Monday was a gorgeous day. Sun was up and bright, no clouds, blue sky, no wind. Temperature in the upper 60's. Just gorgeous.

The rivers been down for about a week, with the COE not releasing any at all. I figured it might be safe to wade down river to the guinea hole and give it a try. With the water being so low I could wade and not get above my knees, so the cold water might be, well cold, but might be bearable. Bare wading of course.

I put on shorts and sandals, grabbed one of the ever present fly rods and headed out. Where I wade in the water was a bit more than ankle deep. That water was cold. My feet were aching with pain within less than a minute and I didn't know if I was going to be able to handle it.

Since I might flee the scene at any moment I didn't wade down stream after all, but upstream a short distance to a shallow hole that sometimes holds a few fish. I was thinking that once I'd had all I could stand of the aching feet I could get out quickly from there.

I caught a bluegill on my second cast and my feet promptly quit hurting. Pure coincidence of course. By the fourth bluegill my feet were numb. I headed down river to the guinea hole.

It was one of those drop dead gorgeous days where you can get caught up in the beauty. As I stood in knee deep water, and had beneficial numbness from knees down, I enjoyed the day around me.

I don't know why this happens, but it happens every now and then. Pieces of spider web will float through the air. Not just one but lots of them. This was one of those days. With no wind they still floated, but softly and gently and catching the sun they looked like silver threads. Beautiful and fascinating to watch.

I kept casting and looking and listening. First time I've been down there and didn't hear the gunieas, but they were silent, or not there...squirrels here and there making their chucking and scolding sounds, and once in a great while a bird would pipe up. Birds were rare that day, hardly saw any and I was looking. Days when birds are rare around here are rare themselves.

The sun was beginning to get lower, shadows were getting longer, but it was still about a good 30 degrees above the horizon. Looking downsun, or with my back to the sun in other words, the light was beautiful. It was coming in at a low slant, had kind of a mellowness about it due to the earth's tilt away from it, and was penetrating and revealing of the trees. Not harsh like the summer sun. The trees looked illuminated, with every tiny detail standing out clearly. Every leaf, twig, or crevice in the bark looked almost magnified, almost like it had an internal slight source, stood out and was clear and precise. It made me think that I wished I could paint, it would have been a beautiful light to paint by.

I kept casting and looking around. For a while I looked up river, which was also down sun, and the river was just breathtaking. The light made every tree on both sides of the bank look like they were aflame. The river disappeared around a bend way off and the whole thing looked like something you would dream about. I've run out of adjectives for this. Beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, breath taking, awe inspiring...they all work and yet none of them can come close to touching the reality of it. Awe inspiring is probably the closest one.

And finally I realized I'd stopped casting. That told me it was time to go in, the sun was sinking, the breeze was picking up, the temperature was dropping, and I hadn't had a single bite or strike or nibble since arriving at the guinea hole three hours earlier.

These fish weren't biting today. No matter how beautiful the scenery, if the fish refuse to bite I eventually leave...and it was beautiful, got me out of my hibernation for a day anyway, and nothing bad about that.

Nice report, how about a physical picture, although the word picture was very good.

I should have had my camera with me, but alas...this is from a different day, but the same area