Brother John is over the pass and winding his way towards us as I write. Brother Mark is puttering around making sure he's added everything he'll need to the pile of supplies outside the back door. Brother Pete is packing for a Tuesday flight; he'll drive up from Salt Lake and meet us on Wednesday.
It looks like we will make history: the first time all four surviving brothers have been on the Henry's together. Wish Brother Matt could have made it.
Some say this is the worst time of year to be at the Henry's Fork. We feel it's the best. The crowds are down, and the fish are up. We like the hatches. We love the ant falls. We're out there waiting for them when they come.
But we also look forward to the time at mid-day when the hatch fishermen hike back to the lodge for their two-martini lunch and siesta. That's when the big fish come prowling in the backwaters and slow chutes and eddies to mop up the leftovers of the hatch.
Like us, they like to avoid the crowds.
As soon as John pulls in we'll start loading up. We should be on the road by mid-afternoon. I'll be taking lots of photos and planning on future posts recounting our adventure. But for the rest of this week I'm hanging up the sign:
GONE FISHING
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