The Henry's Fork: Day Eight

The morning of the eighth day is frosty.

The river is a zen koan.

We meditate on the bank for a timeless space.

Fish start to ring. An Osprey pair dance in the sky.

I hike around the island. Some spooky risers are out there in the main channel. They do not want me there.

I follow John out by the first rocky point. There are fish popping up to look at our flies. Eventually a pleep sparkles in my net.

Once again the wind comes early. Feels like the earth's rotation has sped up.

John goes back to the cabin to hang with Jake. I am going to stay the day. First a lovely bankside nap.

I wake up and start upstream past the moose.  

I stop at rocky point number one. I fish it. The wind is still stiff but the lee of the point is fishable. And there are fish rising sporadically. I show them a cinnamon ant and they bump it and roll at it. I spend a long time trying to get them to take it. Later and even now I wonder why I didn't try another fly. When the memory rises into consciousness a long list of flies that I could have used reels through my aching mind. Must go back. 

I hike and wade back downstream.

I take a brief break back at my camp.

I then fish the back channel until dusk. John comes back and we fish until almost dark. Then back to the cabin and meditations on the sins of the day.