Saturday morning found me visiting a stream that I truly love. It winds over some rough land but has some smooth spots that are easily negotiated. The morning was crisp with frost all over, and the suns rays filtering through felt good. It's funny how the mind works. The suns warmth could not be felt, yet knowing it was coming through made your body feel warm. As I walked this little stream, looking into its pools, which were not very deep, I wondered has I have so many times, how can a trout with such vivid colors go unseen until they dart away.
I walked and fished this stream for a few hours and it was kind to me. Not once did my hiking boots feel the cold bite of the stream. I remained dry which is unusual for me. It also gave up some of its wild jewels to The Bomber and me, allowing a few to come to hand to admire their beauty.
A small stream. An October morning, the fresh smells of a mixed forest.... can it be better?
A woods road.
Bridges and the pools under them are favorite places for me. It seems that the pools under them almost always hold a trout or two. And though I'm aware of this possibility, I'm always shocked when the fly is taken, and most times loose the fish.
Gifts on this crisp October morning
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