I can still feel the chill from the forty-eight degree dawn. Both windows stayed open in my tying room last night, and my vise still feels like an ice cube. Caught up in my own thoughts last evening, I kept thinking about the evening fishing I haven’t done. The mornings have been good to me, but I wasn’t thrilled by the deep, cold fog hanging over Crooked Eddy this morning. The fishing has been oriented to terrestrials, and the trout just don’t go looking for them early on a cold, foggy morning.
The extra mug of coffee tastes great, and I appreciate its warmth. Caribou calls this one Mahogany, and it has been my fly tying coffee for a number of years now. My morning output reflects what I expect to find, at least what I hope to find if I wander out on the Delaware after an early supper. A small handful of size 16 Cahills and a few downsized Halo Isonychia seemed enough to add to my shirt pocket box for a brief evening jaunt.
There’s something special about morning flies, always has been. I cannot count the number of days I have caught trout on a fly tied that morning, many of them large, difficult, and thus distinctly memorable trout. Maybe it’s the fisherman’s instinct, maybe a little ESP, but I often get a feeling that I should tie a particular pattern. Sometimes its a new variation, like the Trigger Point Dun Cahills; and sometimes its an old standby.
More than once I have wished I could call up that feeling at will. I mean, who doesn’t want a little extra magic to add to a day’s fishing? In truth it wouldn’t be nearly as special if it happened whenever I wanted it to.
Will one of this morning’s flies bring something extra to this evening’s fishing? I have no idea, though I do have a little faith!