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I fished the gold on Saturday. I thought the water was low, and it was very clear and very cold -- conditions seemed perfect for the fly rods, which we had left at home. Two of us fished long and hard through the helicoppter run, and I was so captivated by an ice-shrouded stand of youn alders across from me, that I struck to late on a dissappearing float.

Nothing else happening, so we moved down to one of the runs along the highway. I worked a deep, swift riffle, while my partner worked a really deep, still pool close to shore. Second cast and he hooked a stong fish that escaped. Dozens of casts and I hooked two boulders.

Even though I am the one with the leaky rubber pants, my partner was the first to freeze. I convinced him to stop at the golf course on the way home, where we found a nice family having a beach fire. He left his rod in the car, deciding to keep his hand warm and give me advice; I hadn't fished this pool befor. Anyway, he suggested that I fish through the deep, slow water in the middle of the pool and ignor the likely looking water at the tailout. Against my better judgement, I took his advice. While I was methodically working away, he quietly slipped back to the car and returned with a big spoon, intent to fish. Ofcourse, he stepped right into the spot I'd had my eye on, and tied into a nice fishright away. He set me up!

It turned out to be a very pretty summer run of about eight ppounds, a little lethargic in the cold water, but quicly revived. We fishe a lot of stunning water, the fish were just a little sparse. Two days on the Samp next weekend should providde a different outcome.
 
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