And then we found the water - the depth, the flow, boulders that had spilled off a steep hillside breaking up the current. A few blue-winged olives, sunlight in their wings. We didn't cast. We stayed back and watched. Until suddenly, in front of us, tens of fish materialized out of nothing - out of water as clear as air - porpoising and splashing across a run maybe 60 feet long and half that in width. Several times the fish rocketed completely out of the water. We became lost in it, nearly every cast a fish or at least a take, Bar fishing a delicately tied blue-winged olive, me fishing a bead head pheasant tail.