
Thought number one: “Well, that’s where the trout were the whole time.”
Thought number two: “I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall to my death.”
Looking back, all these years later, the latter is clearer. In my mind’s eye, I can see the pool. I can see the fish. I can see where I was when I was fishing, where I had been casting, and where I should have been fishing and standing. At the time, I was just trying to not tumble down a boulder strewn cliff into the icy waters below.
Priorities, I suppose.
***
Growing up in and around fly fishing circles, certain locations take on a more than mythical status. For all anglers, there are rivers which hold a special allure. And then within these streams there are particular runs or pools that have built their own reputation. These spots are known because people could frequently be found there. Or, and better, a fish or many fish are always found there.
Add a teenager’s zeal to all the hype and spilled ink and you have what is tantamount to a holy fly fishing pilgrimage site.









