A CHRISTMAS SOJOURN
he pool was a beauty. Golden yellow sand tapering in to a rocky runout. The top was a swirl of sparkling blue water that bent against a cliff, straightened and deepened to depths you couldn’t peer into. Midway down the pool, where you could start to see the bottom again, were the dark, wavering shapes of large trout. About 8 that could be seen. Just how many more lurked further up in the deep blue remained to be seen. There were 3 of us on a Christmas mission, exploring the water of the big river to find out if any fish had run on the Christmas Day flood. Unseasonal, but seemed likely. With several visiting Christmas relatives about and the bach full of family, all keen to grapple a fly rod again, we, after the obligatory dump trip after the Christmas celebration, had opted to walk some stretches of the glorious river to see if any likely spots for a fishing mission emerged. The dry fly options were yet to emerge, with cicada and lace moths yet to appear, so it was likely it
