My buddy Mark and I would get the occasional small-fish follow, we'd stick a 13-incher here and there, and after ten miles of rowing conceded to the fact that this was the kind of action we'd have so we better just be happy with it. Then on cast number 2,678, my sculpin glided off the bank and the shadow of the pictured fish rose from below it. Having seen no trout this size the whole trip, I gasped, fully expecting the brown to turn away. But by briefly pausing to stare at the shadow, I inadvertently stopped my strip and the fly. That's when it got inhaled.