I've spent the last three, hot, muggy days clearing fields of hay. It's a yearly thing that's good for the soul, but everything about haying is backasswards. You stack from the bottom up, turn around unloading it from the top down, then restack it from the bottom up. After stacking and restacking a few dozen ton, I had a few hours to recoup this afternoon, so I chose to wet wade the coldest section of Rufus as much for the ice cold tailwater as the fishing. I didn't expect much action, but had recent intelligence from a walleye guy that one section was boiling with fish the night before last. I was hoping to catch the fish smorgasbording on the nymphs pre-hatch. Even using two different caddis patterns at a time I couldn't find any interest apart from one random strike in two hours, that I completely bungled. In s desperation move, I closed the last hour swinging streamers. I really didn't expect much there either, as I suspected the fish were holding deep in water column and current, and I was only armed with floating line. With the fly waking just below the surface, I was surprised when on my fourth step and cast my fly was crushed on the dangle near shore. It was a gorgeous wild fish, taking to the air twice in some very impressive aerial displays. It ripped line and made me proud of what lurks in these currents. I tailed the twenty incher, admiring the hues if the wild twenty inch fish. Just as I clicked the button on my phone, the fished lunged,losing me and the fly all at once. Oh well. Most of the nice wild fish I've caught this summer were camera shy. I took a few steps down and restarted the sequence. Two casts in my white streamer mysteriously disappeared. Opening the drying patch on my chest-pack I noticed a strange purple streamer that had intrigued me enough to buy it, which is rare with streamers. I prefer to tie most of my flies. I resisted the instinct to step again before I cast the new fly. Same thing, crushed on the dangle near shore. I don't think, they were holding near shore(I didn't see any holding lies when I gained highground), I think they followed the waking streamer all the way in, and chose the last second to attack. This one was a twin to the first, just a little thicker with muscle. Completely different animal though. Where the first made blistering runs, this one leaped hiiigh when hooked, ran at me, the battled it out in the shallows. I watched it try over and over to dislodge my fly by rubbing up on boulders. Somehow the barbless fly found purchase long enough to get a quick cell pic of this one. Prettier than the first, if possible. By now I was feeling the tug of time, and though I wanted one more tug in my line, I conceded defeat and beat a hasty retreat. At least it was nirvana compared to the dusty hayfields, your shirt so soaked with sweat it looks like you took a swim with you clothes on. I suspect a great caddis hatch is happening just below my house as I type this, but I have no intention(or ambition) to go back.