Shenandoah...so long

Regions, trout streams, and brook trout have their own distinct personalities. Shenandoah showed this to me in so many ways when I visited it this October. It's natural beauty as shown in the photos here, from the fog shrouded hollows to the steep water falls. The rich flora, with abundant wildlife is enough to make one happy that air is still in ones lungs and ones eyes can still focus upon this beauty.

To allow your ears to take in the sounds of turkey calling to each other as they go about the business of foraging. To hear the sounds of the streams as they glide and spill the waters. And to the brook trout who go about life much as they have for thousands of years. They are true survivors.

While not crashing, this streams waters can be heard.

Their colors are a match.

Places as these make one stop to admire. I stayed here longer than most pools I fished.

Rewards from the stream. A well placed fly and a high float were able to bring this jewel to the surface.

Perhaps the last of summers colors.

Autumn in Shenandoah. This is the biggest pool I fished. It was quite deep and its bottom was a mess of broken logs with other natural debris. The flow coming in was swift, and carried through to the end. There were trout rising at the tail but were taking a liking to what I offered. A small soft hackle was tied on and sent through. It worked just as it did on the other times it was fished. The little green fly, lost against the bottom of the stream as it drifted. There was a time a glimpse of it showed as it moved into some sunlight. Suddenly the line went tight, I reacted and felt the weight. The fish found every bit of water in that pool to his liking, one time hanging me up on a small log. His was a gallant fight, and soon it was over.

To be able to cast a fly and be given the opportunity to bring to hand such beauty is indescribable. I was both fortunate and blessed to do both.