“Still” is the operative word here, the part that keeps you coming back. There is no rushing water contending for a place in the senses. No wondering what lies around the next bend. No pressure to get the fly beneath that cutbank before you pass it by. Lakes and ponds invite you in like a good therapist—ready to listen, easy with feedback, willing to let you sit back and figure some stuff out. In this case the result is decidedly more tactile: chunky trout grown fat on food that swims instead of drifting. You might be tempted, when that trout is in the net, to look it in the eye and say, “Eating that popsicle midge on that slow retrieve was an interesting choice. Let’s unpack that a bit. Tell me about your childhood…”