Through a pane of German glass, all splattered with bug guts.

All that is real is the dirt, and the ferns and trees that rise from it. The things that breathe therein. The stones, and the cold water that runs over them. The fish that swim upstream. And, in the places which they swim from and will return to, the sand, and the cliffs, and the waves that beat upon them for eternity.

By comparison, the sum total of human accomplishment, while amazing and awe inspiring, is on the whole, completely abstract bullshit.

With this thought in mind, I pulled my car to the side of the road and just sat there for a few moments. I was watching eternity unfold through a pane of German glass, all splattered with bug guts. It was a hell of a thing. I raised my hand, and with a turn of a key the idling engine was silenced. I got out of the car. The air was cold and damp, and dark clouds rolled over my head. The radiator fan kicked on. Comforting. I walked out onto the bridge and looked down. Nothing. Still, I had seen fish holding here in the past. I would need more conclusive proof before being able to move on.

This time of year there are a few fish around, and no one fishing. In a word: Perfect. I scrambled down the bank and waded out in knee deep water to the edge of an extensive ledge. It’s weird when you think that there may be nothing but water beneath these things, and that they may break off at any moment. You see that sometimes. Rocks the size of a car that have separated from the canyon wall and now sit partially blocking the roadway. I started casting.

I was airing out the Scandi. The furled leader I had put on earlier that morning was cutting through the upstream breeze far better than the mono it had replaced. Again and again I threw my pink and purple fly out there, sometimes mending, sometimes not, monitoring and manipulating the swing as I picked my way along that ledge in the river. It’s a kind of dance, and it’s the only thing I consistently want to do.

About halfway down, a cutthroat lost his mind and put a bend in my rod. I stripped him in and looked him over. While I had my hook into him, I figured I might as well pump him for some information. Given his unusually large size, and the valiant way he had struggled against me, I asked him if he had come from the ocean. He stated that he had never indeed heard of this “ocean” that I spoke of, and then demanded that I free him at once. I eyed him suspiciously. After all, he was a trout, and trout are incontestable tricksters. Notorious for their ability to make you believe things that are just not true. Then again, considering the circumstances of our meeting, we may have been about even on that score.  I was just about to prod him further, when something rather large jumped just upstream, and I was momentarily distracted. Seeing his opportunity, my captive slipped my grasp and was gone. Just as well.

I finished out the run, and then moved upstream to investigate. It was tight, but I was able to find a rock to stand on. From which, I could throw a half decent cast, and make a half decent presentation to the general area where that magnificent disturbance had occurred. Something big had been there. Perhaps, still was. I fished it for some time, waiting for everything to get pulled down. I yearned to feel that weight, and see a silvery behemoth come vaulting from the swirling head of the run. It was not to be, but I left there feeling good. I knew I would be feeling it again, and in the meantime, I was still here.

I fished my way up, and then retired to simply exploring. I wanted to find access to some spots I had been eyeing for some time. I swapped out the waders for the gaiters, and walked the trail with a cool breeze rattling the leaves that surrounded me on all sides. The sun had made an appearance, and just in time. A little snake fled as I passed, but I assured him there was nothing to worry about. In the book, “Desert Solitaire”, Edward Abbey asserts that nothing worth seeing can be seen from an automobile. I’m inclined to agree. I really like Cactus Ed.

I found the spot I was looking for, but was somewhat discouraged at how easy it was. I like spots I have to fight my way into. At least that way, I can usually count on being left alone once I’m there. On the way back, I deviated to stop by a pool that salmon like to get into and go crazy all summer. I wanted to see if anyone was home yet. I sat in the grass for some time, just staring at the water rolling casually past. It was late afternoon and there were bugs present. I watched them hovering over the surface of the water, completely unaware of just how vital they are. Occasionally, a small rise form was seen in the tailout below. There was magic happening. A little trout no bigger than my pinky finger leapt repeatedly from the water before me. Learning the ropes. It is simultaneously comical and amazing. No salmon were seen to jump.

Before leaving I stopped at the falls. It’s been getting pretty sporty down there lately. Fish are literally flying everywhere. Fins, tails, and heads are constantly seen emerging from the churning foam. I can only imagine the melee taking place below. At this point, it’s still mostly Springers, but a few Steelies were seen to take there shot. With every leap there was a cry of excitement from myself. Nothing reverts me back to childhood faster than sitting down on the rocks watching the fish jump. I could sit there for hours. I just love to be around them.

Eventually, I have to go. Begrudgingly, I said goodbye, and climbed back up the rocks to the car. I fired it up, clicked on the blinker, and checked the mirror. When the coast was clear, I let out the clutch and went sputtering off into eternity. Or maybe just back to town.