When I finally decided to take a crack at that trout, I set about it in the predictable fashion-walked a short piece down the road, headed cross-country downstream, cut back to the creek, and crept up on the fish from behind. It had vanished. At least eight or 10 times over the next two seasons, this basic scenario repeated itself. I tried at dawn and then at dusk a few times, hoping to give myself an edge with light, but the trout was never around; for whatever inconceivable reason, it appeared to take up a station below the bridge only during the hours of high sun. Sometimes I wouldn't see the fish on two or three consecutive trips and would conclude that someone had finally caught it. But then the next time out, it would be there again, or at least I presumed it was the same fish, since the choice of water was so idiosyncratic.