Summer is time for getting back to the basics of flyfishing. I throw on an old pair of shorts, lace up my wading boots, tie a stimulator onto my three-weight fly rod, and hike a mountain stream.

Anywhere it looks like there ought to be a trout, there probably is. And there were probably trout in a lot of places I didn't cast. They're so perfectly camouflaged you can stare at a spot and not see a thing, then carelessly let your fly dangle on the surface and have a fish come up and slam it.

It's one of those wonderful moments when you're fishing for aggressive trout that haven't seen an artificial fly for months and don't get pressured 10 or 12 months out of the year like some of our famous local streams. I had one trout come clean out of the water trying to take my fly. He missed it, but I didn't care. It was such a spontaneous burst of energy from a wild trout that just watching it happen was plenty satisfying.

Mountain streams are a refreshing change. There's no hatch, no wrong time of day to fish. You don't have to be particularly accurate with your casting or perfect in your presentation. Just toss a fly out there and get a decent drift and you will be rewarded.

But the fishing is only half of the fun. The water flows by like the color of an old coke bottle and ponderosas rise above the river like sentinals. Temperatures in the mid-to-high 90s feel comfortable when you're standing thigh deep in a cool stream.

You're not going to catch a trophy-sized fish, but under those conditions, every one of them is a trophy.