|Headed into the promised land.|
Few folks fish up'ere in the winter.
.. Getting situated and scoping out the possibilities and contingencies finishes off the first day and demands a bit of well-won sustenance. So that's what we did.
|Three Fly Arsenal.|
.. It's possible to fish downtown but it's better up the road a piece. So we get going to a place where the neighbors know us and the water is clear and the snow ain't too deep.
.. There's ruts and mud and ice and mud and ruts and ice. We knock on the door and accept the invitation for coffee. We're on the water by 9:00 AM.
.. Just three flies are ever necessary here, (well four, if you count the size 8 elk hair caddis that serves as an indicator.) The fish are willing and hungry all year long. The water, in winter, is never colder than about 40° F. Sometimes it gets to over 50° F in the shallow and sunny spots.
.. Dark comes a little later down in the lowlands. It still comes too early and we're back in town by 7:30 PM. At our age it means an early dinner and bed. We do it.
.. We get up on day three and have the same breakfast. We fish a bit closer to the highway and downstream from town for a few hours. Then back in the trusty horse and gas up.
.. It'll be dark as we enter the mountains at 4-corners. That's O.K., we know the road and it's treachery very well. We look forward to the vacant wheat fields and the company of monster trucks and the neighbors' pickumups.
.. Home at 9:00 PM. Crash shortly after eating a couple of racks of Baby-Back ribs from the deli, (got there just as they were locking up - perfect timing.)
.. We'll sleep-in tomorrow. Don't have to be at the salt mine until 2:00 PM. Our stomach growls as we snooze on the couch - typing this is exhausting.
|Heading home. A view for Mark in Texas.|