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Footprints ....

Some incredible people have gone before us, and while their footprints along the edges of the streams they fished have long ago been erased, their footprints are often still there in written words and stories passed down. I had been told that Teddy Roosevelt had fished this stream many years ago which moved it to a higher place on my personal bucket list. The hike was a long, steep and a potentially dangerous one, and at the end I found myself standing in a place that was remarkably beautiful and wild. Like being in Middle Earth. There were waterfalls that dropped through a tight valley that seemed like a deep crack in the earth, a narrow valley cloaked in thick mosses and shrouded in darkness. The water was cold, crystal clear and refreshing, and its native residents were brightly speckled and willing to come out and play with the flies I offered them. I’ve fished many places, but this one was different for a variety of reasons I struggle to describe in words; and I just wanted to stay and enjoy it a while longer, but there was a long drive back to responsibilities and a real job. I stopped fishing and just watched the little river for a while. In my mind I imagined Teddy upstream with his spectacles, felt hat and an old Leonard rod fishing his wet flies on a down and across swing through those pools and runs and feel those old footprints. Till next week …..


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