I went to the river alone, because sometimes alone is best. No small talk, no talk of any kind, just you and the river. March Brown hatches tend occur early in the afternoon, so I arrived at this little place I know (troutbumese for "I'm not telling where") at about 1:00. I walked in to the river and, since nothing was happening yet, sat on the bank of the river to wait for the hatch. This was a quiet, secluded place set back from the road. The only sound to be heard was the sound of the river flowing by, and there were no people anywhere in sight. The worries of civilization faded into the background as I relaxed and waited. The healing waters of the Yakima were working their magic. Two hawks soared overhead, one Merganser, then another flew by. Later, hordes of swallows arrived, flying low over the water. Swallows often arrive just before a hatch starts, as if they can sense that the bugs will soon be available to eat. Not long after the swallows arrived, the trout started to feed. The hatch only lasted about 40 minutes, but it seemed much longer. This was one of those days that you remember for a long time. The fishing during this short hatch was as good as it gets. The trout were cooperative; their takes slow, confident and steady.

By the time the hatch was over and I packed up to leave, the world was looking a lot better to me. No matter how bad things may seem to be, the river still flows, the birds still fly, and the trout still rise.