The first three trips of the season have proven my skills rusty, in need of oil and elbow grease. They've produced one fish on the jig rod, and one fish hooked on the swing and promptly broken off. Failure at the surgeons knot is unacceptable, though the grab and throb without a true battle only make me want the next one even more. Two more weeks of fishing and I'll be tight as a drum, zoned in and living the swing. The fish will come.
You just powered up the riffle, the first one seen in 3 years, and you scan the water ahead for a good place to rest and collect yourself before moving upstream. Then you spot the boulder and you push up through the current until it lessens slightly on your right, and you ease over, four lengths behind the rock, and hold position as the current plays your fins. Welcome to the tailout.