We avoided being dive bombed by restless redwing blackbirds. They were there, they had nests, and their eyes followed us. But their kamikaze attacks were held at bay, most likely reserved for another day.
On the other hand, dad had found a ret tail hawk nest. They let loose with warning calls, screaming down at us from just above the tree line, where blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon. Dad was busy snapping shots, while I was downstream, throwing flies on skimpy water. I'm not kidding, the ditch was insanely low. The head gates were likely closed.
Further upstream, I threw red tag soft hackles along the banks, fishing them like dries. The channel on the right was deeper, with a bit more flow. I chose this side, and fished the side pockets, where a towering ponderosa provided immediate shade, casting long shadows over the calm flat surface.
I caught my first break after the second cast. A cutthroat gave chase, engulfing the red tag with a quick splash. After a good battle, he knew that his time was up. I slowly brought him in, admiring the brilliance of such a fish, then removed the red tag from his lower jaw, and returned him back to the shallow depths.
I love cutthroat trout, and I love my new two weight rod.
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