When I look across all the expeditions of the past, I smile knowing I'll be gathering firewood in the collecting darkness, such a simple yet satisfying act. I yearn to rock hop across untouched mountain streams, guessing where the trout lie, and revel in the outstanding reward that follows. I laugh at the fact that we'll be posting paper notes to each other on camp boards, so we can find each other upon arrival, not all that dissimilar from Lewis and Clark during their epic journey into the lands of western North America.
I hope for a trillion stars, the Perseid meteors visiting us at Heart Lake, a huge cutthroat trout (just one perhaps) from a backcountry lake so remote it will take a four hour hike just to reach it. I hope to see my old friend Tower Creek, whom I last visited nearly two years ago in September, when the aspen trees wore gold and a wonderful, hooked jawed brookie found its way to my Royal Coachman in the way, way back where the moose and grizzly bear play.
A collection of images from the places we've hiked and flyfished over the last seven or so years. Memories so thick, I have to brush them away. All simply named for the creek or river by which they were taken. Credit to Joe and Polla for their capture.