Late in the afternoon in the parking lot at the dam from which Boiling Springs Run flows down a ways to its confluence with the Yellow Breeches, I waited for my partner and watched the fishermen and families parade along the banks and over the arched bridge. You can stand on the banks or bridge and, through the crystal water, watch twenty or more trout up to over twenty inches lazing in the current and occasionally moving an inch or two to nibble a nymph. The fishermen were plainly intrigued by these fish. They'd stand so close to one another there was barely enough room to cast, and drift nymph after nymph to those trout. Very occasionally, when the drift was just so, there'd be a take, a few splashes breaking the evening quiet, and a trout would be released by a small smiled fisherman.

As I watched, a young family, Mom, Dad, and small child half in half out of the stroller, stopped on the bridge. While Dad pointed out the mallards for the child, Mom reached a loaf of Wonder bread from the stroller, broke a piece up, and shared the bits around to Dad and child. The fed the ducks with smiles all around and giggles from the child. Two fishermen, one on each side of the creek, looked up from their labors at a familiar sound. That was no duck--that was a rising trout. The fishermen hurried onto the bridge, flanked the family, and stared thoughtfully at the trout feeding on the white bread. Almost simultaneously, the two fishermen looked at one another. One muttered, "White Wulff. 12." The other nodded and both turned to changing their flies. Each was into a good fish on the first cast. Though it never got that good again, each had caught several good fish by dark and the reappearance of my partner.

As my partner was getting out of his gear, I approached the chuckling pair, who were also degearing after their busy evening.
"Pretty good this evening," I said by way of greeting.
Both of them looked at me with big smiles.
"Not only have we caught some fish tonight," said the older of the two, but we learned a technique that'll give us a follow up to our underground classic Fishing Corn As A Living Insect.  Next one'll be You Can Catch 'Em: Chumming For Trout."

(stolen from a couple of tales told by Michael Simon)

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