Sometimes the world is just too damn complicated, like daily. It's these times when I am certainly glad that my old man taught me how to fish. It helps ground my thought process so that I can see past the blinders to understand that I am exactly where I want to be… although it’s a few million dollars shorter than I had hoped for but nonetheless, its out here that I feel at home. It’s a place where I can be free of all the things that don't matter and a place where I figure out all the things that do.
The trip had no agenda and I just wanted to check out what was going on at the old stomping grounds and to get out of the city. There are so many places that I haven't visited since last summer, I wondered how they are. . Regina grabbed her camera and hoped in for the ride. Although she is a hard-core salt fisherman (Tuna and anything else) she has never fished a fly for trout…. I'm really not sure why. We set off for a general location; from there we were be able to check a few mountain drainages and have a good idea what's happening. I know, I know, I could've just google'd it but its not the same.
Over the hill and far away it felt good to breath the fresh mountain air. The view is not of concrete but of unexplainable coolness. Spirits are high… even though we almost got stuck in the mud and were a short stop away from sliding in the mud and into the lake. We decided on a perfect little spot for a first timer. With in no time she had her first trout on a fly, a cutthroat too boot! (My favorite) We fished and shot photos for the reminder of the day and the awesome display of nature's pallet. Couldn't have gone any better.
select photos courtesy of Regina Filliman