Pausing to look over the stream I took a seat on a large maple sweeper that had found the dry gravel of the summer's water its seasonal resting place. Perpendicular to the waters course it was as if nature had envisioned a need for a bench overlooking the long glide in front of me and simply placed the woeful tree in the center as a gift to fishermen. I had begun my morning at daybreak in order to escape the worst of the mid-august heat. The fish however, had only partially cooperated with my efforts. They initially seemed agreeable to rising steadily all morning which had me optimistic, yet they had refused to eat any of my offerings which resulted in a torment that most of us know all too well.