Golden, that's the term Pablo used to describe the conditions we might find on the famed brown sugar creek. With high flows from dam releases necessitated by epic snow fall and subsequent run off, just now coming down and the potential of hungry browns and a salmon fly hatch, the table is set for a memorable outing. Brown sugar has been anathema to me. I've had decent days and I've had mediocre days there, while Pablo and Hondo DeMule have had hopper crushing days of satiation, seems every time I was not in company. A little added pressure comes this year as Jr. The yet unconverted prodigal son will be along, I'm hoping for that magical moment that will transform him from dutiful fishing partner to rabid trout bum, ( well, not too rabid as I am still paying his tuition).
Expectations in this game are a dangerous thing, and I know JB's delusions of gold are more driven by pent up demand from the failed black canyon expedition than any hard data, but what man ever did travel thousands of miles to done waders with out a 49ers pan full of optimism!
So, to the brown sugar gods (last time didn't we catch more rainbows?) I tip my hat and genuflect with the hopes that a trout will rise.
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The true trout fisherman is like a drug addict; he dwells in a tight little dream world all his own, and the men about him, whom he observes obliviously spending their days pursuing money and power, genuinely puzzle him, as he doubtless does them. And sometimes he fishes not because he regards fishing as being so terribly important but because he suspects that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant.~Robert Traver
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