The reality is that sometimes, the anticipation of a trip, is actually better than the trip. On first glance, that held true today. Fishing was tough. It hasn't rained in days and the river was low, clear and the fish were skittish and shy. They held in the deep holes and avoided the fast water where they are most susceptible to flies. I had two good chances at fish, and brought one of them to hand.

After two days of tying flies and dreaming of boulders, slots, and yes...coho, it almost seemed like a let down. I stood all day fishing hard, concentrating and focussing on the deepest pockets I could find in the faster water. The bottom line...we needed rain. The river felt stagnant, dead. It was clearly dying for a drink, and just a little rain would perk things up. I waited...all day it threatened. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the skys grew dark but then the sun would peek through and chase away the dreams of rain. I kept at it and began to enjoy the challeng brought by the skimpy water and fell in love with the color of the river. It was a tea green color that allowed you to see clearly to the bottom in pockets as the current broke and swirled around a boulder. Windows appeared and dissappeared quickly, forcing you to keep you eyes moving to enjoy those glimpses of the bottom, straining to see a flash of silver as a fish moved upriver. If I were strictly a meat hunter, I might not have enjoyed today at all, but as it was I found moments of joy in the midst of what was an undeniable difficult day of catching fish. I managed to bring one fish home and as I walked back to the car, the rain came. In moments the rain was crashing through the branches and I was treated to the symphony of the wind howling through the tree tops and the steady bass of the falling raindrops on the forest canopy. Bolstered by the wet walk back to my car, I drove home with the stereo blasting, and a smile on my face.