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On some days, even during a jumpin'-fish summer, hours may go by between such adventures, and it's a mystery why. Thirty, 40 casts and a few nibbles. Occasionally whole days are like that. You hit your best spots. Nobody home.

There are various theories for fish absence or indifferenc, and one of the best is what many fishermen call the "bluebird day." A violent thusderstorm comes through on a hot, humid night. Next morning, the air is clear and cooler, the humidity is gone, there's no wind and the earth is domed by a cloudless sky the color, supposedly, of a bluebird. It's simply lovely. But there's no damn fish. The placid lake could be an Olympic pool for all the action you're getting.