The fall water was low and gin clear, with the occasional red or orange leaf silently drifting past my waders. We had yet to see a frost but nature's paintbrush was already plying its hand to the surrounding canvas. Soon our world would be cold and gray. I had started just above the bridge which was now about 200 yards downstream of my spot on the water, and for my efforts I had been rewarded with 8-10 fish already. The fishing had been easy to be honest. My first choice had been a size 16 Copper Jake under a one-half inch Thing-a-ma-bobber, with a 6x tippet. Fortunately for me the flashing trout throughout the stream had agreed with my choice. Now before me lay a pod of fish all of which were actively flashing and chasing nymphs. My indicator danced along the current through the small slot where they were feeding, and again it made that subtle but tell-tale 2 inch dip beneath the surface.