I was on the Eastern shoreline of a small lake that we sometimes fish.  For my last minute day off from work,  I had been blessed with mild sunny weather.  It was April,  and the blue sky was dotted with drifting puffy white clouds. There was a slight Northerly breeze.  Just enough to ripple the crystal clear water. The fish were small. Tiny in fact. Last year’s stocking had clearly been a success,  and as a result we would have to put up with these ankle biters until following seasons,  by which time the fishing would no doubt be superb.