I stood thigh deep in a favorite large pool on the New Haven River working the deep channel at the tail. Wes Butler stood on the far bank working the inlet and a swifter channel where the current undercut a steep bank.
Between us we covered the pool thoroughly with a mix of nymphs and black and white wooly buggers, drifting and bouncing along the bottom as well as stripping through the current. But nothing stirred. No flashes of silver, brown, or rainbow red to suggest anything hungry and tempted by our offer.