The first trout of the season, on a dry fly

Caught it at 6:17 a.m. on the upper stretch—just a small one, but it rose like it meant it. The water was cold enough to sting your fingers, and the air had that sharp, clean edge before the sun clears the trees. I didn’t even strip line; just let it drift, and there it was. Sometimes you don’t need the perfect cast, just the right moment. And today, the river gave me one.