Nate and Tim went fishing the other day, and Kirk was rowing the boat. We came upon a big meandering eddy in the river, where we saw fish rising and feeding off the surface. For the most part, they were pointed downstream, feeding on mayflies in the backwash of the eddy. Curiously, however, the fish would turn on for a minute, then disappear below the surface for another couple minutes. Tim fired beautiful, delicate casts all over the run, but didn't get bit. Nate, on the other hand, held onto his small dry fly (the same pattern as Tim's) and waited. "Ah, now it's right," said Nate. He fired one cast, and bang, a trout ate his fly.