It's supposed to be 67 degrees. It's been in the 30s at night so you know there's going to be a hatch once the sun comes out.
You fall asleep dreaming of dry flies and slurps on the surface.
You wake up worried about having the right size, color, enough because you're about over nymphing. As the sun hits the sky you hit the water. You were right, there are bugs everywhere, in so many sizes you can hardly believe it.
Just about any dry will work. You've accounted for everything, you knew exactly what the day would bring.
Or so you thought you did.
You didn't account for every other angler being on the river, too.
You assumed that the great "tourist hatch" wouldn't be happening for at least another couple of months.
Then you remember that there are going to be days like this. Sure, you can't get to your favorite hole because of a family chunking rocks in it. You can't slip into your favorite run, there's already four anglers down there. There aren't many parking spots anywhere along the river. You head around the bend, but there's already someone there. The few fish you do catch are sore lipped and hard to land, you can feel their timidness in the take.
But, your favorite hole will still be there tomorrow. That run will still be running next week. This hungry browns will hopefully still be hungry when you come back. And you will be back because let's face it, we anglers will always go back.