The forecast for the day was loud and clear to me; it said something that sounded like “go north and fish”. It’s never wise to ignore a sign like that when you hear it. At the end of a morning drive to the Poconos, I stood on top of a mountain, looking at another mountaintop three or four miles to the north, knowing that somewhere in between these two points was the destination that was calling. Close to two miles later I could hear it singing from the bottom of the valley, down a steep mountainside covered in an entanglement of rhododendron. It was exactly as I had imagined it would be; dark, lush and mysterious. The tannic water sparkled like iced tea; cold, refreshing and alive as it tumbled over the stones. From its depths came golden wildness, peppered brightly with spots of black and crimson haloed in white. I was glad I had listened to the forecast and taken the day off. I crawled, climbed and scratched my way back up the side of the mountain, stopping to let the loud thudding of heartbeats subside before continuing on. Upon reaching the top, I was exhausted and parched. I sat on a log to rest and cool off. It was then that I realized that my water bottle had fallen out of my pack somewhere during that climb and I cussed out loud, knowing I had a two mile hike back to my car. Digging through my fishing pack I found a small bottle of Kentucky’s best. A terrible thirst; a moment of thanks for the wild places and wild things that are out there, was all I needed to offer a toast to celebrate them. I’m really glad you came along Jim. Till next week …. www.ramsayflies.com #ItsAboutTheFish
