The success of any fishing trip is a relative thing - up to a point.

I'm all for appreciating the bubbling beauty of a mountain trout stream, but I do draw the line at catching fish. At least I do now.

When my fly fishing hobby was in its infancy, I often had no choice but to be satisfied with the mountain scenery or nice weather. When the weather was lousy or I had no view, I measured success or failure by the number of flys I lodged in tree branches. I could drive two hours to trout fish, catch nothing and then talk the whole way home about how my casting was improving.

Once I started catching fish, that changed somewhat - my standards for size or quantity are not at all high, but at least I have standards now - but perspective still is the key to a successful fishing trip.

Take Tuesday's excursion to Buffalo Creek in Rockbridge County. My fly fishing mentor, Geoff Murphy, and I had been talking about hitting the trophy section outside Lexington for months. We brought along a friend, Tommy Morel, a recent transplant from Louisiana who never had been to the western part of Virginia. Murphy and I fished while Morel explored the countryside.

My fly fishing ability may not be in its infancy anymore, but it's certainly no more than a toddler. The Blacksburg-born Murphy, by contrast, has fished all over the country. He currently is planning a trip to Argentina. I still get lost in Orvis.

All that is to say he and I measure a good fishing day differently.

I was brimming with anticipation when we pulled into the dirt parking lot next to the stream near the tiny town of Effinger. It was mid-morning and, though the sun was high in the sky, it was mild, especially near the shaded creek. Richmond's humidity was a distant memory.

We rigged up the rods and waded into the Buffalo - no more than 20 feet wide here - in search of brown and rainbow trout. Actually, waded is a generous term. The water wasn't more than shin deep in most places. According to John Roberts, a fly fishing guide who has lived and fished that area for more than 50 years, recent thunderstorms have passed by Rockbridge County.

"We need 3, 4 inches of rain in the next month-and-a-half to help us out," he said later in the week.

With the water clear and levels low, we figured the fishing would be tough. I headed south and Murphy north. The casting lanes were narrow in places, but I soon found a bank where I could throw into a shaded pool. I was using a fly called an orange stimulator, and it worked almost immediately. Minnows swam up to inspect the surface invader, nipping at it before darting away. The first rainbow fell for my ruse just 20 minutes into the morning - a personal record. It wasn't big, maybe 6 inches, but when you're a toddler, you learn to appreciate baby steps.

I pulled in another similar-size rainbow a few minutes later, emboldening my confidence. Even in the tight casting conditions, with overhanging branches and high reeds along the banks, I was picking out spots and hitting them with my casts. I was feeling it. I moved along the bank, looking for areas I thought trout would hide. Every now and again, I was right.

No fishing tale is complete without mentioning "the one that got away." This one's no different. As we neared the end of our time on the river, my only catches were medium to small rainbows. I was aching for a big brown. I whipped the rod back and forth and sent it up river as far as I could into a riffle. I felt the tug on the line and pulled hard. The beast flipped up out of the water - a 12-inch brown trout! - but wriggled free in the air and swam away.

I momentarily was crushed, but then I got excited thinking how large the trout would grow in the retelling: "I swear it was as big as a manatee!"

On my walk back to the car, I went over the day in my head. All the hallmarks of fishing success were there: five or six rainbows, some good casts in tough conditions, only five flys lost to foliage (another record), a "one-that-got-away story," great weather and Blue Ridge Mountains majesty.

I gave Murphy the lowdown, then asked about his day.

"I caught 40 or 50 trout, but no trophies," he said, seeming slightly disappointed.

He had started the day with visions of big brown cows leaping out of the water. By that measure, the day wasn't all it could have been. I set out with more modest aspirations and met them. I was plenty pleased, though still thinking about that one near miss.

Then, Morel joined us. He told us about walking the countryside, taking in the verdant farms, fields and forests, hiking a high hill and gazing back into the valley. For someone born and raised below sea level, this was bliss. Somehow, the guy who didn't catch a single trout had the most successful fishing trip.

I remember those days well.
Contact Andy Thompson at (804) 649-6579 or outdoors@timesdispatch.com.