Off to search for slow inside seams (A.K.A. whitefish water)




This place is usually productive (interesting, no one else is here, although there were 2 other rigs in the parking lot)




And it is; all on a Zebra








2 hours of this and my legs no longer seem attached to my body (I check the flow data later and it reads 41; feels a hell of lot colder than that). The siren goes off once; more water coming thru the gates and the fishing pretty much shuts down for me (the fleet wasn’t doing much either up in the bathtub).


Next morning




This just doesn’t seem right




I swallow my pride and ask them to tell me where the bugs are (huge surprise, I never see a single fish up; they’re holding on to the rocks with all their fins to keep from being swept down to Ft. Peck)




Nobody here, and I’m not that early




Walking the bank, looking for spawners (always like to know how the next generation stacks up)