Just how it suddenly it felt like their young baseball days passed by so fast, the creek was suddenly low and the water temperature had risen. And where I am on my creek, just below a man-made impoundment of concrete, that means something; It meant the browns on this last couple miles of water had all dropped downstream into the next river, and that the bass had moved up in.
It was a week into trout season. So we went perch fishing.
It was there, so I fished it.
With the temperature right around thirty-five degrees the precipitation coming down all day was wet. It’s an odd place to find yourself. Standing in water only a degree warmer than the air, looking at everything you see covered in snow, while rain soaks and adds four pounds of cold to your favorite hat.
The afternoon was spent under that gray sky with the sun trying to penetrate it looking like nothing more than a distant low wattage lightbulb. For this time of year the conditions were really about as perfect as you could expect.
Maybe it was the right time. Maybe I was just lucky. Maybe I was more patient and more observant than I had been years ago.
Gin clear water, turquoise pools that tricked your mind into thinking you were in the Bahamas, desert bluffs silhouetted against the quickly fading evening skies and the dizzying Milky Way shortly afterward. Cave drawings. Waterfalls. White water. Massive pools several football fields long and wide flanked by cliffs topped off with motionless observing mountain goats.
Does everything have to change until the life you remember as a child is completely gone in the life you have as an adult?
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