The dry fly fishing had been slow. By late morning the air temperature had risen past 80, and trout were rising steadily all up and down the river. Unfortunately, they were rising for the tiny midges, which hovered over the surface of the river like starlings over a cornfield, only smaller. Much smaller, in fact. They were too small for me to successfully imitate. Either that, or there were just so many of them that the probability of a trout taking my artificial midge in the midst of the swarm of real ones was too slim even if my imitation was good.