Brown Trout Lake Redux

Big Brown Trout

'ol Sven and I rolled into camp just before sunset. Sven stayed in the truck whilst I chased all the snakes out of the campsite. Sven "don't cotton to no snakes." While drivin the last snake out of camp, an especially tenacious bull rattler, I heard a flushing sound. I looked up just in time to see a bowling ball sized void in the lake's surface. The void was in the center of large swirl which was itself in the center of an expanding circle of waves. Then with a loud burp the hole quickly filled with water. Sven saw it too, then he asked me if all the snakes were gone and if it was safe to get out of the truck.
We raised camp in no time. Set the fire, opened bottles and kicked back in less time yet. Then me and Sven spent the rest of the evening pontificating life, the universe and the meaning of the flush and swirl of big fishes.
The next morning we skipped breakfast, opting for an early start. I was on the water at the crack of 0930hrs. You just wouldn't believe how crisp the air is that early in the morning. Sven got out there even earlier than I did.
I spent the next four or five hours throwing the wrong flies, losing the right flies, and spooking rising fish. In short, I fished like an asshole.
Sven had a stellar day. Even calculating for the usual BS Sven had outfished me 4 to one. Surely there is a first time for everything.
The wind came up early in the afternoon prompting both of us to take a break for the rest of the day.
Evening comes early to the bottom land of Brown Trout Valley. The entire lake was in shadow by 7:00pm. We fished the evening hatch. Sven stuck with the dry flies and caught himself another "easy dozen." I trolled a streamer around the middle of the main lake and picked up a couple of fat rainbows.
Beer, fire, food, more beer and fire and eventually retirement to the fartsack.
Then the frogs began. Its a nice sound, an organic sort of white noise that a body can fall asleep to. Thousands, nay hundreds of thousands of frogs creating a cacophony of croaks.
At midnight a full moon rose over the eastern hills. The cliffs on the west side of the valley were awash in the proverbial pale moon light. Venus rose too. The whole scene was astronomical to say the least.
I lay in my cot with the bright moon shining through the tent door listening to the song of a million horned up toads. Seemingly an idyllic setting that one would like to find himself in at the end of every day.
At some very precise point in time every bird in the forest thought that the full moon was the rising sun. They sung their little hearts out accordingly, all at once, nonstop until morning. All those birds must have been real confused when the real sun rose over the mountain.
More fish, beer, fire, etc.
Packing up camp, return of the bull rattler. Little snakes will try to bite you in the leg, BIG snakes go for the tail swipe/leg sweep. BIG snakes want to bring you down to their level, then bite you in the nose. This was a BIG snake and he took me down quick. Thankfully Sven, who had posted himself on top of his truck cold beer and Ruger 10/22 in hand sniped that snake mid strike. "I don't cotton to no snakes!" said Sven as the now dead viper fell two inches from my nose. Buisness as usual for outdoorsman of our caliber.