On a sunny morning trout can be seen in the shallows but out a few metres the are lost from view. High in the clear air of the hills trout cruise the bays of their lakes. Suspended in the water, beneath the shimmer of the surface, over rough rocks where shy bullies are thinly veiled. Lake anglers who walk the shores crunch wave worn stones and rocks, carried and crushed by glaciers, then tumbled since by nor'westers of ten thousand springs. Beyond the waves, bare rocks still lie.
Ice water means poor pickings.
The shallows are covered in the mud of rich meadows. Thick weeds spring from them, vigorous and rich. Big trout, fat trout wander amongst their tendrils. They find a smorgasbord of smelt, fine fat flounders and a banquet of bullies. They grow big and strong.