The forecast was for sun, little wind, so there was nothing else to do but ask for the day off.
And, with the wife and child away in Disneyland, there was nobody to make me feel guilty, except the dog.
Brohm Lake, half-way between Vancouver and Whistler, was the target, slightly over an hour's drive. Arrived at 10 a.m. and had the entire parking lot to myself.
At lake's edge I sat down to put on my flippers when a rise caught my eye. Stumbling along the shore with one flipper on I cast an Adams near the rise. As certain as I was, this was the right fly in the right place at the right time - there was no strike. Next cast placed my fly 30 feet up a tree behind me. Wrong place, anytime.
It occurred to me that fishing is supposed to be relaxing, so I retrieved my fly, donned my other flipper and climbed onto my pontoon boat, maintaining a blind eye to further rises.
The lake was still, the sounds of birds and trout rising -interrupted only briefly by a man standing on a bluff, discussing home renovations on his cell phone.
By 11:30 I'd caught numerous six and seven-inch trout, so many that they were starting to annoy me.
With some reluctance, I changed to a sinking line and tied on a damsel nymph. I'd had one damsel light on my tube, although I'd seen no others.
Five feet after pushing off from shore I cast, stripped - and slam. It was the hit I'd been looking for and probably my first decent trout on a nymph.
Following two fiesty runs and still determined not to come to the tube, a 10-inch trout surfaced. I couldn't believe it was that small.
Another hour or two of nymphing produced a lazy eight-incher and numerous bumps, but not the fish I was hoping for.
As I pulled off the lake, wrist beginning to ache, big toe hurting, the wind picked up, blowing big, black, flying ants onto the water to be picked off lustily.
I was sorely tempted to switch to a floating line, but I was also just sore, as I turned my back on the lake.
Besides, it was getting crowded. Another tuber had shown up.
"There are no steelhead".
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