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Late April 2018 The ice in the bog crackled under my boots. I hurried.  I was excited.  Yesterday I had only caught 3 fish but 2 were measured in feet (as in more than 2...) and the 3rd was a fat 22-23 inches.  All beautiful browns.  The wily ones.  The ones we dream about. I had been working hard.  Figuring out where and when they were willing to eat my streamer in the high dirty water.  I had been crushing it with nymph rigs but i wanted that tight line grab—swinging or stripping.  I wanted to tempt Mister Big Brown Trout to come out swinging and I was dialing it in.  Getting closer.  The tape on my burned stripping fingers ...

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