Many of my trips are with friends and I thought it be cool to see what it was like from their perspective... and to save my fingers from typing the same old stuff ; )
With tales of nickel hail.
Dust to dust. And to the rain. And to the wind.
It was a fairly easy jaunt from the mountain to the city; I’d beat the punch of the early morning risers. The road was dark, but clear as night. Excluding a rear taillight & half my conscious mind, we were safe. Mr. fishing buddy was wide-awake & waiting for the sound of a busted head gasket, or broken tippet. I arrived as quiet as a mouse & wee loaded the bear necessities for another “wherever we land” type angling journey. The endless pursuit of the mightiest of fish. A quest, a journey & an ever eager cast toward any & all answers we might ask while casting a flurry of wild hair at our most wide eyed prey. A morsel. Feed.
I’d been fishing with Bryan enough over the summer to know that he had an agenda, a very serious agenda. Hooking fish, hooking good fish & landing a lot of good fish were 1st & the up-most priority. But, & let me stress BUT, we were really up in the air on this journey, this one had no set direction. East, West, North or South? May as well unfold a map, close our eyes, drop a finger & ponder no further…just drive, and that’s exactly what we did. It was a unanimous decision.
The destination was set & what a fabulous place it would be. We made the hasty decision while descending the lower end of the back half of the 1st sister. Good thing we acted when we did, u-turns on a 12-lane highway are not easy labor…or safe. We were headed towards names rock, in rattlesnake country, where even the gnarliest of wading boots would crumble within minutes & Indian braves once warned thee white man of great spiritual presence & angst. A personal memorial to one of thee west’s great explorers, a homicide carved on a stone. If only they’d known of the true gold treasure we were after. The one stolen from under them like some $10 rug or dried out jug of whiskey. A theft, one of histories most thuggish thefts. I swallow with a forked tongue. Tar nation & Judas Priest.To be honest, an extremely peaceful place. Once again I felt safe, we’d escaped the mystique & flume of the fiery angling mob. Cruising in the right direction. Straight to free. Down the road.
The brave highway gave forth to many unsuspecting dreams & ‘ol lore. The blue fork of the East fork was hallowed water. Water as deep as the sky is wide & slow as a day goes. A shallow water boat eater. A true thug of a river & a water that held true barracks of trophy trout. Well-conditioned trout that looked that they’d went through some sort of top-secret military training. We breached the curtain of protection & drifted out in to
Christopher Andelin - 08
A big thanks to Grizz for writing a little something for my blog and the opportunity to go on one of his adventures.