Rains all morning, clears up by mid-afternoon. Hit the river, cover the water. Out of a thousand casts hook one smallmouth in the Bridge Run, but fail to get it into the net. Salmon still dominating the river, though their time is coming to an end. All around, washed by the waters of their birth, lie the bodies of those whose work is done. All around lie the reminders that after life comes death...comes life.