sure to return. The river flows high and fast, tendrils of aquatic vegetation waving in the to and fro of it all. Some line is let out, and then a back cast into a forward cast, and a bright yellow foam bug lands with a pop near a current seam in the center. It drifts quickly, too quickly, and as it reaches the end of the drift, I strip it back in, in short little bursts. A quick splash and some whitewater along the bank tells me someone is home, and someone is interested.
This water still remains a mystery to me, having not yet figured out its pockets and eddies, and who lives where. Moving water, as a whole, still has me stumped; I am not nearly as experienced in creeks, streams and rivers as I am confident in lakes, ponds or dammed up flowages. After several successive casts, my lookie-loo from earlier makes no more moves at the fly. He must have found another bank to hide near.
Ouisconsin Raconteur 
Leave a comment