to make a cast, I heard an enthusiastic “Hi!” from behind. I turned and saw two women with trekking poles standing on the bank 30 feet away. “Catch anything?” one of them asked. “No, not yet,” I said. They started to head up-stream directly toward the riser, which had just come up again. I quickly added, “But there’s a trout feeding in that pool.” I pointed just as the fish rose. “Did you see it?” They stopped and looked. It came up again. “See it right there?” But they didn’t, and I realized some of us will never see a trout sipping midges. I asked if they would mind if I made a few casts before they walked by. “Sure!” they said, probably as-suming I would immediately catch this mystery fish. But this was no dumb stocker waiting to be spoon fed a Power Nugget. It was a wild brown rising cau-tiously in a tough spot just a few feet from a tailout. One bad cast and faster water would swallow line and leader and send my fly whirligigging through the pool. Alas, this turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. On my first cast the fly rooster-tailed directly over the fish. For good measure, and perhaps feeling the pressure of an audience, I somehow made the exact same cast and the trout quit rising. I turned, thanked them for their patience and wished them a pleasant trek. They waved and said something I couldn’t hear over the rush of the stream. Maybe it was how I might consider throwing more slack with a curve cast next time. Not sure. I backed out of the casting position and considered my options. Though the sun was starting to slide lower on the horizon, there was still plenty of fishing time left. And it was pleasant along the stream in those wintry woods. I leaned upon a fallen tree against the bank and waited. A few bugs still trickled in the current, so maybe the trout would come up again. BELOW The snow on the banks of this wild-brown-filled New Jersey stream made for an especially tranquil scene, rich and holy in its stillness and quietude. Photo: Owen Craig