Hey, white winged curse, see you next August. Season lasts a few more days, but I’m thinking about muskellunge, I’m thinking about casting practice before the ROP, I’m thinking about the tying and the brewing and the million chores of fall. Maybe some hooky for one more float before Squatto goes to his wintering grounds.
We had some high water and higher temps, and then we had cold temps and it was never perfect. We had some tiny spinners to lose in the glare and too many Plauditus for you to focus and one awesome creek-born motherfucker with long meat-eating trout jaws that came out of a 4-foot pool to smash a #12 yellow humpy.
Let’s let the lazy slurps of humid-ass dawns at Stonehammer keep us warm this winter. Let’s let the urgently greedy swipes on the lower Kinni on an obligationless shoulder season morning be goodbye.