September 5 - You got the ice chest? Awakened at the crack of dawn and hit Saddlebag at….er….11AM. Rented two boats and fished a couple of recommended spots for the big goose egg. After getting flushed out by Hootie and the Blowfish, we decided enough was enough, put our marine vessel on plane and made a beeline for the inflow. Not more than two minutes had passed before John scored the first trout fatality of the group. John turned and burned one deep into the left field bleachers and the equalizer had been broken in. Soon after, Glenn clipped one just outside the foul pole on Captain America Peanut Butter. Me? I was struggling….BIG time. Not even a bite. Didn't wanna resort to the PB just yet, so I kept throwing and losing TB's to the rocky outcropping. Then, when hope was at it's lowest, I hooked the biggest trout of my life….it rolled, it twisted, it turned, it struggled…I checked my drag, backed it off, but I couldn't budge the beast. It was on so long, something had to give….I passed the rod to Jeff, who valiantly gained line on the monster….this fish was blind with fury….it didn't have the vision to realize that there was no tomorrow, no light at the end of the tunnel. JT was beat, and the rod was passed to John. By now, the fish was saying it's last prayers…it didn't fear us…we didn't fear it…it stared at us like we weren't even there. Before we knew it, it was all over. The 7# DFG broodstock behemoth had been bested….it would not see another day. This task couldn't have been accomplished without the help of my brothers. The adrenaline rush came to an end, things returned to normal, and I started dunking PB into another guy's fishin' hole. Gary and Kathy had been dragging Rapala's behind a boat all this time and they scored six, including a nice 2 pounder. Time was winding down, and I encouraged the party to move onto the hotspot. They agreed and Sheri lit it up for six in a row. Never before had I seen the fishing intensity this woman possessed…she watched her mono like a hawk….flinching every time the wind moved her line. After Sheri ran the table, we ran for the dock. Glenn, who was experimenting with trolling, hooked a 2 pounder on the way in. A good end to a good day….a group shot of our monster fish now resides on the wall in the Saddlebag Store.

September 6 - Why Mess With Success? I wanted to go back. Nobody else argued. We were set to go and Kathy says, "why don't we go to Lundy." A little disappointed, I agreed. Got to Lundy and decided to hike to the inflow. Almost a big mistake. In order to avoid the marshy areas, we went upstream and tried to cross. To get across, one had to walk on a flimsy branch laid across the inflow. We lost a couple of the party, but Gary, John and I continued on. If one had to imagine what vietnam was like, he would likely conjure up something like the inflow at Lundy. Brushy, swampy, overgrown…it was a struggle getting there, but it turned out to be well worth it. John hooked a fish that would have gone well over five pounds…in fact, we'll just call it a catch and release, cause he was gonna do that anyhow. I was struggling again. Gary was steady on the Thomas. Apparently there were quite a few lunkers cruising around the inflow, so we congregated at that point and started throwing everything we could at these submarines. I finally hooked a nice one (about 2.5) and a bunch of smaller ones on a wooly bugger. Called it a day after the fish started laughing at us…back through the mekong delta, to the car, and over to the dam where Kathy and Glenn were getting good results all day. The weather was really nice, and Lundy turned out to be a great call since Saddlebag was cold, rainy and windy all day.

September 7 - John buys a Coach belt. Sandman, perhaps feeling a little uptown bourgeoisie, indulges a little at the Coach outlet. Escaping the mammoth crowds, we head to Rock Creek for a little fishing. Sheri wins jackpot with a nice rainbow taken on a power worm (nightcrawler). I have decent success on the juvenile brookies with the dry fly and bubble, but nothing approaching the size of Sheri's fish. After making an ass of myself retrieving a fly and bubble from a bush, we call it a trip and head to Schat's and then home.