The Fish Don't Care

Gonna rain in an hour. Gonna rain hard.

He'd pulled through the boat ramp with his F-150 and trailer of canoes and made the pronouncement like it was the end of the world. We nodded and kept loading the boat. He wasn't the only one with a weather app. After a minute he shrugged and drove off, presumably to warn the rest of the unsuspecting world of the coming cataclysm. That, or load his family and worldly goods into his flotilla of Old Towns in preparation for the floods.

Did we look like a little rain was going to scare us off?

Fishing in the rain's no problem, as long as there's no crackly stuff. A solid rain shell, appropriate wet storage, and good company is all that it takes. And, as the old saying goes, the fish don't care; they're already wet.

Someone had to say it. It's, like, a law.

We threw poppers till the bottom dropped out, then kept right on throwing them. Just ripped them harder so the smallies might see them in the riot of rain splashing the surface. That is, if the smallies were there. You couldn't tell by us.

A front either makes them eat or shuts them up, Dave said.

Pretty smart guy, that Dave.

So we pitched poppers and bitched at the weather. Neither were particularly effective. But what else is there to do on a five hour float when it's sometimes hard to tell the difference between above and below?

One thing's for sure. The fish didn't care.

Note: A huge thanks to my good friend, Pile Cast's Dave Hosler, and to my new fishing buddy Tom Grimes for a fun, but wet, day on Indiana waters. I called, short notice, and they made it happen. That's what this wonderful fly fishing community is all about.