“It could be tonight,” he thought as he stood on the bank of the river. The green drakes would hatch tonight.
All his life he had dreamed of a hatch like this: Fifteen minutes before dusk, cottonwoods caught in shadows, green drakes would suddenly appear, like someone flipped a switch, accompanied by the swish and crack of a fish launching completely out of the current.
Beginning of July and the hatch was overdue. An above average snow pack, ripping brown wave trains, and flows above twenty five thousand cfs made for colder than normal water temperatures and sporadic hatches.
He looked down stream and watched his buddy connect with a rainbow on the edge of some drowned willows. Yes, this would be his lucky night, exactly how it was supposed to be. He tied on his favorite pattern and scanned the water for rises. The light was dimming, the moment was right, and he gave a shout to his friend.
Were they really hatching? Why didn’t he see any rises? Should he have stayed home and done his laundry? Who had invented twitter and why?
“Do you see any?” Staring at the river, he wanted to believe they would hatch. “Do you see any?” he yelled.
It would not be tonight. The answer was no—