So after bragging to my buddy Kurt how good the fishing was yesterday despite the crowds, I convinced him to come up for a return trip. We proceeded to lose nine fish between us, some big, some small in a whole bunch of interesting ways. Three times I hooked up long enough for the fish to leave the water (one was so big it blocked out the sun) only to spit the hook. I can’t decide which is worse, to see the fish just before losing it, or allowing my imagination fill in stats. As mentioned, there were quite a few people back in there fishing the terminus of the Middle Fork of the Stanislaus, but not many fly casters. So with that, opening weekend is over.