I'm back in Ontario for a visit, and returned to the creek that taught me most of what I know about flyfishing. Namely, bring quadruple the number of flies you think you might need, and a lot of extra tippet.
The creek was running with a tinge of clay, probably from an artesian spring blowout upstream. Some tiny midges were hatching, and I saw a few rises, but didn't bother trying to match them. I don't think I have flies small enough.
Oliver will recognize this bridge. Surprisingly, nothing under there was interested in what I was throwing. The creek gets quite a bit of pressure during the first few weeks of the season, and the fish may have moved out into shallower riffles until it dies down.
Nymphs were the choice of the day; bead-head pheasant tails.
The poodle was very interested in the apparently untapped food source that was hiding in plain sight all along.
Hopefully I'll manage a few more hours on stretches of water that I haven't seen for years. This is one of my favourite times to fish the creek, before the leaves fill in, and the grass and nettles reach head height.