All around me, and overhead, were limbs, vines, and leaning trees that would take my flies and probably my leader if I tried anything other than a simple roll cast. After a few tries, and a couple of snags, I figured out that I would have to let the slow current make the presentation for me. I flipped my white popper out toward the opposite bank, and started feeding line-- mending it over and again until the bug found the best path downstream to where the fish were lying in wait.
I had an good view of the water from where I was standing, and I could see a couple of fish rising, reluctant, but interested. I guess it was the slight twitch I put on the popper that triggered the first one to attack my fly with reckless abandon. The little fish mauled the popper, and I did my best based on my surroundings to set the tiny hook. The bream went wild, and in the gleam of sunlight, I could see the tell- tale color sparkling along the bottom as the small but aggressive fish tried to flee back under the bank. I knew it was a redbreast.
In a matter of minutes, I had caught four fish from that same hole, and spotted a fish downstream feeding on bugs, about thirty yards from where I stood. It was a long shot, but I flipped the popper out and started mending the line the other way, to allow the lure to drift slowly down and around the obstructions between me and the waiting fish. I was long- lining. I could no longer see if a fish was swimming up to my bug, but when I slowed the drift with my rod tip, a fish snatched the popper with a big splash and ran with it. I stripped the fish in, hanging up a couple of times in some brush and weeds, but brought the little beauty to hand, at last.