The problem was holding position on the windward side of the trash racks felt like trying to fish from a mechanical bull. The water was too choppy, the pumps weren’t running, and the fish weren’t exactly throwing themselves at my flies. I managed to scrape together one or two there, but it was work.

I pivoted to the base of the dam — the Bay of Pigs — and started my run down the wall. Two fish today versus six two days ago. They were there, but they weren’t hungry. Or at least they weren’t acting like it.

The interesting moment came later when I spotted schools moving fast at thirty feet of water — roughly twice the distance from shore that I normally fish. I wouldn’t have noticed them if I hadn’t been paying attention to what was under the boat instead of between me and the shoreline. So I repositioned, moved out another thirty feet, and fished back toward shore. I could see the schools passing by me, but they were moving too fast. I managed to hook one out of them, but that was it. By the end of the day, I’d hooked six fish total, kept two, dropped two — which was weird — and had one break on a dropper. Turns out it wasn’t the ring that snapped, just my knot. The two keepers both came on my upper dropper fly, which was interesting.

The afternoon on the trash racks was a grind. Every time I switched flies, I’d get one fish, then nothing. Hits here and there, but despite all those concentrated schools, they weren’t rushing the fly. Same behavior I’d noticed two days prior — lots of fish, very little interest. It was odd. Fewer boats on the water today helped, but the wind made shoreline fishing tough, so I mostly skipped it except for the dam. I left early around two.

The wind reminded me that conditions dictate strategy. Half as good is still worth showing up for, and there’s always something to learn. Next week, if the forebay opens up and the wind cooperates, I’ll test those waters and see if the pattern shifts. For now, the lake taught me that persistence beats perfection.