I flogged it for half a day with a sinking line, but no fish were rising.

The fish rose again but, on subsequent casts, neglected to reappear.

And the fish rose once again to taunt me, eating every bug in sight save mine.

A long, shiny green fish tail rose out of the water and splashed back down.

The very next cast, another fish rose, was hooked and landed.

Until the fish do rise, you wait, too, and the complexity of place imposes itself.

Somewhat to her amusement the fish rose at once.

Twenty casts later, the fish rose to my fly.

No fish were rising, and our only hope was to plumb the depths with sinking lines.

A large yellow fish rose to the surface and, in a swirl of water, gobbled them down.