I smiled as the fish stripped line from my reel, prompting it to sing like only a single action click-pawl reel can. It dove for the center of the pool, as I lay my rod on its side and used the fish's own strength to my advantage in tiring it out. Sensing a failed attempt to gain the deep water rocks it turned just as quickly and shot downstream just to the left of my waders.

It had been dry for a while, and I loaded up the canoe and headed for a pond. This one is seven miles from town and about half a mile off the road. I had four fly rods with me and was looking forward to being on the water. I got to the pond and saw that there was algae around the edge. It was May and there is this much stuff in the pond already.

July 7th, the day itself was uneventful or so my journal has lead me to believe. Neil arrived around 7 P.M. geared up and joined me on the water at our normal meeting place above the house pond. This evening the breeze continued to play with the spinners, though some did make to the surface of the water and some of the trout were eating them. Like the other evening, the rises were very aggressive and splashy, but unlike the other evening there were no caddis visible on the surface of the water.

Here is a very adaptable caddis pattern. Using these techniques and altering the size and color of the materials you should be able to tie a caddis to match any hatch anywhere. I must give credit to my friend David Martin for teaching me many of the techniques used in this fly. His technique for using facial tissue soaked in flexament for the wing material not only allows us to make a wing any size and any color, but tissue paper soaked in flexament floats.

I presume that age has something to do with it but I increasing find myself looking back and reflecting upon where we've been and wondering where we're going. I've lived through the renaissance of fly fishing from the late 50's to the present. Recently I pulled several old fly fishing catalogues from my bookcase and sat out under the trees in my lawn and looked back at the history of fly fishing equipment from my past.

Early morning has come to the valley and it's nice outside for now, but I know it won't last. The Sierra calls my name, "Come, its cool here, this is a good day to breathe clean air."

So, I pack up a lunch and head out up the hill to Kings Canyon National Park. My car is the only one waiting at the entry station. Quickly I affix the required sticker and head to Big Meadow and beyond, to a secret trailhead that only a select few know about.

When I was dropping Jerry off (forth birds) at his camper near the bridge of Beaver Creek, I told him that I already had the write up done. It would read: We came; we saw, we fished, we caught.

Sitting here staring at that though doesn't seem to do the fish-in justice. I left Saturday morning early, hoping to get to the Campfire Lodge around noon. By the time I arrived my mind was rushing with the possibilities to come.

Most of the country has been experiencing an extended period of hot and dry conditions. In the Northern Rockies we experienced a warmer and dryer than normal winter followed by a dry spring and a hot and dry summer. This combination has resulted in most many lakes and streams being at or below record lows.